Chapter 69

The truck jolted over the rutted, uneven dirt road, swaying like a drunkard. Inside the coarse‑cloth canopy, light was dim, air stale, packed with twenty‑odd sallow‑skinned, gaunt men and women. No one spoke; only the engine's roar and the screech of metal rubbing against metal, plus suppressed coughs and sighs.

Li Ping'an huddled in a corner, back against the cold iron‑skin of the truck cab, eyes closed as if asleep. Yet every sense of his was taut. He could smell the cheap dry tobacco mixed with sweat on the old man beside him, hear the faint whimper of a baby in the woman's arms across from him, and feel the vibrations as the wheels rolled over different road surfaces.

More importantly, he could clearly sense that thread of intent striking the Death Train, unwaveringly pointing north and growing clearer. The train seemed to have stopped, lingering in a place for a considerable time, as if conducting a transfer or unloading.

Can't delay any longer. Every extra minute puts those compatriots at greater risk.

He must quickly get off this so‑called truck. That place, even a toe could tell, is a dragon's pool and tiger's den—once inside, getting out is difficult.

He quietly extended a thread of perception out of the truck cabin. There was a three‑wheel motorcycle escort front and rear, each with Japanese Soldiers shouldering a gun. The road wasn't remote; occasional villages and farmland could be seen, but pedestrians were scarce.

Opportunities are few; we must create them.

He noticed a badly rusted spot on the truck's floorboard. Moving silently, he used his body as cover and pressed his finger lightly on that rust. He exhaled a trickle of internal energy; an extremely faint tremor traveled through his fingertip to the metal, hastening the fatigue of the already fragile metal.

The truck jolted violently again with a clang.

Now! Li Ping'an jerked his finger to hook and pull!

Screech—a not‑too‑loud but piercing metal‑tearing sound! A palm‑sized piece of rusted steel was torn away by him, leaving a hole! Cold wind whooshed in!

What's happening? What's that noise? The dead silence in the cabin was shattered, and people panicked and stirred.

Damn it! Be quiet! The Japanese Soldiers escorting the truck heard the noise, cursed and banged on the partition between the driver's cabin and the rear cargo area. The truck slowed.

That's exactly what Li Ping'an wanted! At the moment the speed dropped and everyone's attention was drawn to the hole, he willed it—his whole body slipped out like a phantom, silently through the breach. As he landed, he twisted his waist and abdomen, rolled to dissipate momentum, and lightning‑fast tumbled into the half‑human‑high withered grasses beside the road, deep in autumn.

The whole move was as fast as lightning; with the grass concealing him and the truck's noise masking his exit, not a single Japanese Soldiers on the front or rear motorcycles noticed!

The truck only paused briefly; the Japanese Soldiers inside peered out at the hole, cursed a few times, seemed to think it was just the old vehicle breaking naturally, then shouted for the occupants to stay quiet and urged the driver to move on. The rattling truck regained speed, carrying its bewildered, fearful passengers toward an unknown fate.

Li Ping'an lay in the icy, withered grass until the truck's roar vanished completely down the road, then slowly lifted his head. The cold wind swept over the wilderness, making a wooing sound.

He rose, brushed grass and dirt from his body, and turned his gaze northward. The thread of intent pointed even more clearly.

Here there's no village ahead, no shop behind; he must hurry to the next town to obtain transport or find a railway line.

He identified the direction, then strode swiftly along the wilderness parallel to the road. Using the Carefree Step, he moved over the uneven terrain as if on level ground, his speed far surpassing that of an ordinary person.

After walking for about an hour and a half, low‑lying rooftops appeared in the distance, like a small town. But the closer he got, the more Li Ping'an's heart sank.

At the town's entrance, a barbed‑wire checkpoint was set up, where a few Pseudo Army and Japanese Soldiers inspected sporadic passers‑by. Inside the town lay a deathly stillness, hardly any sign of life, and the walls bore garish Greater East Asia Co‑Prosperity slogans.

It seemed obtaining a normal cart, horse, or boarding a train here would be as hard as climbing to heaven.

He went around to the town's flank, found a slightly elevated slope to observe, and discovered a railway line passing through the outskirts; there appeared to be a small transfer station with a few carriages parked, guarded by Japanese Soldiers.

Perhaps… he could hop a train?

But that thought was quickly dismissed by himself. In daylight the target would be too conspicuous, and he didn't know which direction those carriages were headed—if they went the wrong way, it would be trouble.

He needed more precise information.

He waited in the small grove outside the town until the sky was utterly dark. The wind was bitter, stars and moon hidden—perfect for moving under cover of night.

He slipped down the slope like a night‑bat, silent and unseen, approaching the small transfer station. Inside, a few dim lamps glowed; a Japanese Soldiers sentinel dozed in the guardhouse, while another paced back and forth nearby to keep warm.

Li Ping'an's target was not the carriages parked here, but the office in the station building that likely held railway diagrams and dispatch information.

He went around to the rear of the station building, found a vent window. The window was shut but its latch was old. He gathered internal energy in his fingertip and flicked it lightly, sending an extremely faint force through the air to vibrate the latch.

Click. A barely audible soft sound.

Carefully pushing open the vent, he slipped in as if weightless, landing without a sound.

Inside was a storage room filled with miscellaneous items; next door, a light was on and the voices of two men speaking Japanese could be heard. Li Ping'an held his breath, pressed his ear to the door, and listened closely.

... the 763rd military train… departing at six tomorrow morning… bound for Harbin… formation completed… the Special Train of the Fangyi Jishui Bu… must be given top priority… no mistakes allowed… rest assured… it's already been inspected… those few special carriages have been reinforced… uh… the Northern Field Unit is pressing hard…

Fangyi Jishui Bu! Northern Field Unit! Li Ping'an's heart clenched! These names matched the disguised designation of that demonic unit from his vague past‑life memories!

Six tomorrow morning! Bound for Harbin!

Information in hand! He dared not linger, preparing to retreat the way he came, when suddenly he heard footsteps approaching the door from next door!

Not good! He's about to be discovered!

In an instant, his reaction was not to retreat but to fling the storage room door open and launch himself out like a leopard!

Next door happened to be a middle‑aged man wearing a Japanese Soldiers railway uniform who opened the door and stepped out, completely unprepared, and Li Ping'an's precise knife‑hand strike to the side of his neck made his eyes roll back as he collapsed limp.

Inside, the younger staff member, hearing the commotion, had just lifted his head when Li Ping'an, swift as wind, was already before him, giving no chance to shout, and struck him with the same clean, decisive knife‑hand blow, knocking him out.

He quickly dragged the two into the storage room and lightly covered them with miscellaneous items. His eyes swept over the documents on the table, quickly scanning to confirm the morning's military train information and even spotting a simple route map.

He couldn't delay any longer. Swiftly he stripped the slightly oversized railway uniform from the younger staffer, threw it on over himself, then grabbed a work cap from the table, placed it on his head, and pulled the brim low.

Then he slipped back out through the vent, gently closed it, and hurried away from the transfer station.

Returning to the grove, he changed back into his own clothes and stashed the acquired uniform into his space. He already had a complete plan in mind.

Tomorrow morning at six, he'll hop aboard the Special Train of the Fangyi Jishui Bu bound for Harbin!

This will be a death‑bound journey straight to hell.

But he has no other choice.

He sat down against a withered tree, closed his eyes, and forced himself to rest. The nurturing spiritual energy within the Spiritual Spring Space circulated gently, dispelling his bodily fatigue.

The cold night was long, but the fire in his heart burned ever brighter.

Harbin, the demon's lair.

I'm here.