Chapter 67: Killing with a Borrowed Knife

The sky over Fengtian Cheng was as gloomy as a funeral gate deity, thunder cracking without rain. A cold wind swirled with snowflakes, lashing the face like a tiny knife.

Li Ping'an huddled in the ice‑cellar‑like guest room of the Yue Lai Inn, gesturing at the Fengtian Cheng District Map spread on the kang table. The map had been bartered from a second‑hand book stall, its edges frayed, with some cryptic Japanese annotations.

Storming the Fengtian Lvguan to look for Miyamoto Musashi? That's like doing somersaults in a cesspit—searching for shit (death). The Japanese soldiers are surrounded by a pack of jackals; even if you got there yourself you'd be too thin to slip between their teeth.

Yet the frustration lodged in his heart, choking him. It felt like a fishbone stuck in his throat—until he pulls it out, even a meal loses its flavor.

His finger halted on the map, landing on a crookedly penciled circle—by the Fengtian Yi beside the Tielu Jiwu Duan. That spot was a crucial hub for the Japanese Army's train maintenance and dispatch, guarded as tightly as an iron barrel.

An idea flashed in his mind like a bolt of lightning.

Borrow a knife to kill.

Whose knife? Of course, the Japanese's own.

Isn't Miyamoto Musashi capable? Isn't he here on a mission to capture the "Evil Ghost" and stabilize the situation? If the situation not only stays unstable but devolves into a mess, even producing a big mess… where will his old face end up? Can the Kwantung Army's higher‑ups still give him any good fruit to eat?

A cold smile slowly curled at the corner of Li Ping'an's mouth.

Right, do it just like that. Don't touch Miyamoto Musashi himself; target what he must protect! Force him to scramble, force him to show a flaw!

The target: the military trains parked in the operations section for maintenance, especially those carrying vital supplies or the kind of "special" cars like last time.

He needs a fire—a blaze that can redden half the sky, make the Japanese howl in pain, and keep Miyamoto Musashi from sitting still!

No hesitation. He folded the map and mulled it over again. He'd already scouted the area around the Jiwu Duan, so he knew the terrain roughly: high walls, the Electric Grid, Patrol Squads, searchlights… the difficulty wasn't any less than XiZhanHuChang.

The upside: the place is spacious, vehicles clustered, and… everywhere there are flammable, explosive things, such as the Locomotive Boiler Room, Oil Tank Cars, and possibly even ammunition cars.

Find the right spot, spark a single ember, and a towering inferno can be lit.

He must wait for the chance, and also find a foolproof way to slip in and set the fire.

For the next two days, Li Ping'an prowled around the outside of the Jiwu Duan like a true spirit. He wore a filthy, color‑lost ragged cotton coat, sometimes hefting a worn, bald‑skin flat rod to pose as a laborer, other times like a soulless wild ghost, curled up against the leeward wall for a nap.

He noted the Patrol Squad's shift‑change gaps, learned the searchlights' rotation patterns, and even by watching coal‑car movements and workers' handovers, roughly guessed where the Boiler Room and the oil depot were.

On the third night, the wind grew stronger, its howling perfectly masking any small sounds. It was a moonless, windy night—ideal for arson.

Around the hour of the Rat, Li Ping'an moved. He was still clad in a deep‑gray Night Cloak, his face smeared with ash, slipping through the dead‑quiet streets like a silent night owl, edging toward the outer perimeter of the Jiwu Duan.

He chose a slightly sagging section of wall next to a junkyard, where the Patrol Squad's arrival took a bit longer. Timing the moment the searchlight swung away, he inhaled, let his inner force sink, tapped his toes lightly on the wall, and his body floated over the high wall like a swallow, landing behind a pile of rotten sleepers in the courtyard.

The smell of coal smoke and engine oil hit his nose. In the distance, a massive locomotive head loomed like a black beast on the rails, intermittently puffing white steam. Farther away, a line of smoldering tank car shadows could just be made out.

He crouched, using the car shadows and the haphazard piles as cover, and crept toward the locations of the Boiler Room and the Oil Tank Cars he had noted.

The process went smoother than expected. Perhaps the guards had relaxed after days of tension. He successfully evaded two patrol squads and slipped into that area.

The big Boiler Room rumbled, its heat scorching faces. Not far away, several black Oil Tank Cars were indeed parked! What made his heart leap was that beside the tank cars stood a freshly assembled military train without a locomotive, its few cars shrouded in canvas, and its shape and feel… resembled the Death Special Train from before.

This is the spot!

His heart pounded, not from fear but from excitement. He pulled from his pack a pre‑made fire starter—a bundle of oil‑soaked cotton mixed with coal dust, wrapped in oil‑paper, with a timed incense stick tucked inside.

He slipped like a ghost beneath the Oil Tank Cars, affixing several fire packs near the valves and pipe joints. Then he crawled under the train cars, especially those special ones, planting several more. The delay was set after half a incense stick.

After finishing, he dared not linger a second, immediately slipping back the way he came. As he cleared the wall's edge, he glanced back at the dead‑silent Jiwu Duan.

Burn! The hotter, the better!

He vanished swiftly into the night, bypassing the inn and heading straight for the Fengtian Lvguan. He needed to see with his own eyes how big a storm the fire could stir, whether it could force Lao Dushé out of its hole!

He had just stepped across a narrow black alley near the Fengtian Lvguan when a sudden muffled bang roared from the direction of the Jiwu Duan! Boom!

Immediately followed by a second, then a third! Each louder than the last! Boom—boom—boom!!!

The soaring flames surged upward, reddening half the sky in an instant! From far away the roiling fireball and black smoke were visible. The alarm shrieked, tearing the night sky, and the whole of Fengtian Cheng seemed to wake in terror!

"The water's out! The Jiwu Duan's blown up!" someone on the street shouted hysterically.

Inside the Fengtian Lvguan, chaos erupted instantly, lights flickering, shadows darting.

Li Ping'an stared fixedly at the window on the inn's top floor.

Sure enough, moments later, a few silhouettes emerged from the window. Though their faces were hidden, one figure stood as straight as a ruler, exuding a chilling aura that could be felt from afar—who else but Miyamoto Musashi?

He faced the blast site, shouting angrily at those around him. Even without seeing his expression, Li Ping'an could picture his irate, startled demeanor.

Exhilarating!

Li Ping'an let out a low chuckle. "Japanese soldiers, how does this appetizer taste?"

He saw Miyamoto Musashi fling his hand, whisking the few men away from the window in a hurry, clearly rushing to the scene or to command a capture.

The objective was achieved.

Li Ping'an lingered no longer, suppressing his exhilaration, turned and plunged into the chaotic street. He knew that Fengtian Cheng would soon face even crazier searches and martial law.

He didn't care.

The waters were already muddied. The next step was to, in that murky water, pinpoint the real big fish.

He looked up toward the north.

That Death Train, where on earth did you… run off to?