Chapter 65: Poison Snake Emerges

Fengtian Cheng has worn a gloomy face for several days, the gray clouds hanging low, refusing to let a clean snowfall fall. The dry, cold north wind blows endlessly, cutting the face and making the heart feel blocked.

The atmosphere on the streets is heavier than the weather. Japanese Soldiers and Black Dogs intensify their inspections, sealing roads and searching people at a moment's notice, grabbing anyone they dislike. In teahouses and taverns, whispered conversations are as faint as a mosquito's hum, and everyone's face bears a hint of panic. West Station Cargo Yard and the assembly yard are guarded like iron barrels; it's said a second post was added at night, and the spotlights glare blindingly.

Li Ping'an still leaves early every day, like a true idler, wandering the city aimlessly. Sometimes he squats by the street watching people play chess, sometimes he squeezes into a teahouse to listen to storytellers, and more often he hunches his neck, hands in his pockets, seemingly numb as he surveys the ice‑bound city in the cold wind.

But his eyes have never truly relaxed. He observes, he waits. He waits for the faint thought he imprinted on the military ranks to feed back a clearer signal, and he watches the city's every breeze and rustle. Miyamoto Musashi's old dog has a keen nose; Tianjin suffered such a huge loss that it will never be settled.

Sure enough, that afternoon, while he rested in a small teahouse near the South Market, he sensed something amiss.

The teahouse was sparsely populated, the stove burned weakly, and the room felt a bit deserted. In a corner sat two men in plain cotton robes, appearing to chat idly, but their gazes were not the usual lax tea‑house stare; they periodically, deliberately scanned the doorway and the other patrons. Their hands stayed tucked in their sleeves, and their posture exuded a subtle tension.

Li Ping'an let out a cold laugh in his mind, but his face remained impassive as he leisurely sipped the flavorless tea foam, listening to the storyteller weakly recite the *Sui‑Tang*.

The two glanced at him once or twice, probably seeing his shabby, frozen demeanor as unremarkable, and then looked away.

Li Ping'an sat for another cup of tea, then rubbed his hands, stamped his foot as if the cold were unbearable, got up to pay, and left the teahouse with his neck tucked.

He didn't head straight back to the inn; instead, he leisurely turned into a neighboring alley of a sundry‑goods stall. From the corner of his eye he saw the two from the teahouse spring up, and at a moderate distance they followed.

"Can't hold it any longer?" Li Ping'an muttered inwardly, quickening his pace as if eager to find a warm spot. He weaved through the alley's twists, deliberately slipping into the more crowded sections.

The two kept closer, clearly trained, their coordination smooth: one closed the distance slightly, the other covered the side and rear, blocking any possible escape route.

Li Ping'an curled the corner of his mouth. He made a sudden turn and slipped into a dead‑end so narrow only one person could pass.

The two behind clearly hadn't expected this move; they rushed in, only to find the alley's end blocked by a high wall, and their target standing with his back to them, seemingly with no way out, his shoulders trembling slightly as if frightened.

"Hey! Front man! Stop!" the pursuer ahead barked, pulling a hand from his sleeve—an unmistakable southern‑style Handgun! The man behind quickly closed in, sealing the Hu Tong Kou.

Li Ping'an slowly turned, his face showing no fear, only a chill, ice‑like calm. "Gentlemen, you've followed me all the way; aren't your soles hurting?"

Their expressions shifted; they hadn't expected him to have spotted them so calmly. The gun‑bearer barked, "Enough chatter! Come with us! We have questions for you!"

"Questions?" Li Ping'an raised an eyebrow. "Miyamoto Musashi sent you, didn't he? Your legs are quite diligent."

Hearing "Miyamoto Musashi", the two's pupils narrowed; without further words, the gun‑bearer growled low, "Take him down!" his finger poised on the trigger.

But Li Ping'an moved far faster! At the instant the opponent's finger twitched, his Carefree Step faltered, and his body slipped along the ground like a wraith, not retreating but lunging forward. Simultaneously, he raised his left hand and flung a handful of freshly fried soybeans—just taken from the sundry stall—straight at them.

The soybeans crackled against their faces and bodies; though not painful, they instantly blinded and disoriented them!

"Baka!" the gun‑bearer instinctively twisted his head to dodge, his trigger pull lagging a beat.

In that split‑second gap, Li Ping'an was already at his front! His right hand, like a Poison Snake emerging from a hole, snapped onto the gun‑bearer's wrist with a lightning‑fast twist.

Crack! A crisp bone‑breaking sound! "Ugh—!" the agent shrieked, the Handgun slipping from his grasp.

Li Ping'an seized the falling gun, slammed the grip hard backward, striking the face of another agent who lunged to grab his waist.

"Bang!" a muffled thud; the agent's nose collapsed, blood spurted, and he toppled backward without a sound.

Almost simultaneously, the Handgun Li Ping'an had taken was already reversed, its cold barrel pressed firmly against the first agent's brow. The whole sequence was a blur of speed, clean and decisive, over in the time it took to catch a breath.

The agent's wrist snapped, a searing pain shooting through him; with the gun pointed at his head, cold sweat poured, his face turned paper‑white, and he dared not move.

"Tell me, where is Miyamoto Musashi?" Li Ping'an's voice was low but carried a chilling edge, colder than Fengtian Cheng's north wind.

The agent clenched his teeth, his eyes flickering, still trying to resist.

Li Ping'an's finger twitched, the trigger pressed a hair, and the deadly click rang clearly. "My patience is short. Stay silent, you die. Speak, you might live."

Fear of death instantly clenched the agent's heart. He sensed the opponent's pure, icy murderous intent, not mere intimidation. "At… at Fengtian Lvguan… top floor… a booked room…" he stammered, his mental defenses shattered.

"How many came?" "I… I don't know… we only handle outer surveillance and tailing… report after locating the target…"

"How do you report?" "Go… go to the hotel front desk and say you're looking for Mr. Shanben…"

Li Ping'an obtained the information he wanted and stopped the chatter. He slammed the gun grip down again; the agent's eyes rolled, his body collapsed like soft mud, lifeless.

He turned his head toward the agent on the ground whose nose had been smashed; the fellow still had breath, vaguely trying to struggle. Li Ping'an's gaze hardened, he stepped forward and struck the temple; the agent's body shivered and fell silent.

All Japanese Soldiers must die, none left alive.

He quickly dragged the two into the innermost trash heap of the alley, sealed them there, and confiscated all their gear and documents. After a moment's thought, he also stored the southern‑style Handgun in his space. Though the gun is shabby, it might prove useful someday.

Having finished, he smoothed his clothes, tucked his neck again, hands in pockets, and leisurely slipped out of the dead‑end, blending into the street crowd like an ordinary citizen who had just finished at the market.

Fengtian Lvguan… that's the city's most upscale district, where Japanese Soldiers' chiefs and wealthy overseas Chinese congregate. Miyamoto Musashi certainly knows how to pick a nest.

Li Ping'an mulled it over. With the agents gone, they'll be discovered soon. Miyamoto Musashi, knowing his trail was exposed, will surely be more cautious, or… set a trap.

But that's fine.

A hidden Poison Snake is frightening, but forcing it into the open is better than constantly watching for cold arrows that could spring from nowhere.

"If you want to play, I'll gladly toy with you." He muttered low, a blood‑thirsty glint flashing in his eyes.

This cat‑and‑mouse game needs new rules. He looked up at Fengtian Cheng's gray, drab sky, then sauntered slowly toward Fengtian Lvguan.

The wind and snow are about to arrive.