Chapter 45: Opening

The three items in the Oilcloth Bag lay in Li Ping'an's palm, cold and hard. The plum branch was dry, the gunpowder coarse, the shell heavily rusted, like three muffled gourds, exuding a tense vigor.

"Plum branch… gunpowder… shell…" Li Ping'an leaned against the cold wall, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the rusted shell, his mind racing.

This is certainly not a random gift. The Blood Plum people would never waste any chance to test.

The plum branch naturally represents themselves, the name "Blood Plum". Offering this is like saying, "We are the ones."

What about the gunpowder and the shells?

Does it mean they want weapons? Short on ammunition? That seems the most straightforward. But Li Ping'an still feels it's not that simple. If they only wanted supplies, why take this detour? Just place an order and negotiate price—wouldn't that be quicker?

Unless… it's not about the goods, but about… testing.

Testing whether he truly has the goods they need, whether he knows the trade, even whether he is trustworthy.

Li Ping'an's gaze fell again on that shell. On its base, a faint engraving… He brought it close, examining it under the thin moonlight. It wasn't a factory marking, seemed added later, the imprint shallow, two crooked numbers: 7.92.

7.92 mm? That's the caliber of a certain rifle cartridge. Soviet standard? Or perhaps Czech? Both were common weapons during the War of Resistance.

And that black gunpowder, coarse in texture, uneven granules, like homemade earth medicine, certainly not the standard smokeless powder of the Japanese Soldiers or the Germans.

A thought flashed through Li Ping'an's mind like a bolt of lightning!

They're not simply after weapons! They specifically need—guns and ammunition that match this shell's caliber! Moreover, they seem to lack a reliable gunpowder source, or need a specific propellant!

It's less a purchase order than a "sample" accompanied by a "specification sheet"!

The Blood Plum's situation is probably more difficult than he imagined. They may lack a stable weapons supply, perhaps using old or dubious guns, forcing them to seek specific ammunition specs, maybe even to mix their own powder!

Understanding this, Li Ping'an felt a lot lighter inside, yet also a weight. Partnering with them is risky, but what they do commands respect.

The response was simple. They set the challenge; he submitted the answer.

And he must deliver an answer far exceeding expectations!

He stopped pondering, his mind shifting, and entered his own little world.

Warm, quiet, with piles of items like mountains. He headed straight for the box of 7.92 mm rifle cartridges. Opening the Wooden Box, the yellowish bullets lay neatly in rows. He took out a full hundred rounds and carefully wrapped them in oil paper.

Next, he went to the medicine stash. Sulfonamide, hemostatic powder, bandages… He selected the most urgently needed battlefield first‑aid items and packed them likewise.

Finally, he stared at the few boxes of black powder, hesitated. This stuff kills, but in this chaotic era it's hard currency, able to trade for many necessities. He took a small portion, wrapped it tightly in thick oilcloth.

Three items—weaponry, medicine, hard currency. That should be enough to show his "sincerity" and "strength".

But how to send them back? Return them to the church ruins? Too conspicuous, also too risky.

There must be a new, reliable delivery method.

Li Ping'an's gaze swept over the assorted junk in the space, finally landing on a few broken burlap sacks and a dismantled unicycle. Got it!

He deftly shoved the three oil‑paper bundles into a sack, haphazardly added some wilted vegetable leaves and ragged cloth as cover, then tossed the sack onto the unicycle.

Leaving the space, he pushed this rickety, squeaking junk cart that seemed to have crawled out of some nook, like a poor night‑time scavenger dumping soup or hauling trash, shuffling slowly toward the overpass.

He didn't return to the church, but instead looped to the side of the overpass market, near the alley where the old knife grinder usually set up shop. The area is relatively quiet, but during the day it's crowded and watchful, making it easy to hide and observe.

He found a corner piled with broken baskets and rickety crates, parked the unicycle against the wall, slipped the inconspicuous sack among a heap of genuine trash, making it seamless.

Then, he fished the Oilcloth Small Pack from his coat, took out the plum branch inside, and, both carefully and conspicuously, lodged it onto a peg of the unicycle.

Having done this, he pushed the empty unicycle away just as he had arrived, squeaking away into the night, without looking back.

This is a response, and an invitation. I've left the items, shown my sincerity; whether you can take them safely depends on your skill. As for where we meet next… I'm waiting.

The next day, Li Ping'an was still the ailing Li Ping'an, going out on schedule to "sunbathe" and "collect medicine". But his wanderings near the overpass lasted noticeably longer, and he paid more attention to the Clay Figurine stall and its surroundings.

The black‑slim man at the Clay Figurine stall continued to work his head down, shaping figurines, as if nothing had happened last night.

But Li Ping'an's sharp eyes noticed that today's figurines included a strangely shaped little colt, with a bright red, blood‑drop‑like spot on its forehead.

And the old knife grinder's shout seemed a bit louder than usual; while chatting with a few regulars, his voice rose slightly, repeatedly muttering things like, "The chaotic burial hill outside the western city has been unsettled lately; strange noises at night."

Li Ping'an felt he had the picture. The other side had accepted his "answer sheet" and gave new instructions—next meeting place, the chaotic burial hill outside the western city. Time, likely again at midnight.

Indeed… they pick such infiltrated territories. Li Ping'an muttered internally, yet couldn't help admiring their caution. Such places, even ghosts avoid, truly allow maximal evasion of the Japanese Soldiers' collaborators.

That night, at the hour of the Rat (midnight). The chaotic burial hill outside the western city.

Tall wild grass, graves scattered everywhere, night owls hooting maddeningly, ghostly flames drifting faintly in the dark, the air thick with earthiness and rot.

Li Ping'an crouched behind a half‑collapsed burial mound, waiting patiently. This time, he was more vigilant than before. The burial hill was larger, terrain more complex, easier both to hide and to slip away.

Time passed slowly; aside from wind and insects, the surroundings were dead silent.

Just as Li Ping'an thought the other side might not come, or perhaps he was misreading, a faint sound like a snapped dry branch came from his side‑rear.

Not just one person!

Li Ping'an's muscles tensed, breath held, he slowly lowered his body further, listening toward the sound.

Two dark silhouettes, ghost‑like, slipped silently from opposite directions into a slightly level clearing within the burial hill. Both wore dark Night Cloaks, moved swiftly, coordinated seamlessly, exchanged a silent hand signal, then each took a position, scanning the surroundings warily.

One of them, roughly the build of the black‑slim Ni Ren Zhang. The other, slightly taller, moved with a heavier, more fierce strength.

Li Ping'an didn't reveal himself immediately. He was observing.

The two lingered on the clearing for a moment, as if confirming safety. Then the taller dark figure pulled something from his coat, placed it gently on the ground, and the pair, just as before, silently retreated swiftly, melting back into the darkness, vanished.

After waiting roughly the length of a burning incense stick to ensure no further trouble, Li Ping'an slipped out like a raccoon, darting onto the clearing.

On the ground lay not an Oilcloth Bag but an ordinary blue brick. Beneath the brick was a small stack of rough‑edged paper.

Li Ping'an snatched the paper, without even looking, shoved it into his coat, and fled the gloomy area at top speed.

Back beneath the relatively safe city wall, he unfolded the paper by the dim moonlight.

The paper bore no address, no signature, only a few lines scrawled in charcoal, the handwriting rough yet forceful:

"The goods are verified, satisfactory. In three days, at the hour of the Ox, Outside Yongding Gate, Lu Wei Dang, bring fifty jin of 'Black Lump' and five packs of 'White Medicine'. Only you will be seen. If you try any tricks, no one else will think well of you."

Li Ping'an read those brief lines, let out a long sigh, and the tension that had been pulling his heartstrings finally eased a bit.

Passed! They accepted his "answer sheet" and, for the first time, truly proposed a deal!

"Black Lump" clearly refers to black powder, "White Medicine" must be sulfonamide or similar Western drug. Fifty jin of black powder, five packs of sulfonamide—a sizable amount, but within his capacity. The key is that they want him to go himself.

This is the crucial step, and a massive risk.

But he had no choice. To gain Blood Plum's trust, even to borrow their strength, this step had to be taken.

He crumpled the slip of paper, shoved it into his mouth, and swallowed it with difficulty. It tasted bitter and astringent, yet it held a glimmer of hope.

Three days later, at the hour of the Ox, Outside Yongding Gate, Lu Wei Dang.

He noted it.

Turning and melting into the darkness, his steps seemed a little more resolute than before. On this knife‑edge path, he finally saw the first possible Fellow Path shadow.

Although the road ahead remained unpredictable in fortune and disaster, at least he was no longer alone.