Chapter 57: Misty Tianjin Gate

The Tianjin Guard area is a completely different beast from the steady, rock‑solid vibe of Beiping.

The salty, briny sea breeze mingles with the dockworkers' sweat, then mixes with the tram's clang, the hawkers' shouts, and the sudden wail of a ship's whistle, battering you from all sides, so lively it makes your head throb. The streets wind and turn, foreign‑style mansions and crumbling tiled houses jammed together, enough to make anyone feel dizzy.

Li Ping'an stood at the street corner, pressing down on his old felt hat, his gaze scanning the crowd back and forth. New here, eyes still dark, he first needed to find a hideout, then prick up his ears.

He didn't wander into those flashy districts, instead looking for a cheap inn bustling with travelers from north and south. At last he spotted a "Yue Lai Inn" on the edge of the old city ward; its doorway was so worn it crumbled, but the clerk was quite lively.

"Sir, need a room? Come inside! Single rooms and dormitory beds, all reasonably priced!" The clerk, with an oily towel draped over his shoulder, grinned as he greeted.

"Just a single room, clean and simple will do," Li Ping'an said in a natural Henan dialect, the tone he'd brought from home.

"Alright! Follow me!" The clerk led him through the noisy main hall, the wooden stairs creaking loudly underfoot.

The room was small—just a bed, a table, a stool, and a window facing the dark wall of a back alley, exactly to his liking. He dropped his small bundle, turned and went downstairs, intending to grab a bite in the main hall and, while at it, listen to the chatter at the wall.

The main hall roared with voices, several Eight Immortals Tables packed to the brim. There were merchants handling orders, laborers lugging big bundles, and a few idle men who seemed to shirk work, spitting and rambling wildly.

Li Ping'an grabbed a corner table and sat down, ordering a bowl of braised noodles and a plate of pickled radish, eating leisurely while his ears, like blades, cut through the surrounding idle chatter.

"Heard the news? Beiping City is in an uproar!" "What could happen? Can it even top our dock's daily package drops?" "Hah! The Japanese Soldiers' barracks got hit! The explosion turned half the sky red!" "Good fellow! Is it true? Who's that bold?" "Who knows… they said it was the Iron Blood Hoe‑Traitor Group?" "Forget it! Just a bunch of talkers? I think they're enough to sting…"

Li Ping'an kept his head down, slurping the noodles without raising his eyes. The gang had indeed burst out to claim credit, which was fine—it could help him share some of the firepower.

At another table, a few laborers were complaining. "Damn, the Little Devils are watching the port even tighter, we can't get any work." "Right? They inspect us to death; even bringing a lunchbox in requires three checks." "Seems they're scared another Beiping incident will happen…" "Sigh, when will these hard‑working days finally end…"

Port martial law? Li Ping'an noted it down in his mind. Trouble is trouble, but there are still cracks to slip through.

After finishing the noodles, he didn't rush back to his room; instead he wandered out of the inn, drifted around nearby tea houses and tobacco stalls, bought a pack of cigarettes, grabbed an old newspaper, and struck up random conversations. The topics inevitably drifted toward the dock, cargo ships, and Japanese Soldiers.

An afternoon later, a jumble of tidbits piled up in his mind: Tanggu Port had more Japanese Soldiers, three more checkpoints; recently several large cargo liners were set to depart, all carrying "critical cargo"; at night the dock area was under curfew, and guard dogs prowled…

As dusk fell, he slipped into an even smaller eatery, "Wang Ji Stewed Meat House." The place had only four or five tables; the owner‑clerk was a crippled old man, a quiet fellow, but his stewed meat was unparalleled—tender meat in a rich broth, fragrant enough to make you lose your footing.

Li Ping'an ate the meat with flatbread and noticed that Lao Wangtou, though sparing with words, occasionally cast a glance toward the Japanese patrol soldiers outside, his eyes carrying an unshakable chill.

When settling the bill, Li Ping'an slipped a few extra notes. "Boss, the stew is really great. I just arrived here, looking for odd jobs; I heard the dock pays well, but I'm not sure how easy it is to get in."

Lao Wangtou's hand paused as he took the money, lifted his eyelid to glance at him, his throat hoarse: "Young man, wherever you come from, go back there. That place devours people without spitting out bones; you earn life‑risking money, and whether you have life or not, you spend it."

Li Ping'an gave a wry smile: "The family is waiting for rice to go into the pot; I have to give it a try."

Lao Wangtou silently wiped the table, and after a while muttered low: "Dock No. 3, late night, coal‑transport barges. Hiring temporary workers. Keep your eyes sharp, hands and feet nimble, maybe you can slip in. Nothing else… don't ask too many questions, don't stare."

Li Ping'an felt a stir inside, nodded: "Thanks, boss."

He returned to the small room at Yue Lai Inn, shut the door, leaving the outside clamor behind. He leaned against the window, watching the night grow darker and the occasional lights flicker on.

The Tianjin Guard's waters truly run bottomless. On the surface the Japanese Soldiers tighten their checks, but beneath the surface countless forces are at play. Lao Wangtou's attitude was rather intriguing.

Storming the port head‑on would be suicide. Perhaps, as Lao Wangtou hinted, start with the lowest labor jobs, blend in, learn the dock's layout, how the cargo is stored, and when the Japanese patrol.

He needed a detailed map of the port area, and also had to pinpoint where those "critical cargo" ships were docked and when they would set sail.

He mulled it over, his fingers unconsciously tapping the windowsill. There was enough explosive pipe in the area, but how to get it in, where to place it—it's a technical job. Ideally he could get aboard a ship and blow it up in deep water; that would be satisfying.

Outside, a distant ship's whistle droned, low and muffled, like some huge beast humming.

In this unfamiliar land, Li Ping'an felt like a stone tossed into the sea, wanting to stir up waves but first needing to gauge the water's depth.

He inhaled a breath of cool, briny air, his gaze steadied.

Alright, then start with lugging big bundles.