Chapter 5: Blood Road North, Zhengzhou Thunder

The ragged sack‑like filthy clothes on his back became Li Ping'an's golden bell shield. Grayish, oil‑stained twine, still smelling of earth, he slipped into the crowd like a starving little beggar, inconspicuous as a thief. These days, dressing all fancy? That's a death‑summoning talisman! He glanced at the pile of silk and brocade he'd looted from the Japanese Soldiers' house, spat, and said, "Wearing that junk? It's no different than sticking a sign on your forehead that says 'Fat sheep, come get slaughtered.'"

Target nailed: Zhengzhou! Only that clump has an iron‑clad long worm that can haul him to Beiping. Relying on these two legs? He'd be walking forever! After confirming the direction, Li Ping'an plunged into the smoking wasteland of central Henan. He pushed off the ground, running with the wind. His body, honed by clear strength, now showed its true prowess.

Each step he thrust forward, his soles grinding the cracked hard earth, power rising from the ground, arching his waist and hips, his body darting forward like an arrow released from a bow. The wind whooshed past his ears, and the shadows of dead trees swished backward.

Barely ten li out, misfortune slammed into him. Behind a small earthen slope, a few mustard‑yellow shadows emerged, along with a glaring plaster flag! A squad of Japanese Soldiers was dragging a few wailing villagers and several seized chickens, ducks, pigs and sheep, ambling back slowly. Leading them, the Sergeant chewed a cigarette, chattering bird‑like nonsense, his smug grin like a cat catching a mouse.

"Damn misfortune!" Li Ping'an halted abruptly, his gaze cold enough to freeze a man. Hide? Detour? Seeing the desperate eyes of those villagers, hearing the terrified cries of the livestock, a burst of evil fire whooshed up to the heavens' lid!

"Heaven has a road you won't take, hell has no gate yet you still walk in!" he muttered, crouching low, using the withered grass for cover, slipping silently to the side. His intent spread like an invisible net, swishing outward, enveloping the whole area.

The killing intent rose, the killing aura was born!

He leapt out like a pouncing leopard! So fast only a blur remained! He lunged straight at the cigarette‑chewing Sergeant! His intent arrived first! An invisible sharp spear thrust mercilessly at the sergeant's skull!

"Ugh!" The Sergeant, mid‑smile, suddenly felt his head pierced by a red‑hot iron needle, excruciating pain with the world spinning, darkness flashing before his eyes, and his cigarette fell from his mouth!

In the blink of an eye, Li Ping'an was upon him! No fancy moves, just the deadliest strike of Bajiquan—Standing Heaven‑Piercing Cannon! He sank his waist, sat his hips, power rose from the ground, a fist struck out, like a cannonball it boomed into the sergeant's chest!

Crack!

The crisp sound of bones shattering, sickening! The sergeant couldn't even grunt; his chest collapsed, his body flew out like a torn sack, blood froth spewed from his mouth, his legs kicking wildly.

"Enemy attack!"

"Baga Yalu!"

The remaining Japanese Soldiers only then snapped out of shock, shrieking wildly, fumbling to pull the gun bolts.

Too late!

Li Ping'an surged in like a ferocious tiger into a sheepfold! His figure flashed and twisted within a footstep, so fast it dazzled the eye! Mountain‑splitting palm! A tiger hard‑climbing a mountain! Every move aimed at a lethal spot! His intent intermittently scrambled their senses; the Japanese Soldiers saw a flash, heard a buzzing in their heads, then a wave of excruciating pain—either their throats shattered, their temples crushed, or their chests hammered! Bones cracked, short wails rose and fell like funeral bells.

In a few gasps, the squad of Japanese Soldiers that had just been swaggering turned into rotting corpses sprawled on the ground. The whole process was fast, precise, ruthless—slick as a knife slicing tofu.

The villagers being escorted were terrified stiff, rooted like wooden stakes, staring at the suddenly emerged, god‑of‑killing‑possessed "little beggar."

Li Ping'an ignored them, his cold gaze sweeping the battlefield. He walked to the wagons, untied the ropes binding the livestock, then grabbed the two sacks of grain the Japanese Soldiers had seized and thuddingly tossed them before the stunned villagers.

"What are you looking at?" he rasped, "Grain, livestock, split them up! Get the hell out! Run west! The farther, the better!"

The villagers snapped awake, eyes on the gleaming grain and flapping chickens and ducks, their despair instantly replaced by wild joy! Forgetting to thank, they scrambled to divide the goods, herd the livestock, shepherd the old, weak, women and children, stumbling and dashing into the western fields, running faster than rabbits.

Only after those gray‑headed, dust‑covered shadows vanished completely in the weeds did Li Ping'an withdraw his gaze. His intent then spread like the most efficient scavenger: the Japanese Soldiers' three‑eight cover, turtle‑shell boxes, ammo pouches, water bottles, lunch boxes, canned food… even the silver coins and watches in their pockets, and the half‑gnawed rations, along with the spent shell casings scattered on the ground, all vanished instantly, sucked into a spatial pocket. He even ripped down the glaring plaster flag, crumpled it, and stuffed it into the crotch of a Japanese corpse.

"Make a little profit," he muttered, not even glancing at the wreckage. His figure flickered, merging again into the endless wasteland, sprinting wildly toward Zhengzhou. Behind him lay a few sleek, oddly shaped Japanese corpses.

That's not even an appetizer.

From then on, Li Ping'an became the deadliest phantom on this wasteland. Any Imperial Army outpost, Patrol Squad, or small raiding party that went out to "clear the grass" that crossed his path vanished as if vaporized. Supplies were stripped bare, leaving only the gutted Japanese corpses, arranged as if they'd been stabbed by each other's bayonets or gnawed by "wild livestock."

The news sprouted legs and raced to the nearby county garrison. The Imperial Army officials fumed, dispatching several detachments into the fields for "sweeps" and "anti‑bandit" operations. Yet they caught nothing! The opponent seemed to have merged with the scorched earth, coming without a trace and vanishing likewise. Guerrillas? No, they don't use such brutal tactics. Bandits? What bandits could stand up to the Imperial Army like that?

This ghost‑like "Ghost Wall" even rattled the nearby fruit‑party troops. A Battalion Commander stared at the "coincidentally" discovered, stripped Japanese squad corpses, his eyes rolling, a scheme forming. He waved his hand: "Report this to me! Say my unit fought tooth and nail, totally annihilated an elite Japanese squad! Seized a huge haul (of course the 'seized' loot already went into his pocket)!"

The dispatch flew to Chongqing. Old Jiang, frowning, brightened at the news: "Merit deserves reward! Publish a commendation! Promote one rank!"

The newspaper soon ran the Battalion Commander's smug photo and "glorious battle achievements." The real "hero," Li Ping'an, had no idea about it. He was still gray‑headed and dusty, in the darkest hour before dawn, when he finally reached the outskirts of Zhengzhou.

The sight before him sank his already cold heart straight into the bottom of an ice pit.

Zhengzhou, this central‑plain metropolis, was long bereft of life. Its walls had collapsed in several places, the charred marks like ugly scars. The air reeked of a foul stench—burnt ash mingling with a faint corpse odor, tinged with the acrid smell of Japanese disinfectant. At the city gate, Japanese Soldiers armed with rifles stared like knives, screening the sparse civilians entering. On the walls, the plaster flags flapped in the cold wind, sounding like a soul‑calling banner.

The streets that once buzzed with life now lay in ruin. Broken walls and shattered tiles littered everywhere; many houses were reduced to blackened frames. The walls were scrawled with glaring Japanese characters and slogans like "Sino‑Japanese Friendship" and "Greater East Asia Co‑Prosperity." Occasionally a passerby appeared, gaunt and pale, eyes hollow as a corpse's, hunching in the cold wind, hurrying with every step, not daring to even pass gas.

"Burn it all! Kill them all! Loot it all!" Li Ping'an's fist clenched to death, his nails digging into flesh. Those six words were no longer ink on a page, but living, blood‑soaked engravings on every inch of this city! In his ears he seemed to still hear women's and children's wails, see the dripping blood from bayonet tips!

What drove him to the brink was a few children in Japanese school uniforms, shouting slogans in stiff Japanese under a traitor's bark, chanting "enslavement" or whatever! The numb, hollow look in those kids' eyes was even more sickening than the adults'.

"Fine… very fine!" Li Ping'an laughed bitterly, his teeth chattering, a cold, bone‑piercing killing intent swirling in his chest like a storm. He had only intended to sneak into the city, get some intel, and hop on a train to slip away.

Now?

Just walk away? Not giving this pack of human‑skin‑clad beasts any "thoughts," Li Ping'an wrote his three characters upside down!

"A little lesson? Pah!" he licked his cracked lips, his gaze as deep as a cold pool, "I'll make the Zhengzhou Japanese remember what a 'hundred‑million‑point' lesson is!"

He didn't strike immediately. Suppressing the surging killing intent, Li Ping'an fell into the crowd like a drop of water into hot oil, slipping in silently. He needed to scout the routes: Zhengzhou's layout? Where the Japanese were holed up? How to reach the train station? … He also needed to fill his stomach and gather his strength!

In the space, a newly‑captured plump hen fluttered its wings, clucking anxiously twice. Li Ping'an's intent swept over the pile of "spoils," and a cold, slightly fierce smile curled at his mouth.

Zhengzhou's night—just wait and see, it'll be lively for sure!