Chapter 52: Undercurrents Beneath the Wheel Tracks

The sun climbed over the courtyard wall, bright light poured into the yard, dispersing a bit of the morning chill. Li Ping'an haphazardly scooped a few mouthfuls of last night's leftover porridge, counting it as breakfast. The night's dash and fright seem to have left little trace on him; the body‑tempering's recovery far exceeds that of ordinary people, though a faint, barely noticeable fatigue still lingers in his brows.

He walked to the corner of the courtyard and pushed out the rickshaw, which, though still fairly clean from polishing, clearly showed its age. The handle's worn‑smooth lacquer recorded the years spent hustling for a living.

Yan Bu Gui indeed held his ever‑present purple‑clay teapot, squinting at him: "Yo, Ping'an, out with the rickshaw today? Feeling spry?" His tone mixed three parts concern with seven parts appraisal.

Li Ping'an patted the seat, sighed: "Can't go without the rickshaw, Teacher Yan, sitting idle will eat away the mountain, we can't just wait for the northwest wind, can we? Unlike you, a scholar with learning, we laborers can't compare."

This remark highlighted his own plight while flattering the other.

Yan Bu Gui indeed took it, but said: "Hah, what learning or not, these days, essays won't buy rice; it's all hard… I see you look a bit better than before."

"Sigh, just pushing through, this broken body goes up and down." Li Ping'an shook his head, said no more, lifted the rickshaw and headed out. "Teacher Yan, you be busy, I'll go try my luck."

"Hey, come back early; it's not peaceful out there now." Yan Bu Gui called out half‑heartedly from behind.

Pulling the rickshaw into the alley, he merged with Beiping City's streets as the morning market gradually awakened. A flood of sounds and smells hit him: vendors hawking, bicycle bells, the aroma of fried dough sticks, and the ever‑present coal smoke and dust. He inhaled deeply, temporarily suppressing last night's blood and terror, and played the role of an ordinary rickshaw puller.

"Rickshaw! Want to go to Xidan Mall?"

"Sir, please sit tight, steady now!" Li Ping'an forced a livelihood‑seeking smile, hauled the passenger and broke into a light jog.

His legs were strong, breath long, running far easier than before, yet he deliberately moderated his speed, showing just the right amount of effort; beads of sweat formed at his temples. Body‑tempering is his trump card; he must not reveal it.

All morning he ferried assorted passengers through alleys and streets. His ears never rested, constantly catching fragments of information.

"Heard the news? Last night there was a half‑night gunfire outside Fucheng Gate!"

"No kidding! Scared the life out of people! They say it was a bandit‑crackdown?"

"Crack down on what bandits… I suspect it's another rebel‑faction trouble…"

"Shh… lower your voice, no talk of state affairs…"

The news seemed deliberately suppressed; the circulating versions were vague, but the terms "outside Fucheng Gate" and "gunfight" were enough to weigh heavily on Li Ping'an's mind. Blood Plum's losses were likely substantial.

He steered the rickshaw, deliberately looping through areas he'd passed before that might hold clues—near a few hometown association halls or the outskirts of refugee shanty clusters. He slowed, scanning the gaunt, hollow‑eyed crowds for any sign of his sister Li Pingle, even a similar silhouette. Each time he returned empty‑handed. In the chaos, a single person was like a grain of sand, too hard to find. A stone seemed to press on his heart.

Around noon he crouched by the street, gnawing on a homemade bun with cold water. Nearby a few fellow pullers rested, chatting idly.

"Damn, these past days the Black Dogs have multiplied on the streets, making it unsafe for rickshaws."

"Heard they're after some important figure… the reward's huge!" One puller gestured mysteriously with his fingers.

"Forget it, what good would that do for us? Better not stir up trouble…"

Li Ping'an listened silently, his caution rising a few notches.

In the afternoon he took a well‑dressed old gentleman to Qianmen Railway Station. On the way the gentleman seemed in good spirits, chattering a few lines.

"Master, your footwork's solid. Your accent… sounds southern?"

"Ah, from Henan, fled the disaster, making a living." Li Ping'an replied vaguely, not daring to say more.

"Henan… sigh, a hard place. These days, nothing's easy." The old man sighed, "Heard last night was unrest? You rickshaw men, didn't hear anything?"

Li Ping'an's heart stirred; he feigned fear: "Please don't bring it up, sir… Yesterday night after dark I stopped the rickshaw, just as I lay down I heard something like fireworks outside, scared me so I didn't crawl under the bed… didn't light a lamp, didn't dare go out to look…"

"Hmm, better be cautious." The old man nodded, "This Beiping City, the water's murky. Keep a low profile, ask less, you'll live longer."

Dropping the gentleman off earned him an extra two copper coins as reward. Li Ping'an thanked him, but mulled over the old man's words. "The water's murky…" seemed to hint at something.

The sun had shifted westward; he pulled the empty rickshaw, planning another loop before heading back. Passing a tea stall, he unintentionally overheard two men in gray uniforms, looking like low‑level yamen clerks, whispering.

"…searched all day, got nothing! The superiors are about to bang the table!"

"Who says it isn't… those guys are slippery, heard they caught two little thugs, both hard‑bones…"

"What about the goods?"

"Burned what's burned, blown up what's blown up… wasted effort! Too bad about that batch… cough…" The man seemed to realize his slip, quickly cut off his words, glanced around, lifted his tea cup to mask it.

Li Ping'an's rickshaw rolled by slowly; his mind churned. Caught two? Hard‑bones? Goods destroyed? That's a lot of info! Looks like Blood Plum's people weren't taken in one sweep, and the core may not have been captured? The Japanese Soldiers didn't get all the arms either?

Is this a blessing in misfortune? But the captured… can they endure torture?

He pulled the rickshaw back, mood complicated. A day's work yielded some useful rumors, yet his sister Li Pingle remained without a trace, and his own situation grew even more subtle and dangerous.

Returning to the Siheyuan entrance, he happened to see Yan Bu Gui sending off a man in a long robe, looking like a teacher, and the two exchanged polite bows.

"Mr. Yan, stay a moment, stay…"

"Mr. Zhang, take care, let's meet again another day…"

After seeing the man off, Yan Bu Gui turned, saw Li Ping'an; the courteous smile faded, and he asked casually, "How's it, Ping'an? Today's work going okay?"

"Just getting by, scraping together some grain." Li Ping'an stopped the rickshaw, patted his waist, looking exhausted, "What was that just now?"

"Oh, an old acquaintance, a teacher, passing by for a chat." Yan Bu Gui gave a vague reply, clearly not wanting to elaborate, then looked at him, "You seem more spirited than this morning, huh? A little movement helps."

"Yeah, just pushing through." Li Ping'an replied, while pondering that Yan Bu Gui, the old scholar, had quite a network.

Both harbored thoughts, exchanged a few perfunctory words, then returned to their rooms.

Li Ping'an shut the door, the fatigue on his face vanished instantly, his eyes became calm and sharp. He slowly wiped the rickshaw, his mind sorting today's sights and sounds.

The turmoil outside Fucheng Gate seemed temporarily settled, but undercurrents roiled. Blood Plum was damaged but not annihilated; the Japanese Soldiers' search yielded nothing and would not be satisfied. Yan Bu Gui appeared more complicated than he seemed…

This Siheyuan, this Beiping City, is like a huge vortex, harboring countless hidden currents.

And he, an accidental participant, must be even more cautious to find a way out in this increasingly tangled situation, perhaps… a chance to strike back.

His hand paused briefly while polishing, his gaze drifted into emptiness.

Perhaps it's time to change tactics for gathering information. The most inconspicuous corners often hide the truest street rumors.

For example, tomorrow go to the overpass and see? There the dragons and snakes mingle, maybe we'll hear something different. Also… should check that Ni Ren Zhang's stall, if it's still there.

Night fell silently.