Dawn faintly rose.

Yutai Teahouse brimmed with patrons.

Forty-Nine City lay in the north; even its customs carried a rough northern edge.

Compared to Shen City’s refined cuisine in the south, Forty-Nine City’s fare was far cruder—especially in common teahouses, with little variety.

Just tripe explosions, fermented bean drink—things eaten for over a century.

Yutai Teahouse was renowned in the western city, especially its purse-shaped fried pastries and stir-fried liver—an absolute delicacy.

Xiangzi slowly chewed the stir-fried liver.

The meaty aroma released from stewed pork intestines and liver mingled with soy sauce’s salty freshness, cooking wine’s slight spice, and the intense garlic scent sparked by hot broth, exploding in his mouth.

Frankly, he didn’t like the taste—pure curiosity.

No more curiosity after this!

He set down the large bowl, rubbing his neck.

Perhaps from months in short shirts, this proper silk robe felt somewhat stifling.

The long robe was bought yesterday afternoon in the eastern city—four silver dollars.

Constantine hair oil was applied this morning leaving White Rose Barbershop—haircut eight coppers, oil free.

He had the barber trim his steel-blue stubble and brows; even his sideburns looked neat and crisp.

Paired with his increasingly fair, taut face, Xiangzi now resembled a fashionable student from a central city academy.

No wonder Fatty Fan hadn’t recognized him last night at first.

After a night at Detai Inn, Xiangzi hailed a rickshaw to the western city this morning.

Today, he’d take the “Nanyuan Railway” to Feng Family Village.

Railway, it was called—really just a narrow-gauge line for passengers and cargo, two trips daily from West Convenience Gate to Nanyuan, about ten kilometers.

These days, chaos reigned outside the city—refugees or soldier-bandits. The train rattled but was safe enough.

It departed at noon; Xiangzi simply stopped at this famed western city teahouse.

But he hadn’t finished one bowl of stir-fried liver.

When he spotted two entering from afar.

His expression paused; his lips curved faintly.

Approaching was a bearded burly man, trailed by an unremarkable youth.

They say five hundred past-life glances earn one brush-past in this life.

By that logic, Xiangzi and this bearded man must have turned back fifteen hundred times last life.

What karma tied us in the previous life?

—

The bearded man looked ferocious; sitting, he slammed the table, ordering the proprietor to serve everything on the menu.

The old proprietor scurried out, smiling obsequiously—years in the trade taught him to watch all directions, listen everywhere.

This lord clearly wasn’t easy; caution was due.

Perhaps Xiangzi’s changed appearance; the bearded man paid him no mind, only urging haste with the food.

Instead, the unassuming youth’s gaze casually swept the big fellow.

His lips curved; those peach-blossom eyes hooked upward.

—

Xiangzi kept his eyelids still, pretending not to notice—with his current status, approaching them proactively would be unwise.

Jianghu paths are long; some meetings aren’t fate.

But then, Xiangzi’s expression froze.

Several capped patrol officers dragged in.

At the door, a pockmarked one slammed a table: “Resident permits out—lords checking identities!”

Seeing these “stinking foot patrols,” patrons scowled—these capped ones were fishing for bribes again.

Lately, Marshal Zhang cracked down; these stinking patrols roamed more.

Word was, ten days ago, another staff officer in the marshal’s mansion died mysteriously at home.

Rumored done by “King Chuang.”

Folks naturally cheered; some muttered why King Chuang, having taken Anping County, didn’t march on Forty-Nine City?

—

Several patrols blocked the front; an older capped one leisurely guarded the back.

A patron without permit routinely pulled coppers—unexpectedly, the stinking patrols refused, questioning earnestly instead.

Thought they were just extorting; this time for real?

Xiangzi smiled wryly—likely his eastern city ruckus last night tensed the police department.

But soon, he couldn’t smile.

The trailing officer appeared—a pot-bellied, gray-templed veteran.

Master Liu.

Xiangzi instinctively glanced at the corner table—the bearded man’s face flashed ferocity; hand delving into his robes.

Muttering in his robes—from the bulge, likely a small hammer.

Worthy of Big Hammer Brother—carries his hammer everywhere, not minding the eyes.

Sighing long, Xiangzi rose abruptly, slamming the table with a bang.

All eyes in the teahouse converged.

—

The pockmarked patrol paused, eyeing Xiangzi’s appearance; heart thudding, he checked the wanted portrait.

Big fellow, slicked hair, no gold-rimmed glasses.

And the look didn’t quite match.

Four Seas Gambling House proprietress said the killer was refined; this big fellow too plain.

The pockmarked patrol sneered: “Where’s this kid from, tired of living? Playing big shot before lords?”

He stepped forward to question but was blocked by a large hand.

“I know this one,” the old officer suddenly said.

“Master Liu’s friend should be fine,” the pockmarked patrol hesitated, hiding doubts but noting mentally.

Master Liu frowned, approached Xiangzi, patted his shoulder, gesturing to sit.

Xiangzi smiled, unshouldering his rattan case.

Master Liu gazed at this seemingly unfamiliar yet familiar face, sighing inwardly.

If not for knowing the big fellow’s build too well, he might not recognize this refined face.

Last encounter at the city gate, he thought this dim kid sought revenge.

Later, Li family sent many but found no trace; Master Liu relaxed—the kid must have fled.

Now, his heart hung again!

“You courting death, kid? Why haven’t you left Forty-Nine City?” Master Liu’s face calm, but inwardly gritting teeth.

“You were spotted at Harmony Rickshaw Yard recently; Li family knows you live, secretly hunting you and Master Tang these days.”

Xiangzi paused, unaware his month-plus in the martial hall had stirred the city.

“Smiling what, kid?” Master Liu looked exasperated. “If not for meeting me, big trouble again?”

Xiangzi smiled again: “Master Liu, the trouble you mean—Fatty Fan dying last night?”

“Hey, how’d you know?” Master Liu’s expression jolted; gray temples quivered.

His voice trembled: “Could it… could it…”

Xiangzi nodded smiling: “Just out, settled him casually.”

Master Liu’s heart shook; he grabbed Xiangzi’s hand: “Then run, kid! No travel funds? I have…”

Xiangzi smiled helplessly, pulling a resident permit from his robes—fresh ink, police department steel stamp.

Master Liu paused, taking it.

Seeing the bold red characters, his mind thundered.

The permit was real—personally ordered by Courtyard Master Liu days ago to the deputy commissioner, who handled it gladly.

The pockmarked patrol, watching covertly, leaned in—eyes jolting.

Li Xiang—Baolin Martial Hall disciple, ninth rank!

“Oh my, Master Liu, when did you befriend a ninth-rank martial artist… from Baolin Martial Hall…” The pockmarked patrol grinned, cupping hands: “Offended earlier… forgive the small-minded…”

Xiangzi smiled, pointing to the corner table: “Those two are my friends too—no need to check?”

“Where, where,” the pockmarked patrol laughed awkwardly. “How dare we touch Baolin Martial Hall—misunderstanding, misunderstanding.”

Xiangzi said nothing; peripheral vision caught the bearded man’s hand retreating, relaxing.

If these two lords acted publicly, Master Liu’s group wouldn’t survive the day.

“Master Liu, see you out?”

Xiangzi smiled, supporting Master Liu.

Xiangzi hunched slightly, humble.

Master Liu’s scalp tingled—heavens, a ninth-rank martial artist supporting me!

Remembering drinking with Ah Jie, this kid was a silent gourd, never speaking, just smilingly pouring for them.

Never thought… today a ninth-rank elite!

Thinking this, Master Liu sighed deeply.

The permit read Li Xiang—his brother’s Li.

Half a year ago, he didn’t understand why his old brother broke ancestral rules, passing the precious Five Tigers Gate-Breaking Spear to Xiangzi.

Now he did.

Perhaps western city winds were dusty; this slippery veteran famed throughout the police department suddenly reddened.

Long in the department, he knew more than most.

Especially southern city chaos after Fourth Master Liu’s death—he guessed the Li family framed Harmony Rickshaw Yard pullers, killed his brother.

The day Young Master Li appeared with Fatty Fan at Harmony, Master Liu raged sleepless.

Tossing, his wife thought him rarely amorous, coquettish—only to earn a scolding; he pulled pants and stood half-night in the courtyard cold.

Thinking this, Master Liu bowed his head.

His best brother died unclearly; how could he accept it?

But… just a foot patrol chief, not even a martial artist—what could he do?

Emotions surging, Master Liu’s dim eyes flickered.

Ah Jie, in this world besides me, someone still remembers you, avenging you.

Pity old Liu’s useless—don’t blame me, brother.

Tears finally slid down.