activa-t Chapter 69 Whoever wins, who will you help?
Chapter 69 Whoever wins, who will you help?
Zhou Xing returned to Yuelai Inn late at night. The innkeeper was dozing off at the counter when he heard the noise and groggily looked up.
"Master Zhou, what's wrong...?"
"I was practicing martial arts, so I came back late."
Zhou Xing tossed over a few copper coins, "Bring a basin of hot water to the room."
"Okay."
He went inside and closed the door. Zhou Xing leaned the large gun against the corner of the wall and gathered the wet cloth bag and other odds and ends into one place to hide them.
When the hot water came, he slowly washed himself, especially cleaning the mud from between his fingers and under his fingernails.
After he finished, he lay down on the bed fully clothed.
With his eyes closed, the Fishing Toad Force circulated on its own, circulating his qi and blood, dispelling the coldness of the water, and repairing the slight depletion from the fierce underwater battle.
His breathing gradually evened out, he was in a state between sleep and wakefulness, and the pores on his body slowly opened and closed. He strained his ears to listen to the subtle sounds coming from inside and outside the inn.
I slept very soundly.
As dawn broke, Zhou Xing opened his eyes. His eyes were clear and bright, without a trace of fatigue.
He changed into a crisp and clean police uniform, got up and stretched, his joints making a series of soft cracking sounds, like popping beans or a gentle breeze rustling through reeds.
Deep within the marrow, a soft murmur seemed to emanate.
He drank a bowl of steaming hot mutton soup and ate eight baked buns in the front hall of the inn. The mutton soup was milky white and sprinkled with chopped coriander. With the freshly baked, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside buns, the heat rolled into his stomach, making him feel completely comfortable.
Even while eating, he kept his ears open, listening to the idle chatter of the tea drinkers around him.
At the next table were three regulars, chatting for half a day over a plate of boiled broad beans and a pot of strong liquor.
"...If you ask me, that judge is a real man," a porosty voice said.
"What do you mean?"
"They only kill those who deserve to die. Opium dealers, abusive foreign doctors, and those ruthless boxing ring devils... Have you heard? That Russian strongman outside Dongjuzi, the one called Iron Fist, he was beaten to death, he couldn't even escape. They left a Nuo mask on the spot, hey, it was really crisp!"
"Isn't that a bit too much noise?" another voice hesitated.
"Big? I think it's still small!"
A third voice chimed in, sounding younger, "Those bastards, when they were harming us Chinese, weren't they making a big fuss? This is karma!"
Zhou Xing picked up the bowl and took a sip of mutton soup. The soup was piping hot, and it went down his throat.
He made a casual remark without even looking up:
"Gentlemen, from what you're saying, you seem to really respect this judge?"
The table fell silent for a moment.
The man with the hoarse voice spoke first, then lowered his voice:
"Sir, we're just chatting idly. But you know, the people have their own scales. Whoever stands up for us, we'll remember their kindness."
That makes sense.
A young voice chimed in, "They're still better than those who wear official robes but do nothing."
"cough,"
The hesitant man cleared his throat. "You can't say it like that; it's still against the law."
"The law?"
The man with the hoarse voice scoffed, "If the law could really control those scoundrels, would there be any need for the judge to intervene?"
The young voice added, with a touch of daydreaming, "If I knew kung fu, I would also..."
"What about you? Go eat your broad beans!"
All three of them laughed, and the topic returned to the secret door from yesterday.
Zhou Xing stopped listening and slowly finished the rest of the baked buns.
He finished the mutton soup and the baked buns. He put down his bowl and chopsticks, took out a few copper coins and placed them on the table.
Before getting up, he nodded slightly to the three people at the next table.
The three were chatting animatedly when the police officer suddenly greeted them. They were all taken aback and instinctively returned the greeting with a cupped-hand salute.
Zhou Xing didn't say anything, turned around and left the inn.
A cold wind blew in from outside, bringing with it the smell of coal smoke in the early morning. He stood on the steps and buttoned up his policeman's jacket.
Tianjin is already bustling in the early morning. Trams clang, breakfast stalls steam, and the aroma of fried dough mingles with the smell of swill.
He walked down the steps and hailed a rickshaw on the street.
"In the French Concession, Lao west ran the police station."
The driver, a lean man, exclaimed "Hey!", grabbed the handlebars, and started jogging.
A newsboy passed by, his clear voice drifting over:
"Look at the newspaper! A young Southern Fist master single-handedly defeats ten renowned martial artists! A new blood of courage in Tianjin's martial arts!"
Zhou Xing's heart skipped a beat:
"parking."
He called to the newsboy and handed him a silver coin.
The newsboy, who looked about eight or nine years old, had a face red from the cold. He paused for a moment when he saw the money, then blinked.
"Sir, two copper coins for one copy... This is too much, I don't have change."
"No need to look."
Zhou Xing took the newspaper. "With the rest, I'll buy a bowl of tofu."
The newsboy grinned, revealing a missing front tooth, clutched the silver coin tightly, and bowed: "Thank you, sir!"
Clutching the remaining newspapers, he plunged back into the crowd.
The driver picked up the handlebars and continued jogging, the street scene receding into the distance.
Zhou Xing unfolded the newspaper. The front page, as expected, was about the Yue Family Association, with a headline in alarmingly large font: "Wing Chun Successor Ip Man's Disciple, One-on-One Challenges Ten Heroes, Establishing Authority in Tianjin!"
He glanced at it; it was written in a lively style, but most of the details were fabricated, and the focus was on exaggerating the rivalry between the Northern and Southern styles of martial arts and the imposing presence of the "young heroes."
It's not about how much they praise themselves, but about how the tongues of this era speak.
Upon arriving at the district police station, the atmosphere was somewhat different from usual.
When the Annamese police officers on patrol saw him enter, their eyes instantly became tense, and they all tightened their belts.
Zhou Xing went straight upstairs and knocked on the door of Li Wenyong's office.
"Enter."
Pushing open the door, I saw Li Wenyong drinking tea by the window. Upon seeing me, he put down his teacup, got up, and closed the door tightly.
Without asking Zhou Xing what he had been doing these past few days, she simply turned around, took a thin brown paper file folder from the drawer, and pushed it in front of Zhou Xing.
"Everything you need, everything you can find, is here."
He sat back down in his chair. "I used some old connections, getting the information from the church hospital and at the dinner tables of a few foreign firm compradors. It may not be entirely accurate, but it should be pretty close."
Zhou Xing pulled out a sheet of paper; it was typed and interspersed with handwritten notes.
The first one is about Renault.
"The Witcher..."
Zhou Xing read the word aloud.
"yes,"
Li Wenyong lowered his voice, "It's an ancient trade in the West, said to be even older than their aristocratic family trees. They specialize in dealing with unclean things."
According to the information, these people were soaked in and ingested with a special medicinal solution from childhood, which made them physically different from ordinary people, but also extremely dangerous. Of those who succeeded, only one in ten survived.
Those who survive are highly perceptive, strong, and agile, and are especially skilled in tracking, medicine, blades, and firearms.
Zhou Xing observed carefully.
No wonder Renault's eyes don't look human, and his body temperature is low. This method is almost demonic; it's like treating people like livestock.
Martial artists cultivate their strength from the inside out, nourishing themselves. What they are doing is forcibly pouring it in from the outside, depleting their very foundation.
The advantage is that they start undergoing blood transfusions from a young age, resulting in strong bones and muscles and astonishing strength. However, this narrows their path and limits their potential. Unless their pharmacology truly possesses extraordinary abilities.
He put down the page and asked, "Why did he come to Tianjin? Just to become the 'Judge of Tianjin'?"
"On the surface, yes."
Li Wenyong said, "But according to my investigation, the high-ranking officials in the concession, especially the churches and some foreign firm managers, have recently been paying unusual attention to folk activities in the Chinese community and the martial arts world. The arrival of someone like Reno is probably not just about solving a case, and he's not the only one who's come."
Zhou Xing nodded and made a note of it.
The second item is miscellaneous news about the Haihe River.
This is much more chaotic, mostly consisting of oral accounts from boatmen and elderly people. Some say they saw something floating on the river, some say they encountered a water monkey, and there are also old legends about river god worship from previous dynasties.
The truth and the falsehood are mixed together, and the whole picture cannot be pieced together.
The third report is the attic surveillance report.
"You guessed right."
Li Wenyong pointed to one of the lines, "The night before last, two unfamiliar faces sneaked up to the vicinity of that attic, went up and looked around, picked up a cloth bag and left."
Our men, fearing to alert them, didn't follow too closely. Judging from the direction they left, they were probably heading towards the confluence of three rivers.
Sanchahekou
Zhou Xing's heart stirred. There, the waterways converged, and the water conditions were complex. To the east, it could flow into the sea, and to the north, it could flow into the canal.
Given how agile the Daoists are in the water, it makes perfect sense for them to choose that location as a base or rendezvous point.
After reading the information, Zhou Xing stuffed the paper back into the file folder and handed it to Li Wenyong: "Burn it."
Li Wenyong took it, but didn't move it immediately, looking at him with hesitation:
"Detective Zhou, this commotion is too big. I can't see through Reno; I just feel he's ten times more dangerous than Ruan Wenzhong. Thinking about it at night sends chills down my spine. What if…"
He gritted his teeth, as if he had made up his mind, "If you feel you can't stay in Tianjin anymore, you can still leave now. I have connections in both the south and the north."
Zhou Xing raised his eyes, looked at Li Wenyong, and suddenly smiled.
"Inspector Li,"
He interrupted the other person, "Are you afraid I'll drag you down with you?"
Li Wenyong's face tightened.
"Put your heart back in your stomach."
Zhou Xing stood up, his tone indifferent.
"The biggest loophole in this matter isn't with me, it's with you. In the concession, it's difficult for Chinese police officers to advance further. But it's different for you. This system always leaves a crack for someone like you who's one of our own."
He patted Li Wenyong on the shoulder, the force neither too light nor too heavy:
"Keep your mouth shut and work hard. If I win this round, I'll hand you a ladder; how high you climb is up to you."
After saying that, he got up and left.
The door creaked open and closed.
Li Wenyong stood frozen in place, clutching the file folder in his hand, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.
After a while, he walked to the corner, struck a match, lit the file folder, and watched the flames lick the paper and turn it to ashes.
As I stepped out of the police station, the sun was already high in the sky.
Zhou Xing stood on the street, watching the flow of people and vehicles.
Leaving Tianjin?
This thought did cross my mind when I saw through the charitable organization's sinister hand.
But where in this world is there truly a safe haven?
With foreign guns and cannons, and demons roaming freely, taking a step back might not lead to a brighter future, but rather to a precipice.
Internal cultivation involves training one's inner breath, but even more so, it involves training one's mental and emotional state.
If your spirit is scattered, your skills will be wasted.