South City, a narrow alley.

Hurried footsteps shattered the moonlight on the ground.

“Dear, why’re you back so early tonight?”

The woman, hearing the door knocker, saw the tall figure enter, her eyes crinkling with a smile.

But as candlelight flickered over her man’s face, her words caught in her throat—a face smeared with blood.

Jin Fugui, grim-faced, stepped into the courtyard without a word, heading straight for the inner room.

Soon, the sound of rummaging echoed from within.

“Dear, change your clothes first. I’ll wash them…” The woman, watching his back, felt her heart tremble.

Jin Fugui emerged, clutching a short spear.

“Dear, isn’t that spear pawned?” she asked, puzzled.

Jin Fugui’s brow arched, his gaze sharp as a drawn blade. “This spear’s not pawned—it’s still got use!”

“Pack up quick and take Yue’er to your sister in East City!”

“Leave tonight!”

The woman froze, her lips trembling before she timidly asked, “Dear, did something go wrong?”

Jin Fugui looked at her face, his heart softening. He gripped her hand. “Small matter. Your man can handle it.”

Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she whispered, “Tomorrow morning, Dr. Li’s coming with medicine for Yue’er’s consumption.”

Jin Fugui glanced at the pitch-black sky outside, hesitating before nodding. “Fine, tomorrow morning then. Once the medicine arrives, take Yue’er and go—don’t dawdle!”

The woman nodded obediently. “I’ll listen to you, dear. I’ll pack tonight.”

There wasn’t much to pack—their home had been gutted by Yue’er’s illness.

Jin Fugui nodded, released her hand, and stepped lightly into the inner room.

His little girl slept soundly, her right hand under her head, a faint smile on her lips, perhaps dreaming something sweet.

Jin Fugui gazed at his daughter, his eyes softening, then fell on the booklet by her bedside.

Beside it lay a few maple leaf bookmarks, red as fire—picked two years ago when Yue’er was still strong, on a rare family outing to Fragrant Hill outside the city.

That day, she clutched the leaves, giggling the whole way.

Since then, she hadn’t left the house.

Jin Fugui carefully tucked the leaves back into the book, then crouched, brushing the corner of a green brick under the table.

With a slight tug, the brick loosened.

Inside was a small wooden box.

He handed it to his wife, saying gravely, “If you pawn what’s in here, it’ll keep our family for years. Don’t forget it tomorrow.”

The woman sensed something amiss and wanted to ask, but he strode out of the courtyard.

Outside, the rough scrape of a whetstone sounded.

The spearhead rasped against the stone, sparks flying.

The woman followed, asking, “Dear, you’re not coming with us tomorrow?”

Jin Fugui focused on sharpening, shaking his head. “Once tonight’s business is done, I’ll find you in West City.”

Her heart chilled. “Dear, where are you going in the dead of night?”

His hands paused, but he didn’t look up. “Men’s business—women don’t pry!”

Her heart clenched.

South City, Ma Liu Rickshaw Yard.

In the bright lamplight, Ma Liu’s face was drawn long.

Just past forty, with graying temples but ruddy skin, he looked youthful, his demeanor carrying the air of a seasoned leader.

At the Eight Immortals table sat a Buddha-like fat man—Fat Fan, who’d gotten word early and returned before nightfall.

His plump face lacked its usual ease, his gaze on his boss uneasy.

Today’s ore route scheme was all Fat Fan’s doing.

From roping in refugees to dealing with bandits, he’d planned for over a month.

Not to mention the spies planted in Harmony Rickshaw Yard.

He’d even used his boss’s connections to stall the police bureau.

A meticulous plan, meant to use refugees and bandits to make Harmony Rickshaw Yard fumble—dozens of carts of five-colored ore lost would’ve cost Master Liu his head.

Once done, Ma Liu’s yard, with police bureau ties, could smoothly take the ore route through the embassy district.

But that puller named Xiangzi ruined it all.

Hearing the name earlier, Fat Fan gnashed his teeth—that third-class puller from Bihai Studio?

Who’d have thought, in months, he’d become a cart leader and pull off such a feat!

Maybe Skinny Monkey’s death was tied to him too.

If only I’d sent more men to kill him that day!

But the world had no “if onlys.”

Ma Liu’s gold-ringed hand tapped the table, his brow arching as he drawled, “Fatty, today’s job’s a bust!”

Fat Fan’s bulk quivered, forcing calm. “Sixth Master, today was odd!”

“With Liu Tang off the route, who’d expect this Xiangzi to pop up?”

“But don’t worry, we never showed our faces—no one can pin it on us.”

Ma Liu’s face was unreadable, slowly turning his gold ring, humming softly. “Fatty, so our silver dollars are water down the drain?”

Fat Fan tensed, hurrying to say, “Sixth Master, not so! Today we probed Harmony Rickshaw Yard’s true strength.”

Ma Liu’s brow arched, sneering. “Thousands of silver dollars for that?”

Fat Fan’s heart chilled, but his eyes darted, his fat face breaking into a smile. “Sixth Master, don’t rush. Didn’t we say if this failed, we’d play the hard card?”

Ma Liu’s fingers froze mid-air, his brow furrowing.

The hard card?

Years of fighting Harmony Rickshaw Yard had dulled his edge—he was at an age to enjoy life.

His plan was to outlast that old lean tiger, Master Liu.

But half a year ago, things changed.

Marrying his daughter to the police bureau’s deputy chief as a concubine gave him a backer.

Running errands for his son-in-law, he’d met big shots in Forty-Nine City, even visiting the embassy district’s foreign mansions.

His appetite grew.

His son-in-law, just three years older, was in his prime.

If played right, he could climb higher.

But that needed silver.

In six months, he’d spent a fortune on connections. Without an ore route, how to cover the losses?

So he’d greenlit Fat Fan’s plan.

It failed.

As for Fat Fan’s “hard card,” Ma Liu had considered it.

With his current power, Harmony Rickshaw Yard was no threat.

Playing dirty was no big deal—a few lives, nothing more.

His only concern: how deep were Master Liu’s ties in the embassy district?

Those high-and-mighty clans could crush him with a finger.

Ma Liu’s face hardened. “Fatty, this is no small matter. What’s Master Liu’s real pull in the embassy district?”

Fat Fan chuckled. “Sixth Master, relax. I checked—he’s only tied to a steward who’s lost favor. No one’s backing him now.”

Ma Liu’s eyes half-closed, mulling it over before lowering his hand. “Fine… do it.”

Fat Fan’s face lit up. “Sixth Master, don’t worry—it’ll be seamless. This time, we’ll make that old tiger a dead one!”

Ma Liu glanced at him, lowering his voice. “Do it clean. No leaks.”

“After all, it involves so many lives.”

Fat Fan nodded eagerly.