Chapter 58: Ghostly Haul of the Warehouse

In the late night, Tanggu Port was pitch black—you couldn't see five fingers when you stretched out your hand.

The wind wailed as it swept over the empty pier, rattling the torn tarpaulins and bringing a choking smell of coal dust, rust, and seawater. A few searchlights swept weakly back and forth, their beams wobbling over piles of cargo boxes and the black iron arms of cranes, making the surroundings feel even more eerie.

Li Ping'an huddled among a pile of laborers waiting for work, pulling tight his torn cotton jacket, head drooping, shivering like the others from the cold, looking listless and half-asleep. He slipped in unnoticed into the coal-unloading crew of Dock No. 3, the foreman with a cigarette dangling from his lips, spitting as he barked out grimy work orders.

"Snap to it! Move quick! Whoever's dawdling gets no pay and a kick!" the foreman yelled at the top of his lungs.

The laborers hunched their shoulders, no one uttering a sound.

Li Ping'an kept his head down, smirking inside. Kick me? Hope you break your ankle.

Carrying coal sacks was dirty and exhausting, black coal dust puffing down, soon leaving only the whites of eyes and teeth visible. Li Ping'an blended into the crowd, honestly doing the work, using just enough strength—like a seasoned hand. But his eyes were sharp; every time he bent over or wiped sweat, his gaze swept the surroundings.

The layout of the pier, how the cargo was stacked, when the Japanese patrols came, where the searchlights swept, where the sentries crouched—all these details flooded his mind like a tide, quickly piecing together a live map.

During a break in unloading the barge, the foreman waved his hand for everyone to catch their breath. Li Ping'an leaned against a large wooden crate, squinting as if dozing, but his ears were prickling like antennas.

Nearby Dock No. 4 was brighter and more tightly guarded; Japanese soldiers in yellow uniforms bayonets fixed patrolled back and forth. Several large cargo ships sat steady, their decks covered with thick tarps hiding what they carried, but the scene clearly indicated dry goods.

"Hey! New guy! Don't just stand there like a corpse—get to work!" the foreman's hoarse voice shouted again.

Li Ping'an answered, rose, and kept hauling sacks, but in his mind he had a plan. Those few ships—he needed to go aboard and scout them.

After less than two hours, with the coal still not half unloaded, Li Ping'an spotted a gap—while the foreman tilted his head to light a cigarette, he slipped into the shadow of the cargo piles, feet slick—he was gone. No one noticed the missing silent laborer.

The sky was still thick with darkness, dawn far off. He moved like a shadow, silently circling to the rear of the cargo stacks outside Dock No. 4, where boxes were piled high—perfect cover.

A Japanese soldier, cigarette dangling, humming an off‑key tune, staggered toward him, apparently looking for a place to relieve himself.

Li Ping'an's eyes flashed, his heart twitched, and in a blink he vanished.

The Japanese soldier walked behind the cargo, undid his belt, still humming, completely unaware that a living person had just been there.

Inside the space, Li Ping'an drew a breath. This move truly was a life‑saving divine technique. He waited patiently, feeling the soldier finish and walk away, then slipped back out. All told, less than two minutes passed—no one the wiser.

He used the shadows of the cargo piles and cranes as cover, loach‑like dodging patrols and searchlights, inching toward the big freighters. When there was no way around, he simply ducked into his space for a breather—practically a cheat.

Soon he was beneath the hull of the largest ship, the Fusang Maru, where a gangway was rigged and two Japanese soldiers stood guard below.

Li Ping'an held his breath, moving to the dark shadow at the ship's stern. No gangway here, the hull was high and slick, with some shells hanging. He drew a breath, channeled inner strength to his limbs, and like a giant gecko, silently scaled the high rail, flipped over, and rolled into the shadow on the deck.

There were patrols on deck too, but sparser than on the pier. He crouched low, took a few quick steps to a hatch. It was locked. He tensed his fingers, gave a light twist, and the lock bolt snapped with a soft 'click'.

He pushed the door open; a rush of tung oil, medicinal herbs, and dust hit his nose. Inside lay stacks of wooden crates of all sizes. He pried open a small one, revealing neatly arranged ginseng roots, top quality—clearly aged mountain ginseng, its medicinal scent strong.

"Treasure from Changbai Mountain…" Li Ping'an's eyes turned cold. All of this had been looted.

He showed no restraint, pressing his hand to the crate; with a thought, an entire box of ginseng vanished into his Spiritual Spring Space. Then the second box—deer antler, lingzhi… the third—various hides…

He was like a mouse fallen into a rice bin—wherever he went, that spot turned empty; soon he had cleared out about half the cargo hold. These fine things left for the Japanese would be pure waste; better to keep them for himself—someday they'd surely be useful.

He slipped into the adjacent hold, which held even more wooden crates and cases. Pry one open—gold light flashed! Neatly stacked gold ingots! Other boxes held porcelain, bronze ware, ancient calligraphy and paintings—clearly loot gathered from everywhere.

Li Ping'an's breathing quickened. This was the ancestral hoard! He worked faster, a flash of gold—box after box of gold, bundles of paintings, pieces of porcelain pouring like water into his space. In a corner of the Spiritual Spring Space, a small mountain of gold and a pile of cultural relics were visibly building up.

After emptying two holds, he judged the time was late. He pulled out several oil‑paper‑wrapped time‑delayed bombs from his space—his own handiwork, not huge in power but numerous, and set to detonate on schedule.

He carefully planted the bombs in the hold's load‑bearing pillars and ventilation ducts—critical spots—setting the timers—for tonight, shortly after the ship set sail.

Having done that, he slipped out of the hold just as silently as he had entered, evaded patrols, slid down the ship's side, and melted into the pier's heavy darkness.

By now the horizon was just turning a faint gray, the pier still quiet. He resembled a laborer just off night shift, head drooping, steps shuffling, blending with the earliest crowd heading into the port—calmly walking out of the harbor that was about to explode.

As he passed through the gate, he glanced back at the Fusang Maru, still sitting peacefully, oblivious to the impending commotion.

Li Ping'an tugged his cap brim, turned, and plunged into the early‑morning crowd surging through Tianjin Wei, looking like an ordinary passerby.

Only he knew the Japanese had lost more than face this time. He felt a tightness in his chest—not for himself, but for the mountains and rivers' heritage that had been looted; now he had finally reclaimed a bit of it.

Next, he needed to plan his next move. He felt the hard plaque in his pocket, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold smile. In Tianjin Wei, having come this far, he had to give the Japanese something more substantial to think about.