Chapter 56: Explosion Aftermath

In the east side of Beiping City, the fire burned for an entire night. At daybreak the black smoke still clung to the sky, refusing to disperse, like an ugly scar. The air carried a burnt smell, and on closer sniff a hint of fishy odor, stinging enough to make one's heart hair stand.

Inside the Japanese Army camp it was even worse to look at. Broken bricks and shattered tiles were still smoking, the truck burned down to just its iron frame, tipped to one side. The ground was a black mess, impossible to tell whether it was ash or something else. Suddenly a hummm rose from beneath the ruins, making one's hair stand on end.

In the temporary Command Post, Gangcun Ningci's adjutant Ban Tian Yilang's face was as white as paper, the telegram in his hand trembling with a clatter. Cold beads of sweat on his forehead fell with a pat‑pat, splattering onto the map and blurring it into a smear.

"It's over… completely over…" his lips trembled, his eyes went blank, he could only repeat those few words. The oil depot, the Arsenal, even the officers' quarters were half blown away… this hole, even if he were to tear himself apart and sell the pieces, it still wouldn't be filled. Thinking of the old Gangcun still lingering in the hospital while he had turned Beiping into this mess, stars burst before his eyes.

"Samurai… the samurai's honor…" he whispered, his hand shaking as he reached for the hilt. A few nearby staff officers were terrified, lunged forward and held him tightly.

"Lord Ban! That won't do!" "You must keep the overall situation steady!"

Ban Tian Yilang thrashed a few times, then collapsed, his military sword clanging onto the ground. Dying was not an option, what about his elderly parents and children? Yet staying alive… would the superiors spare him? The Golden Case was still unresolved, and now a massive blast had hit the camp… he felt his own head was already wobbling on a thin thread.

In the corner, Miyamoto Musashi had been sitting with his eyes closed, now slowly opening them. He pinched a deformed piece of metal from the blast between his fingertips, his gaze as sharp as a blade. "The technique is both precise and ruthless…" his voice low, "it's that 'Evil Ghost'. He came, then left."

In Beiping City, a hidden post of the Guo Party Secret Bureau.

Inside, smoke and flames billowed. Fat Director clutched the telegram, his small eyes narrowed to slits, the corner of his mouth pulling back toward the back of his head.

"Brilliant! Truly damn brilliant!" he slapped his thigh in delight, "The Japanese nest got blown up? Hahaha! This sky‑splitting credit is practically free!"

His subordinate beside him wasn't so optimistic, a worried expression on his face: "Chief, this matter has gotten too big. The Japanese will surely be furious; if they can't find anyone, they'll put the blame on us…"

"Afraid of what?" the Director glared, exhaling a ring of smoke, "Where would they look? We didn't leave any business cards. Quickly, send a report! Say it was done by our 'Iron Blood Hoe‑Traitor Group'! The more arrogant the tone, the better! Let those Chongqing bigwigs open their eyes too!"

He grew more animated, rubbing his hands in glee: "Revenge? Hmph, Beiping City is so big, they can't possibly fish for a needle in the sea? Tell the brothers to stay low for a while, move elsewhere, don't expose themselves. Ride the hype, just skim it, but don't actually tempt bad luck. That's called… riding the heat without getting beaten!"

The subordinate could only nod: "Your wisdom… I'll take care of it right away."

At this moment, in a rat‑hole‑like basement somewhere in Beiping.

The oil lamp, a bean‑sized flame, barely lit a few faces. This was a cell of the Red Party Underground Party.

"Lao Chen, it's confirmed, the Japanese camp was heavily bombed, the loss is huge." The middle‑aged man in a worn felt hat lowered his voice, his face still bearing an incredulous expression.

Lao Chen tapped the table, pondering: "It wasn't done by our people. No other brotherly organization has been heard of pulling off something this big. Strange… which kind of hero is this? The guts are too fat, the methods too high!"

"Could it be… a friend from the jianghu?" the young comrade guessed.

"Not likely." Lao Chen shook his head, "The jianghu tricks are usually setting traps, beating with clubs; this kind of outright table‑flipping… seems like… never mind, whoever it is, the Japanese are really angry this time. Notify all lines to stay completely silent for now; unless there's a major issue, don't move. The Japanese are about to go berserk; city‑wide manhunts will come immediately, so hide tightly."

A few people answered in low voices, their figures slipping silently into the darkness, each dispersing.

In Beiping Streets and Alleys, tea houses and taverns, the common folk were whispering to each other.

"Did you hear? The Japanese nest was blown to pieces! It burned so… exhilarating!" the porter set down his load, wiping sweat, his face beaming.

The old man selling vegetables beside him frowned: "What's so good about it? They've poked a wasp's nest! The little Japanese are easy to provoke? Next they'll be rounding people up everywhere, any chance of a peaceful day? Can we have two days of quiet? They have to smash an egg against a stone…"

The porter, displeased, shouted: "Hey! Lao Wangtou, I don't like your words! The Japanese riding on our necks and defecating, thinking they're safe? Someone has to punish them! I think it was done beautifully! So exhilarating!"

"Exactly! Blow these bastards to pieces!" a few passersby gathered, cheering.

Lao Wangtou stretched his neck: "Pretty enough to eat? Wait until the Japanese bayonet our throats, see if you still talk tough!"

The two groups argued until their faces reddened and necks swelled, almost coming to blows before someone intervened. A mix of vented anger and fear spread through the city.

South Luo Drum Lane No. 95 Courtyard.

After yesterday's two‑Japanese ruckus, the courtyard was dead‑silent. No one spoke loudly, the children hid inside the house.

Yan Bu Gui sat on the doorstep, uneasy, eyeing the broken door of the East Wing Room. Yi Zhonghai came over carrying a tea jar, sighing: "Old Yan, you think… the commotion in East City last night couldn't really have been… that kid Li Ping'an?"

Yan Bu Gui startled, almost dropping, steadied his glasses and lowered his voice: "Old Yi, you can't speak recklessly! It could cost you your head!"

"I'm just pondering, okay?" Yi Zhonghai leaned closer, "We just came to capture him yesterday, and the Japanese nest blew up that night—what a coincidence? That kid… usually keeps to himself, but his gaze never seemed like a cart‑puller's…"

San Dama stuck her head out, fear in her voice: "Oh dear! If it really is him, he's ruined the whole courtyard! It'd be good if that Plague God left, just don't come back!"

Jia Zhangshi pursed her lips: "I think it's almost certainly him! Broom Star! He caused trouble himself, nearly dragged us down! Bah!"

The crowd chattered, guessing and fearing, no one caring about Li Ping'an's life or death. Jia Zhangshi's men worked a bit slower, staring at the empty East Wing Room, eyes shifting; Li Ping'an had left, but there were still some usable items in the house, they'd go retrieve them tonight.

At this moment, the "Plague God" Li Ping'an, the subject of everyone's gossip, was fleeing along the dirt road heading to Tianjin.

Saying he was "running for his life" might be inaccurate. No hint of panic showed on his face; he seemed to be strolling. After daylight fully rose, he found a secluded river bend and slipped into the Spiritual Spring Space.

Inside the space it was as warm as spring, spiritual energy drifting in threads. He comfortably took a bath, washing away the dusty fatigue, changed into clean blue‑cloth garments. He also rummaged from the storage a jar of braised beef, white steamed buns, and a small pot of warm yellow wine, enjoying a satisfying meal.

"Tsk, the food the Japanese seized is indeed tasty." He gnawed the bun with the meat, took a sip of the wine, feeling completely at ease. The food in the space piled up like a mountain, enough for him to last several years.

Having eaten and drunk his fill, he lay on the soft grass, chewing on a grass stalk, gazing at the unseen sky above the space, pondering his next move.

Tianjin Guard, Jiuhes Downstream, Waterland Dock—utter chaos. The Japanese took many of the good things we had, and a lot of them have to be loaded onto ships there to be shipped back to their little island.

"Gangcun's old Japanese isn't dead yet, Miyamoto Musashi isn't knocked down either…" he squinted, a flash of ruthlessness crossing his eyes, "This debt will be settled slowly."

He's heading to Tianjin, not to hide in peace. He intends to sting another wasp's nest, and meanwhile, any good stuff the Japanese are transporting, he'll intercept if he can; if not, he'll dump it into the river to feed the turtles!

"Just consider it… collecting interest." he muttered, a cold, sharp smile curling at his mouth.

After resting enough, he slipped out of the space and kept moving. His steps were light, not like a fugitive on the run, more like heading to a market. His silhouette grew farther along Yellow Earth Road, carrying an indescribable, unexplainable sense of freedom.