"Attention passengers, we will soon be arriving at Xijing Station..."
Listening to the announcement echoing through the train carriage, Lian Youming picked up his luggage and led Yan Tao toward the stream of disembarking passengers.
After a whole year away, watching the station draw steadily closer outside the window gave him the illusion that a lifetime had passed, stirring a torrent of thoughts in his mind.
Lian Youming had originally wanted to ask the grandmother and granddaughter where they were headed, but in the blink of an eye, the two had vanished without a trace.
Leaving no time to ponder, as the train pulled into the station, the dense crowd surged off like a dark tide and squeezed toward the exit.
Just then, a startled cry rang out from the throng.
"Aiyah, a pickpocket!"
In an instant, everyone's gaze was drawn over.
Even Lian Youming instinctively glanced toward the sound. But right at that moment, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone approaching head-on—a mustached man wearing a skullcap and a vest, seemingly plucked straight out of the crowd. With lowered brows and eyes, his hands tucked inside his sleeves, he closed in within the blink of an eye.
Lian Youming's eyelids twitched. He moved to react, but suddenly realized he was wedged in the midst of the crowd. The press of people was terrifyingly dense—not only travelers getting off, but also those rushing to board. In such an ocean of people, once he made a move, his explosive force would likely injure innocent bystanders.
This strike was truly underhanded and vicious.
The man moved as slippery as a loach. Though jostled by the crowd, a sway of his shoulders carried him through the narrowest gaps until he slipped right before Lian Youming—and just between them happened to be a woman holding a child.
In a flash, a frigid, dark glint slid from his sleeve. The angle was concealed and impossibly swift, striking without a whisper. Masked by the surrounding din, it slashed silently toward Lian Youming's throat.
Lian Youming knitted his thick brows and quietly gathered his breath. He had no intention of offering his neck to slaughter. Just as he prepared to risk it all, a sudden cry erupted beside him.
"Aah!"
It was a piercing, razor-sharp shriek, coming so abruptly that the whole crowd shuddered, wondering what had happened.
Yet Lian Youming saw who had screamed—it was none other than Zhao Xiaozhi, the female educated youth from Beijing who had been sent down to the countryside with him.
The girl had summoned all her might, her fists clenched tight, screaming until her face flushed red and her voice cracked.
Startled by the shriek, the mustached man's right hand wavered ever so slightly as he brought down the blade.
Not only that.
Lian Youming also saw an unkempt little girl squeeze through the crowd from who-knew-where, clutching a short blade and lunging toward the mustached man—it was that very girl from the train!
What was she doing?
Taking in the sight, Lian Youming refused to let this golden opportunity slip away. Clenching his right fist in secret, he drove his arm through a gap in the crowd and drove it hard into the mustached man's chest. At the same time, he clamped his other hand over the little girl's wrist just as she was about to stab, pulling her aside.
That momentary hesitation had slowed the mustached man's slash by half a beat. The blade grazed past Lian Youming's neck by a hair's breadth, shearing off a lock of hair and, with undiminished momentum, slicing open the pocket of his overcoat.
What a swift, ruthless, underhanded blade!
Neither man had stopped walking. From the moment their eyes met to the flash of murderous intent and their brushing past each other, barely three or four seconds had passed.
It happened so fast that even Yan Tao beside him never noticed the deadly peril.
Only after taking a few paces did Lian Youming pat his coat pocket. Sensing something was missing, he abruptly turned back to look.
Parting the crowd, he spotted a book lying on the ground—it was Journey to the West.
Last night he had pulled it out to read through twice, then casually slipped it into his pocket.
Just as he bent down to pick it up, a sudden gust of wind swept past, rustling the pages so they flipped rapidly—from back to front.
Lian Youming's reach froze. Staring at the fluttering pages, his expression subtly shifted. The painted illustrations of Sun Wukong were tumbling, leaping, rising, and falling, kicking and raising palms, as if every movement formed a continuous sequence.
What kind of art is this?
Only when the station broadcast sounded did Lian Youming snap back to his senses. Scooping the book off the ground, he turned, grabbed the little girl, and led Yan Tao to a less crowded spot.
"So young, yet you're already learning to stab people in the dark?"
The little girl tilted her chin up. "Granny said: repay kindness with kindness, repay grievance with vengeance. You saved the two of us, so this was the least I could do."
Lian Youming fell silent. Reaching into his luggage, he felt around and brought out three silver dollars.
He had found only seven or eight in that fortress, intending to keep them as souvenirs.
"Keep them safe. Your granny will definitely know what these are."
The girl pushed his hand away, refusing them. "That man had plenty of money in his pockets, plus that thumb ring. It's enough to treat my granny's illness. My name is Xiaoyun. Big Brother, I will definitely repay you in the future."
With that, she spun around and sprinted away like the wind.
By then, Zhao Xiaozhi had caught up, panting heavily. Seeing Lian Youming unharmed, she braced her hands on her knees, bending over to catch her breath. "Scared me to death! I secretly kept an eye on him for half the night. How did it go? Did you catch him?"
Once she caught her breath, Zhao Xiaozhi said excitedly, "Student Lian, was that kung fu you used last night? Can you teach me? It was amazing! I want to learn too!"
Lian Youming wore a strange expression, turning to head outside. "Student Zhao, you saw wrong."
Zhao Xiaozhi pursued him relentlessly. "Stingy! I saved your life just now, so treating me to a meal is the least you can do, right? I'm starving to death. And back at Kaoshan Hamlet, when the old Party branch secretary locked you in the pen, I was the one who comforted you!"
Talking as they walked, the group gradually drifted away into the distance.
Meanwhile, back on the train.
The mustached man had pushed out of the crowd and slumped down in the corner of a carriage. Feeling a throbbing ache radiating through his chest and abdomen, he suddenly felt warmth in his nostrils. Instinctively wiping his nose, he looked at his palm—it was smeared with crimson blood.
"What domineering fist force..."
Murmuring to himself, the man leaned against the seat back and slowly sat upright.
"Do you remember what that punk looks like?"
Beside him stood a filthy child, who nodded eagerly upon hearing the question. "I do."
"Good. Tell my master that I won't rest in peace unless he takes that punk's head. He must avenge me... Cough, cough... Urgh..."
Midway through his sentence, the man violently coughed up mouthfuls of blood—Lian Youming's punch had fatally ruptured his heart and lungs.
After just a few ragged gasps, the mustached man went limp and breathed his last.
"Aiyah, someone's coughing up blood over here!"
Outside the station.
Lian Youming first took Yan Tao to the post and telecommunications office to place a phone call to Sun Duhe.
On the other end of the line, the moment Sun Duhe heard Yan Tao's voice, he wailed and sobbed uncontrollably. Only after the two had talked for a long while and explained the whole sequence of events did the call finally draw to a close.
Naturally, Yan Tao kept her lips sealed about Lian Youming's abilities, not breathing a single word.
Zhao Xiaozhi also called home to report that she was safe. She had no intention of lingering long—just snagging a free meal before heading back later.
With both girls' affairs settled, Lian Youming found himself in a bit of a dilemma.
He couldn't very well just bring two girls home like this. The neighborhood would probably gossip about it for half a year, who knew what rumors they would cook up behind his back.
Yet after mulling it over, he braced himself to head home anyway. Both of his parents worked at the State Cotton Mill—one in the security section, the other a textile worker. Before getting married, each of them would have been allocated an apartment, but considering they were starting a family, they traded two for one, swapping for a larger single-story courtyard house. It had four rooms in total, an added small stove in the back, and a few hens they raised.
The surrounding neighbors were also workers from state-owned enterprises in Textile City, scattered and mixed together—some crammed into large communal courtyards, others living in standalone small courtyards. Nowadays, however, young people were scarce; many had gradually moved into apartment buildings or individual dormitories, leaving mostly elderly workers who couldn't be bothered to move.
Before even reaching home, from a long way off Lian Youming caught the rich aroma of stewed meat. The scent was so thick that a group of old men playing Chinese chess couldn't stop grumbling about whose wife was squandering money so extravagantly.
He chuckled. Rounding a supply and marketing cooperative tucked around a corner, he turned down a winding alley and saw two people standing at the entrance to his family's courtyard at the far end.
One was Lian Youming's mother, Zhao Lanxiang. The other was a village woman in a heavy padded coat and cotton shoes, leading a donkey cart.
This was Lian Youming's Third Aunt.
He had many aunts.
His father had grown up fed by the whole village beneath the Qinling Mountains, where every household could claim kinship; virtually any man or woman was an uncle or an aunt.
Judging by the goods on the cart, she had nine times out of ten come to town to deliver New Year supplies.
The Qinling Mountains yielded plenty of good things. Those by the mountain lived off the mountain, just as those by the water lived off the water; besides farming crops, the villagers at the foot of the mountains often set snares in the hills and knew a bit of hunting craft.
Lian Youming had learned his own trap-setting skills from the villagers.
Yet the closer he drew, the stranger his expression became. The two women by the courtyard gate were chatting and looking around, but neither recognized him.
Third Aunt eyed him for a moment. Once she saw the two young women trailing behind him, she spat quietly in disgust. "Not even grown yet and already straying from the straight and narrow, fooling around with girls—and two at once! Shameless scamp, ptui!"
Yan Tao burst into giggles, while Zhao Xiaozhi doubled over with laughter.
The corner of Lian Youming's mouth twitched. Meeting his mother's confused gaze, he called out in a muffled voice, "Mom!"
Zhao Lanxiang still wore an apron around her waist. Hearing that "Mom," she froze in surprise, looking doubtful. Staring hard at Lian Youming and spotting the mole between his brows, she said in disbelief, "Son? How did you end up looking like this?"
Third Aunt froze too, before slapping her thigh with joy and hollering, "Aiyah, Lanxiang, your son is back!"
When Lian Youming had left, though sturdy, he still carried a youthful air, with a fair complexion and a scholarly look.
Look at him now: dark, tall, burly, with short hair as thick and bristling as halberds, wrapped in an overcoat with cotton batting poking through. Broad-shouldered, back thick, hands rough with calluses, carrying a massive sack of luggage—he looked like a completely different person.
Third Aunt stepped closer to look him over. "Good grief, look how sturdy he is! One look and you can tell he's a hard worker—tougher than the breeding bull in our village! His looks have changed too, handsomer than my brother. Wonder which girl will be lucky enough to get him..."
Now that she recognized her nephew, Third Aunt's chatterbox opened wide.
Though they were words of praise, for some reason Lian Youming couldn't feel happy at all.
"Big Brother!"
Inside, his younger sister, Lian Shuang, had heard the commotion and came out carrying their youngest brother, Lian Lei.
Once the two siblings got a good look at their eldest brother, they both couldn't stop giggling foolishly.
Seeing this, Lian Youming pulled his mother, Zhao Lanxiang, and Third Aunt aside, explaining that he had rescued Yan Tao from human traffickers on the train, and that Zhao Xiaozhi was a living Lei Feng who had acted courageously for a righteous cause.
With the explanations out of the way, Zhao Lanxiang ushered everyone inside.
Perhaps because she had long been expecting his return, a pot of braised meat was simmering on the stove, alongside braised dried tofu and braised eggs—all his favorites. In Guanzhong, this was called spiced braised pork. In the bitter depths of winter, a pot of this braised goodness went wonderfully with liquor, whether served hot or cold.
While his mother entertained the two girls, Lian Youming slipped into his room.
The bedding and sheets were freshly changed. Taking a deep breath, he set down his luggage and retrieved Journey to the West.
Recalling the order in which the pages had flipped earlier, Lian Youming pressed the pad of his thumb against the edge of the pages, flipping from back to front. Squinting, he slowly released pressure. With a rustling flutter, the pages rippled like rolling waves.
Lian Youming stared intently at each illustration. Watching Sun Wukong in the drawings, his eyes grew brighter and brighter, while his expression grew increasingly strange.
After flipping through to the end in one breath, he flipped through four more times. Only when the cover shut did Lian Youming close his eyes, steadying his breath as he recalled the monkey's movements.
These seventy-two illustrations truly concealed something.
The monkey in each small picture struck a different pose, and they could actually be linked together.
Could this be another cultivation method?
Yet there was no joy on his face.
Fist postures and stance training were merely ways to bolster qi and blood. With his current food-replenishing method, it was countless times superior to those rudimentary stances.
The core lay in breathing methods.
Every peculiar internal force originated from profound and wondrous qi-swallowing techniques.
Although the monkey in these paintings displayed seventy-two postures, without a breathing method, it was nothing more than a chicken rib—scant reward for the trouble.
After some thought, Lian Youming studied each illustration closely once more, wondering if he could glean some clue from within.
Seventy-two illustrations... it couldn't possibly be the Earthly Fiend Seventy-Two Transformations, could it?
With that thought, Lian Youming jolted, his brows furrowing. Though he scoffed at the idea outwardly, a spark of inspiration seemed to flash in his mind.
It might actually be possible.
Could the breathing method be hidden inside these illustrations too?
Some things were like unraveling a cocoon; once a thread was teased out, the entire strand naturally followed.
Lian Youming flipped through the book from front to back this time. But the moment he did, he was equally stunned—it actually worked forward as well!
Are you kidding me? Does it go forward or backward?
In an instant, an overwhelming tangle of thoughts flooded his mind, packed with every posture from those small illustrations. Tense, with deeply furrowed brows, he felt as though he had fallen into a mental vortex. Plagued by conflicting impulses and indecision, his expression darkened and shifted erratically.
Only when a throbbing ache pulsed in his temples did Lian Youming snap out of it like waking from a dream. Quickly steadying his breath, he shut Journey to the West once again.
This thing can actually bewitch the mind...
Chapter 60