The Peddler

Seeing Li Banfeng's body stiffen, the rickshaw puller stepped back two paces. Li Banfeng felt his breathing turn agonizingly strained. Before he could make sense of what was happening to his body, two men walked over from an alley not far off. They wore collared shirts under vests and peaked caps pulled down exceptionally low. Seeing that they were coming for Li Banfeng, the rickshaw puller took fright, hoisted the shafts, and prepared to flee. What did these two want? Li Banfeng did not know them. *Are they coming for me?* They truly were. These were men deployed by Xiao Zhenggong, who had been tailing Li Banfeng ever since he exited the station. Their mission was to kill Li Banfeng and take the bronze lotus on him. Li Banfeng tried to reach into his pocket for the spicy sticks, but his hands refused to move. One of the men in a peaked cap drew a dagger from his sleeve, while the other glared menacingly around, warning onlookers not to interfere. Unable to resist, unable to defend himself, unable to flee—Li Banfeng could not even twitch a muscle. In all his life, Li Banfeng had never felt such despair. Just as the two drew closer and closer, a voice suddenly spoke beside him: "Take the child to get something to eat first, then wait for me at the clinic." The gaunt, tall man over 1.9 meters tall settled his wife into another rickshaw. Turning toward Li Banfeng, he kept his left hand in his pocket and steadied Li Banfeng with his right. At the sight of the tall, skinny man, the two men in peaked caps held back, unsure of his strength or his background. One stepped forward and called out in thieves' cant: "Partner, which line do you travel? What's your banner? State your name and affiliation!" Li Banfeng stared blankly. *What foreign language is that?* It was no foreign language; it was underworld slang. The man in the peaked cap meant: *Friend, which path do you walk? Tell us where you hail from.* Monkey Qiu understood, but paid them no mind, ignoring them outright. Seeing that communication had failed, the other man in the peaked cap turned to threats: "Friend of the trade, we're from the Jiangxiang Gang. You've heard our banner, and you know the rules. We're definitely taking this head. Blades have no eyes when they bite, so steer clear and don't meddle!" *Friend of the underworld, we're set on killing this man. Weapons have no eyes, so keep your nose out of our business.* The tall, skinny man's brows knitted slightly, and he swept a glance over the two men. A sudden tremor seized their chests. Their heartbeats slowed, each throb swelling with alarming force. *Thump! Thump!* Their hearts felt on the verge of shattering at any second. One man in a peaked cap lowered his voice: "He's a Joy Cultivator! And his tier isn't low!" "Pull out!" The other also realized the gravity of the situation and prepared to retreat. The tall, skinny man's strength was far beyond what the two of them could touch. Without the slightest hesitation, they turned and fled, vanishing in the blink of an eye. The tall man did not give chase. Supporting Li Banfeng, he directly asked the rickshaw puller, "Is your rickshaw fast?" "Not especially." The puller kept his distance from Li Banfeng, unwilling to take him. Someone hit by heavenly light was bound for disaster at any moment, and now underworld thugs were involved. Who would want to get mixed up with him? "Do you have fire wheels under your feet?" the tall man asked again. The puller shook his head. "If I had fire wheels, would I still be busting my back for a few measly dollars?" "Is there anyone in front of the station who has them?" The man produced a ten-yuan note and handed it to the puller. Taking the note, the puller broke into a wide smile. "Yes, sir! I'll take you there." Making an easy ten yuan without doing any heavy hauling was an offer he gladly accepted. With the puller leading the way, the tall man kept one hand in his pocket and slung Li Banfeng over his other shoulder, following the puller through an alley. At the mouth of the alley, a short, stocky rickshaw puller sat crouching on the ground, smoking. The smoke was harsh and pungent—raw tobacco he had rolled himself. "Sir, this is the one with fire wheels." Having delivered his fare, the first puller beat a hasty retreat. The tall man stepped forward and asked the stocky puller, "What grade are your fire wheels?" The puller looked up. "I'm pulling a damn rickshaw—what grade could they be? First layer of the Ground Tier, what else!" The tall man nodded. "Do you know where the peddler is?" The puller smacked his lips. "Saw him this morning. It's a bit of a haul, though—no telling if he's still there." "Distance is no problem. Name your price." The puller held up five fingers. "Five hundred in Huan Country notes. No bargaining." The tall man placed Li Banfeng onto the rickshaw, reached into his jacket, and deftly flicked out five hundred-yuan Huan Country banknotes with one hand, handing them to the puller. Seeing the tall man produce the cash with only one hand, and glancing at his left hand, which remained shoved inside his trouser pocket the entire time, the puller found it somewhat odd, but asked no questions. After counting the notes and confirming none were missing, the puller pinched out his cigarette butt. With his left wrist turned upward to cradle the left shaft and his right wrist turned downward to press upon the right shaft, he took hold of the rickshaw. Li Banfeng found his grip rather strange—one palm up, one palm down. It looked thoroughly awkward. What he did not know was that this was the yin-yang grip, the standard technique for pulling a rickshaw. The rickshaw pullers Li Banfeng had seen on television always lifted both shafts with both palms facing upward. If their strength wavered, passengers would rock back and forth, or even tumble out. A puller who ran like that would be lucky to get stiffed on the fare; more likely, he would take a brutal beating. With the yin-yang grip—one hand over, one hand under—the puller lifted the carriage with steady poise and called out, "Off we go!" Before the words had even faded, the puller had already shot out of the alley, carriage in tow. Li Banfeng remained conscious. Wind roared past his ears, and the roadside houses and trees whipped backward in a blur. Perhaps because the alley was narrow and the buildings stood so close, it created a visual distortion in Li Banfeng's mind. *What kind of speed is this?* This puller was actually making a rickshaw feel like an automobile. Monkey Qiu also sensed something unusual about him. "This skill of yours doesn't look like first-layer cultivation." The puller chuckled. "You pay, I pull. We're not getting hitched, so why stick your nose into my business? But let's get one thing straight: the fellow beside you looks like a white lamb who's been hit by heavenly light. My only job is getting you to the spot. Whether he lives or dies is none of my concern!" "Rest assured, he won't die," the tall man replied. "This little brother has good fortune on his side. He wasn't supposed to catch the peddler, but the train was delayed three days on the way, allowing him to arrive just in time." The puller blinked. "For real? That lucky? Did he cross paths with a Lucky Star or something?" Li Banfeng's neck was rigid; he could not see what was happening with the puller's legs. He could only watch the passing scenery from a fixed angle. The town's architecture was peculiar: interlocking brick and stone, neat and clean, devoid of any bleakness or decay, yet imbued with a poignant, weathered grace that stirred Li Banfeng deeply. It was not an ancient age, but an exquisite patina. Spacious courtyards nestled between brick-and-stone walls, accompanied by stately post-and-beam frames and upturned eaves rich in classic charm. Yet the carvings and porthole-like windows that appeared here and there on the walls carried a distinctly Western air. This was particularly true of the two- and three-story townhouses lining the streets, with their protruding balconies and galleries, the arched frames unique to their doors and windows, and the climbing roses and ivy blanketing their walls. It made Li Banfeng feel as though he had stepped into a distinct era—an era caught in the cracks of history. Just what era that was, Li Banfeng had no time to ponder. His struggling heartbeat and suffocating breath impressed upon him the mortal danger closing in. Listening to the banter between the puller and the tall man, they ran all the way from the town out to the countryside. Upon reaching a stretch of wilderness, the puller came to a halt and wiped away his sweat. "He really is lucky—the peddler hasn't left!" The puller panted for several moments, then glanced back at the tall man and Li Banfeng. The tall man hoisted Li Banfeng down from the carriage. Beneath a willow tree ahead, a handcart stood parked, bearing a large, two-tiered wooden cabinet with a red lantern fixed atop it. Beside the cart crouched a man in his thirties, dozing in the shade of the tree. The puller called out to him, "Hey! Still open for business?" The man raised his eyes, rose to his feet, and stretched lazily. Pulling out a rattle drum, he gave it a twirl: *Clack-a-ding, clack-a-ding!* "Imported soap and vanishing cream, Silk scarves, hankies, needle and seam! Fur-lined jackets, iron pails so fine, Foreign matches, candles, shovels that shine! Pickle jars and soy sauce pots, Ladle spoons and cleavers in lots! A cart of fine goods from a time-honored name, All sold at fair prices, yours for the claim!" A peddler? *This* was the peddler? The peddler looked toward the tall man and yawned. "Monkey Qiu, what are you buying?" This tall, skinny man was named Monkey Qiu—and the peddler actually recognized him. Monkey Qiu said, "A white lamb was shined upon by heavenly light." The peddler took out a key and unlocked the first tier of the wooden cabinet. "A white lamb shined upon by heavenly light... If he doesn't want to die, he must be initiated. How do you want to settle the bill? Huan Country notes or silver dollars?" Monkey Qiu said, "Huan Country notes." The peddler pulled open a drawer in the cabinet. "I have five kinds of medicinal powder left here. Tillage Cultivator is thirty thousand, Joy Cultivator is fifty thousand, Food Cultivator is sixty thousand, Journey Cultivator is eighty thousand, and Dwelling Cultivator is one hundred and sixty thousand. Seeing as he can't speak, is he going to pick for himself, or will you choose for him?"