activa-t Chapter 20 Water Train
Chapter 20 Water Train
The leader's jaw tightened, he lowered his pistol, and slowly tucked it into the back of his shirt.
The other two did the same, but their eyes were even fiercer.
If they break the rules, the charity will be barred from entering the black market in the future, and they can't afford to take the blame for that.
Zhou Xing glanced at them. Three skilled fighters, the eldest was burly and strong, the second was lean and wiry, and the third had a face full of scars.
The Three Musketeers, a dark and classic Republican-era film.
He smiled inwardly, but remained outwardly calm:
"You three, you've been squatting for half the night, are you short of money or toilet paper?"
The leader spoke, his voice deep:
"Don't be too happy yet, you won't live past tonight."
You won't see tomorrow.
Zhou Xing silently murmured to himself, smiled, and turned back.
At this moment, the lamplighter slightly raised his straw hat, as if looking into the depths of the fog:
"The time has come. Show the 'introduction,' and board the ship with the item."
"Initiator" is an item that carries malevolent energy and can be "traded". One initiator can only be used by one person.
The old man pulled out a small, dark jade ring stained with blood. The others also revealed their "introductions".
Zhou Xing took out two items from his pocket.
A tortoise shell, and Mr. Qin's finger bone bell.
The lamp-maker's gaze lingered on the tortoise shell for a moment, and he seemed to nod under his straw hat.
By this time, the seven members of the musketeer team had gathered. After whispering among themselves for a while, they reached into their pockets and finally managed to gather three odds and ends:
A gleaming silver dollar, a short dagger with a dark red blade, and a pale little finger bone bound with red rope.
The eldest brother was carried to the lamp.
"What rubbish!"
The lamplighter remained silent for a long time before uttering a single word:
"……superior."
The group boarded the boat one by one.
The boat wasn't big, but it was packed to the brim.
Three gunmen occupied the stern of the boat, their six eyes fixed on Zhou Xing's back like nails.
He Jiu, now emboldened, also stared back, neither giving way.
With a push of the bamboo pole by the lantern bearer, the boat glided into the thick fog.
All that could be heard was the sound of water, the sound of poles, and the rustling of mist brushing against the gunwale.
"Zhou Xing" (周行).
The leader suddenly leaned closer, shoving He Jiu until he stumbled, and shouted, "You're just a Chinese constable from the French Concession, a dog of the foreigners. You should have died in the alley a month ago."
Zhou Xing looked at the fog breaking through the bow of the ship and did not respond.
The eldest brother kept talking, each word sinking deep into his thoughts.
"He climbed to the top by relying on women, clung to Ip Man's coattails, and only knew how to acknowledge his father and curry favor with the powerful. Did he really think he was someone important?"
Once you leave the concession, your skin is less valuable than a rag. Becoming a Ming Jin boxing master is no harder than killing a stray dog.
The passengers on the boat glanced over, their gazes towards Zhou Xing filled with contempt, disdain, curiosity, and indifference.
Zhou Xing didn't explain, he just clicked his tongue, tilted his head back, and covered his mouth and nose with his hand:
"Dude, your breath is worse than athlete's foot. Is your ass turned upside down? Get away from me, it's irritating my eyes."
"you."
The second brother suddenly stood up, causing the boat to rock.
"What do you mean, 'you'? The eldest is unhappy, the second is clueless, and the third is ugly. He looks like he'll die young."
Zhou Xing interrupted.
A soft laugh suddenly came from the stern of the ship.
Crisp and crunchy.
Several people turned their heads at the same time.
It was the same couple who seemed to be traveling together.
The man wore a dark blue Taoist robe, cloth shoes and leggings, looking neat and tidy, and carried a long strip of blue cloth on his back;
The woman wore a pale white Taoist robe with a dark blue short jacket over it, along with cloth shoes with leggings, and her hair was simply tied in a bun at the back of her head.
That laugh just now was from her.
The yellow light from the fog lights swept across her profile, revealing a straight nose, a slight smile on her lips, and clear, bright eyes like two pools of water—a clean yet aloof beauty.
The man in the Taoist robe frowned, glanced at her with disgust, and stepped aside to shield his female companion.
At this moment, the rhythm of the boatman's bamboo pole suddenly changed.
Thick fog billowed ahead, a bright yellow light shone, and a series of clanging sounds approached, accompanied by the shrill whistle of a train and the roar of wheels grinding against the rails, sounding as if a train was rushing towards them.
The boat shuddered slightly, as if passing through a layer of cool water film.
Suddenly, everything changed.
Zhou Xing's pupils constrict slightly.
They entered a huge, domed old factory building.
Overhead were rusty steel trusses, and in the distance hung blurry pipes.
Just above the factory, about seven or eight zhang (approximately 33-40 meters) above the ground, a circular elevated track winds around several old green tram carriages, one after another, rumbling along the track.
A steady white light shone through the car window, illuminating the swaying figures inside.
Beside the tracks, huge colored rotating lights cast mesmerizing spots of light, steam valves hissed out white mist, and the bottom of the carriage shook with a bang.
Even more strangely, looking out the car window, one sees a flowing river, with shimmering ripples reflecting the blurry neon lights.
It resembled a train traveling on water at night.
But this is clearly inside a factory.
Zhou Xing was momentarily captivated by this extraordinary sight. A water train? An aerial train?
But the next moment, the auditory senses detected a slight delay between the sound and the sight.
He knew in his heart that this was shrouded in some strange formation or illusion, and what he saw was not all real.
Yet this scene still exudes a strange and captivating charm reminiscent of the magical industrial age.
"High-speed rail during the Republic of China era."
That word popped into his mind.
At this moment, He Jiu leaned closer and whispered:
"Yongfeng... We've arrived at the White Light District."
Remember the rules on the bus: look, don't touch; don't stare at one thing for too long.
"Transactions are completed with payment and goods exchanged, regardless of origin; goods can only be unloaded when the 'station' light comes on..."
The small boat pulled up to a platform hidden behind an iron frame.
The lantern bearer poles the boat. Several people disembark.
The three gunmen immediately surrounded them in a triangle, keeping a close but not too close distance.
Zhou Xing ignored him and followed He Jiu into the platform, stepping into the nearest carriage.
The carriage looked more spacious inside than outside, but it was still crowded.
The light was a pale yellowish-white, barely enough to illuminate a person's face.
The passengers were a diverse group: some wore long gowns, some wore suits, some wore short jackets, and there were even Southeast Asian tourists with headscarves.
They all spoke in hushed tones, their voices rustling like mice gnawing on wood.
"...Have you heard? There's been another incident at the old river sluice gate."
"What?"
"Old Fan, who was dredging sand, is gone the night before last. He floated up yesterday at noon, skin and bones, his whole body just a thin layer of skin clinging to him..."
"That thing again?"
"It's pretty much true. The brothers who patrolled the river said that there were shadows swaying under the water at the sluice gate those days, and the shadows were covered with rotten, cotton-like water plants."
"Shh... Keep your voice down. Don't ask about this..."
Zhou Xing listened to these whispers and looked out of the carriage.
Outside the window, the neon lights of the river recede into the distance, their reflections shimmering, creating a scene both real and dreamlike.
The carriage swayed slightly as it "moved," accompanied by a faint "clunking" sound, like riding a night tram.
The air inside was stuffy.
The smells of old wood, dust, cheap tobacco, blood, and tobacco all mingled together and assaulted my nose.
On both sides of the carriage, luggage racks with wooden boards were set up as small stalls.
Zhou Xing's gaze swept over them.
A Qing Dynasty dragon robe, with dark stains on the front, is folded in a glass box.
Next to it was a small sign that read: "Legacy of the Qing Dynasty, fortune waning, high price."
Several rolls of old blueprints wrapped in oilcloth, with burnt edges, labeled: "Secret Survey Map of Tianjin Underground Pipeline Network, authenticity verified by yourself."
A glass jar containing a dried, blackened hand, labeled: "Remains of the 'Buddha's Hand Thief,' purchase with caution."
There are also some bottles and jars with vague labels: "Essence of Five Poisons from Yunnan Border Region", "Old Ginseng from Liaodong", "Meteorite Iron".
A wide variety of things, bizarre and wonderful.
Three gunmen squeezed in as well.
The old man gave him a wink, and the three of them dispersed, pretending to inspect the goods, but their eyes were fixed on Zhou Xing.
Zhou Xing walked slowly forward.
He Jiu followed closely, tugging at his sleeve every now and then, and whispered:
"Sir, don't stare at one thing. The things here are eerie; staring at them for too long will mess with your mind! If someone speaks to you, be a beat slow to respond, or you'll get tricked into revealing information!"
As Zhou Xing walked to a quiet corner near the connecting area between the carriages, a thought suddenly struck him.
There was a stall in the corner.
The stall owner was an old man huddled in the shadows, his eyes half-closed, as if he were dozing off.
The stall didn't have much: a few bundles of dark red hemp rope, a few black nails with inscriptions, and a small jar of pungent-smelling ointment, all exuding a sinister atmosphere.
In the corner of the stall, there was an inconspicuous thing lying there.
Half a tiger tally.
It resembled both copper and iron, heavily rusted, with chipped edges.
This is……
A token!
Zhou Xing's heart skipped a beat; it was a subtle sense of attraction, just like when he came into contact with other keepsakes.
I didn't expect to have such a good harvest so soon after arriving. I was definitely right to come to the Ghost Market.
Without making a sound, he pointed:
"Boss, what's the price?"
The stall owner opened his eyelids a crack, his cloudy eyes darted around, and his dry lips moved slightly.
"One hundred silver dollars. No bargaining."
One hundred dollars.
Zhou Xing rubbed his teeth. He only had twenty-four silver dollars on him, which was after he had asked Li Wenyong for an advance on his salary before he set off.
He glanced at He Jiu, shook his head, and said that even if he sold this person, he wouldn't have enough to make a fraction of the money.
He frowned, deep in thought.
Suddenly, a hand reached out from the side.
His long, clean fingers gently pressed against the other end of the tiger tally.
"I'll take this."
His voice was clear and resolute.
Zhou Xing raised his eyes.
It was the young man in the dark blue Taoist robe on the boat.
He didn't even look at Zhou Xing, but repeated to the stall owner:
"One hundred silver dollars, I'll pay in cash."
As he spoke, he took out a small cloth bag from the sleeve of his Taoist robe with his other hand, untied it, and inside were ten stacks of neatly arranged silver dollars, shining brightly.
"The money is here."
He threw the cloth bag onto the broken wooden plank. "I want it."