Chapter 55: Flames Soaring to the Sky

The shadows in the alley stretched longer and longer. Li Ping'an pulled the cart, his steps steady and unhurried, but his ears were perked—those two footsteps behind had followed for half a street, impossible to shake off, clinging annoyingly.

It must have been Biao Ge's gang. He sneered inwardly; the fat pig really hadn't learned his lesson. The daytime beating wasn't enough, daring to have someone tail him. Whatever scheme they were plotting, even a toe could tell: find out where he lives, then head to the Japanese soldiers to sell a favor, using a borrowed knife to kill.

A flash of cold light flickered in Li Ping'an's eyes. He couldn't return to the courtyard house. Though it held no possessions, it was at least a nest; if Japanese soldiers and traitors blocked it, escape would be impossible. He also couldn't endanger the neighbors, even if their ties were shallow; they didn't deserve this senseless disaster.

The cart's handle turned, and he darted into an even narrower side alley, the cart body nearly scraping the mottled brick walls on both sides. The footsteps behind instantly quickened, following tightly.

The alley's end was a dead end, littered with tattered baskets and broken bricks. Li Ping'an pretended to just notice the mistake, fumbling with the cart's front, acting as convincingly as possible.

The two stalker thugs locked eyes, smug and cruel smiles on their faces, quickening their steps toward him. One even drew half a short club from his lower back.

"Running? Why stop? Kid, Biao Ge called you back for tea!" A filthy hand lunged at Li Ping'an's back collar.

At the instant of contact, Li Ping'an seemed to have eyes in the back of his head; his body crouched swiftly, slipping away lightly. Simultaneously he abandoned the rickshaw, turned ghost‑like, and faced the two men head‑on.

The pair saw a flash before them, the target already in front. Before they could react, Li Ping'an's hands shot out like lightning!

Crack! Crack!

Two faint, teeth‑tingling crisp sounds. Li Ping'an employed the most decisive technique of his Muscle‑Separating, Bone‑Misaligning Hand, instantly dislocating both men's shoulder joints, then drawing his arms like a bow and slashing precisely at the side of their necks.

The thugs' smiles froze, their eyes rolled, and they collapsed like soft mud, falling silent and dead, the short club clanged onto the ground.

Li Ping'an's face showed no expression; he was too lazy to look, and swiftly dragged the bodies behind the junk pile and concealed them. His hands and feet moved deftly, leaving no trace.

He stood in the dead end, glancing at the towering gray walls all around. No turning back. That was fine; it had never been a home, just a temporary shelter. Only a pity… his sister was still missing, Miyamoto Musashi hadn't been beaten down, and the old Japanese soldier Gangcun Ningci was still alive.

A pent‑up fury churned in his chest. Walk away like this, all dejected? Like a stray dog chased out of Beiping by a thug?

No. Before leaving, he must deliver a grand gift. A gift that would make the Japanese soldiers feel pain to their very bones.

A decisive blaze flashed in his eyes—blow up the damn camp!

Having made up his mind, he no longer hesitated. He deftly shed the conspicuous cart driver coat, turning it inside out to wear; underneath was a dark coarse‑linen lining. He also retrieved a Small Cloth Bag from beneath the rickshaw seat cushion and slipped it into his chest—containing a fire starter and miscellaneous tools. He pulled his tattered hat brim lower, abandoned the cart, and with a few quick hops vanished like a wisp of green smoke, melting into the tangled alley network.

He needed to find an absolutely secure spot to wait until nightfall. West City had many abandoned courtyards; using memory and keen perception, he avoided stray pedestrians and Patrol Squad, slipping silently into a half‑collapsed, spider‑web‑filled ruined courtyard. The yard was overgrown with waist‑deep weeds and a stale, decaying smell. He found a side room that could barely block the wind, curled into a corner like a crouching leopard, closed his eyes to rest, suppressing his breath to the minimum, his ears perked to catch distant street noises.

Time crawled slowly in the dead silence.

At this moment, the South of City "Fast‑Legged" carriage shop could be blowing its own nest.

Biao Ge puffed out his belly, nodding and bowing as he led seven or eight Japanese soldiers armed with loaded rifles into the shop. At the front was Squad Leader Sanjiao Yan, a cigarette roll between his lips, a look of impatience on his face.

The shop's steward Sun turned ashen, his calf muscles twitching, hurriedly greeting, "Chief… Chief… this… this is…"

"Stop the damn nonsense!" Biao Ge roared, borrowing authority, then instantly switched his face to flatter Squad Leader Sanjiao Yan, "Squad Leader Wang, right here, the carriage shop Li Ping'an is attached to." He twisted his head and glared at Steward Sun, "Speak! Where does Li Ping'an live?"

Steward Sun broke out in cold sweat, daring not to lie: "If… if Grandfather's words are true… he… he lives in Nanluoguxiang… No. 9… No. 95 courtyard… East… East Wing Room…"

"Show the way!" Squad Leader Sanjiao Yan spat out a cigarette butt, waved his hand.

The group surged toward Nanluoguxiang like wolves and tigers.

Nanluoguxiang No. 95 courtyard, at this moment, was like cold water poured into a hot oil pot—exploding.

Clang! Clang! Clang! the sound of doors being battered (no different from kicking them) and ferocious roars tore the evening's quiet.

"Open the door! Imperial Army is investigating! Open it quickly!"

The residents cooking and chatting in the courtyard were all stunned. Yan Bu Gui was fiddling with a few pots of garlic sprouts at the doorway; hearing the commotion, his hand trembled and the water dipper clanged to the ground. He opened the door trembling, instantly recoiling two steps from the glaring bayonets and ferocious Japanese soldiers outside.

"Chief… Chief…"

Biao Ge was the first to shove his way in, hands on hips, nostrils flaring upward: "Where's Li Ping'an? Get him out!"

All ages in the courtyard were blasted into the yard at once, each face drained of color, trembling en masse. Children wailed in terror, their mouths clamped shut by adults.

Yi Zhonghai forced a calm demeanor: "Chief, I don't know… I don't know what you're looking for Li Ping'an for? Is he…"

"Slap!" Squad Leader Wang snapped a backhanded slap, "Old thing, have I asked you? Where's Li Ping'an?"

Yi Zhonghai covered his face, daring to be angry but not daring to speak.

Yan Bu Gui's eyes flicked, realizing this was a chance to clear himself and earn merit, he hurriedly forced a smile and stepped forward: "Chief! Chief, calm down! Li Ping'an left early in the morning pulling his cart and never returned! That room, that East Wing Room, is where he lives!" He pointed, "I've long seen this kid's mischievous ways, coming and going alone, not a good person! I wanted to report him to the Imperial Army!"

Squad Leader Wang gave him a disgusted glance, pursed his lips: "Search!"

A few Japanese soldiers rushed into the East Wing Room, and immediately the sounds of cabinets being overturned and things being smashed crackled. Soon they emerged empty‑handed: "Squad Leader, no one. It's as poor as a rattling tin."

Squad Leader Wang's face darkened as he scanned the terrified residents: "Everyone listen! Li Ping'an is a major offender of the Imperial Army! Anyone who sees him and dares to hide it will be treated as an accomplice, whole family executed! Got that?"

The crowd nodded like chickens pecking at rice.

"Move!" Squad Leader Wang, having caught no one, lost interest, led his men away with a swagger. Biao Ge waddled after him, and before leaving gave the whole courtyard a fierce glare.

He left the courtyard in total disarray and a ground of terrified souls. After the fear, whispers of suspicion and complaints about Li Ping'an spread.

In the ruined courtyard, Li Ping'an remained unaware of the turmoil outside. The sun fully set, and night completely enveloped Beiping as he opened his eyes.

His eyes were clear as ice, cold to the bone.

He slipped out of the ruined courtyard like a shadow, merging into the dense black night. He knew the alleys of Beiping well, avoiding all main roads and large patrols, choosing only the darkest cracks to slip through.

The Japanese Army camp lay in the east of the city; having passed by pulling his cart several times, the outer layout was already etched in his mind. He needed to avoid the main gate guard post, entering from a side secluded wall.

On the camp's high wall, a searchlight's beam slowly swept, cutting the darkness. Li Ping'an crouched behind a broken roof ridge, breathing lightly, calculating the intervals between the light and the patrols' shift changes.

Now! He darted out like a ferret‑cat, a blur of darkness, silently clinging to the wall base. Another patrol's footsteps faded away; he inhaled, exhaled a bit of internal energy, using hands and feet like a gecko, scaling the wall and slipping into the shadow within.

Inside the camp it was stricter, yet there were always dark spots under the lights. Li Ping'an's perception reached its peak, his hearing and sight sharpened beyond human, catching every rustle. He moved like a formless wraith, drifting through the barracks.

The objectives were clear: the oil depot, the Arsenal, and… the officers' quarters.

Relying on his guess of the camp's layout and beast‑like intuition, he located the first target—the oil depot. A massive oil tank loomed in the shadows, the smell of gasoline thick. A sentinel stood distant.

Li Ping'an waited patiently, seizing the moment the sentinel turned; like wind he slipped, placing the carefully wrapped timed bomb—assembled from black‑market scraps, crude but functional—into the tank's most hidden corner at the bottom. Timer set: half an hour.

Next, the Arsenal. The guards were tighter, but he found a ventilation opening. He placed another device similarly.

Time pressed, and under the main building of the officers' quarters he also left a "gift".

Having finished everything, fine sweat seeped from his temples—not from fatigue but from the intense mental strain.

Retracing his steps, he once again slipped ghost‑like to the wall base, vaulted like lightning, landing silently.

He dared not linger, sprinting toward the pre‑planned escape route—West City, running hard.

Just halfway there, still two streets from the city wall—Boom!!! A earth‑shaking roar erupted from the direction of the camp! The ground trembled!

Immediately after, the second and third sounds were even more violent and explosive booms! Boom!!! Rumble!!!

Sky‑reaching flames instantly dyed the eastern night sky red, thick smoke billowing. From far away one could hear faint wails and the chaotic alarms and whistles.

Beiping City was jolted awake by this sudden explosion! Countless citizens shoved open windows in terror or ran into the streets, gazing at the sky ablaze red, their faces filled with shock and bewilderment.

Li Ping'an stopped, turned back.

Blazing flames flickered in his deep black pupils. His face showed no expression—no joy, no fear, only an icy calm.

"A modest gift, I hope… Laughing Nine Springs."

He muttered under his breath, his voice scattering in the wind, with no lingering attachment, he turned and sprinted away, his figure quickly vanishing into the labyrinthine dark alleys of West City.

The road ahead is unknown; Tianjin Port may be the next battlefield. But tonight, Beiping City will remember a name called Li Ping'an, in the manner of a city‑consuming blaze.