A person sacrifices himself to become a saint in a chaotic world of martial arts.

Chapter 142 Qingyuan Forces

"The late stage of True Qi Realm is not stable enough," Su Bai said to himself, unconsciously slowing his pace.

He must break through to the True Qi Realm as soon as possible.

Only when you reach that level can you truly be unafraid of any demons or monsters.

At that time, not to mention Qingyuan County, even back in Fengshan County, he will be considered a prominent figure—he won't have to bow to the garrison commander, and he won't have to detour to meet the ancestors of various families.

As he pondered this, he turned into a small alley.

The alley is narrow, with old shops on both sides.

There was a noodle shop with a big pot of steaming hot noodles at the door, where the proprietress stirred the noodles with long chopsticks without looking up; and there was a shoe repair shop where an old man sat on a small stool, sewing shoe soles stitch by stitch.

There was also an old man with a stall, frying sugar cakes in a wok.

The old man, his back hunched, used long chopsticks to stir the sugar cakes in the pot. Once they were golden brown, he would pick them up and place them on a nearby iron rack to drain the oil.

The aroma of sugar cakes wafted over, mixed with the smell of cooking oil, which suddenly reminded Su Bai of some past events.

A few months ago in Fenjiang County, he was a street patrolman.

When I get tired, I buy a sweet cake from a roadside stall, eat it with hot tea, and suck in my breath because it's so hot, and then I keep walking.

At that time, he never imagined that he would one day come to Qingyuan County to serve as the chief inspector, let alone that he would become a master in the late stage of the True Qi Realm.

Su Bai stopped in front of the stall. "Two sugar cakes, please."

The old man responded and looked up at him.

His gaze was cloudy. He glanced at Su Bai's waist, then lowered his head, picked up two golden sugar cakes from the oil pan with long chopsticks, placed them on oil paper, sprinkled a layer of white sugar on them, and handed them over.

"It's fresh out of the pot, be careful it's hot."

Su Bai took it and took a bite.

The outer layer is crispy, the inside is soft and chewy, and the sweet filling is piping hot and just the right amount of sweet.

It tastes just like the food I ate when I was patrolling the streets back then.

He stood in the alley, eating sweet cakes while watching the people coming and going.

A peddler carrying a load of needles, thread, hair ties, and rouge boxes walked past him, calling out as he went.

Several children were chasing and playing at the alley entrance, running until they were covered in sweat. One child was running too fast and tripped and fell, but got up and chased after them again.

The arguing in the teahouse in the distance had stopped sometime ago.

This is Qingyuan County. On the surface, it's bustling and lively, but underneath, undercurrents are surging.

The three major families, the four major gangs, the chamber of commerce alliance, and the Zhenfu Division—nine forces are intertwined, like a pot of boiling water that could overflow at any moment.

And now, he is standing right next to this pot of boiling water.

After Su Bai finished eating the last sugar cake, he crumpled the oil paper into a ball, flicked it lightly with his finger, and the paper ball traced an arc before falling into the bamboo basket next to him.

Not urgent.

Take it easy.

First, we need to figure out the ins and outs of Qingyuan County, and then see where those monsters and demons are hiding.

As for breaking through to the True Qi Realm, it can't be rushed; we have to proceed steadily and surely.

On the side of the street in Dongshi, Qingyuan County, there is an inconspicuous food stall. Several wooden tables with crooked legs, their surfaces blackened by oil, are wiped clean. Behind the stall are two large pots, one for steaming buns and the other for cooking porridge, with steam bubbling from the edges of the lids.

Su Bai stopped at the stall and chose a table by the street to sit down. He was a little hungry after walking all that way. The little bit of sweet cake wouldn't be enough. Su Bai took the unremarkable sword from his waist and placed it on the table.

He called out to the person behind the stall, "Hey vendor, what do you have to eat?"

An old man with gray hair and a slightly hunched back was busy behind the stall. Hearing the greeting, he quickly looked up, wiped his hands with the gray towel draped over his shoulder, and jogged over.

"Sir, you look unfamiliar. Is this your first time here?" the old man said with a smile. "Our stall is small; we only sell steamed buns and porridge."

Pickled vegetables. The steamed buns have both meat and vegetable fillings; they were all freshly made this morning.

Su Bai nodded: "Three baskets of minced meat, please."

"Alright!" the old man replied. "Would you like some porridge, sir? It's made with millet, and it's still warm."

"Two bowls, please."

The old man responded and left, his hunched back bustling about in the kitchen.

Besides them, there were two other tables of customers at the stall.

At one table sat two porters carrying loads on shoulder poles, dressed in patched-up tunics, heads down, slurping their porridge.

At the other table was a middle-aged man in a short brown shirt, who was eating while looking anxiously down the street.

Before long, the old man came over with a tray, three steaming baskets of buns. The pickled vegetables were in a separate small dish, finely chopped, with minced garlic and drizzled with sesame oil.

"Enjoy your meal, sir," the old man said, then went back to the pot.

Su Bai picked up his chopsticks and took a bite. Steam rose first, followed by the tender, juicy meat filling. The skin was perfectly cooked, soft yet firm. He nodded and said to Sun Hou, "Try it. It's just as good as the ones in the big restaurants in the prefecture."

Halfway through the meal, Su Bai waved to the old man.

The old man jogged over again, his back slightly bent, and wiped his hands on his apron: "What else would you like, sir?"

'

Su Bai shook his head, gesturing for him to sit down.

The old man paused for a moment, looked around somewhat uneasily, and then sat down on the bench, his bottom half touching the ground.

"Business is good," Su Bai said casually.

The old man forced a smile: "Thanks to you, sir, things are alright. It's market day today, so there are more people."

"It's alright as long as it's manageable." Su Bai took another bite of the bun, chewing slowly. "It must be tough doing small business in Qingyuan County, right?"

The old man's smile froze for a moment.

He looked up and sized up Su Bai. He saw that the young man was dressed plainly, his blue cloth clothes were a little faded from washing, but he was composed and sat there without moving. He spoke slowly and deliberately, not like he was just chatting casually.

Then look at the sword he placed on the table. The scabbard was simple and unadorned. The old man had seen the world—he had worked as a cook in a wealthy family when he was young—and knew that the more inconspicuous something looked, the more extraordinary it often was.

He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice: "Sir, you're from out of town, so you may not know this. This business is just a small transaction."

"Passing through water?"

"That's right—" The old man looked around, his voice lowering, "Most of the money he earns doesn't end up in his own hands. It's just a formality, and then it's gone."

Su Bai put down his chopsticks, picked up the bowl of porridge, took a sip, and didn't reply.

The old man, seeing that he remained silent, thought the man was reliable.

He'd seen plenty of those who would yell, bang on the table, and glare at people as soon as they heard something; it never helped and only caused trouble.

Once he started talking, he couldn't stop: "Sir, don't underestimate my small stall. A few tables and two stools, and after deducting the costs of firewood, rice, oil, and salt, I can still earn a few copper coins a month. But the more I earn, the more I have to pay."

Today this person comes to collect a sum, tomorrow that person comes to ask for more—there are all sorts of demands: land fees, protection money, bribes—the list goes on and on. In the end, what you actually get is barely enough to feed yourself.

As he spoke, he held up two fingers to indicate the gesture, then pulled them back as if afraid of being seen.

"Who's coming to collect it?" Su Bai asked.

The old man gave a bitter smile, a smile filled with unspeakable sorrow: "There are so many. From the East Street, the West Market, the South Wharf, to the brothels in the North, anyone with a few people on their side is trying to squeeze a slice off us small business owners."

Today it's the Blood Blade Gang, tomorrow it's the Iron Palm Gang, and who knows what other gang or faction will pop up the day after tomorrow.

"What can we do? Refuse to pay? If we don't pay, we won't be able to keep this stall up tomorrow. Last time, Old Chen, who sells tofu at the street corner, just wouldn't pay. The next day, his stall was overturned, he was beaten, and he's still bedridden." He said, his voice trembling slightly.

Su Bai nodded, showing no surprise, but then asked again, "The Garrison Command doesn't care?"

Upon hearing the words "Zhenfu Division," the old man's bitter smile transformed into a more complex expression—a mixture of awe, helplessness, and a hint of inexplicable resentment.

He remained silent for a moment, his rough hands resting on his knees, his fingers unconsciously picking at a patch on his trousers.

After a long pause, he said, "Manage? With what means to manage? There are only a few people in the Zhenfu Division, less than twenty in total. Which of the big and small forces in this county is easy to mess with? Besides, the former chief magistrate—" He paused here.

A few people were walking this way from the other end of the street.

The old man's expression changed.

It was as if someone had smeared something on his face; the color drained away instantly, leaving only a waxy yellow.

He stood up abruptly, his movements so fast they were almost unbelievable for an old man.

He bowed even lower than before, his smile becoming cautious and eager, and he jogged to greet them, his steps, dragging his left leg, quick and hurried: "Gentlemen, so early today? Please, have a seat, please have a seat!"

Su Bai didn't turn around and continued eating his steamed bun. He reached out with his chopsticks, picked up the last one, took a bite, and chewed slowly.

Sun Hou couldn't help but take a look.

Four people arrived.

The one in the lead was in his thirties, lean and bony, with prominent bones that looked like two small hills on his face.

His mouth drooped down, and his eyes, though small with yellowish whites, held a sinister light, like a snake staring at a mouse.

He was wearing a slightly worn silk shirt, its original blue color faded to a pale white after washing. The collar was pulled down, revealing a section of a dirty undergarment underneath, with an oil stain on the collar.

The three younger men following behind were all rascals: one had a pointed face and monkey cheeks, one was dark-skinned and burly, and one had a scar on his face.

They walked with swaying shoulders, their feet wobbling, their eyes darting around. When they saw an old woman selling flowers on the street, the woman with the pointed mouth and monkey-like face whistled, displaying a carefree and irresponsible attitude.

The old man led them to another table, wiping the bench with his sleeve until it gleamed. "Gentlemen, please sit down. What would you like to eat today?"

The lean man didn't sit down immediately.

He stood there, his gaze sweeping across the stalls, pausing briefly at Su Bai's table before landing on the unassuming sword and then moving away. A slight twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth, as if he were lost in thought.

He sat down on the bench, crossed his legs, and swung his toes back and forth on his shoes, saying slowly, "Old Wu, business is good."

The old man smiled obsequiously, bending at a ninety-degree angle: "Thanks to Master Xi, thanks to Master Xi."

The lean man, known as "Master Xi," grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth with something stuck between them: "Thanks to me? I don't recall ever sending you any blessings."

The three hooligans behind him started laughing, their laughter rough and unrestrained. The scarred one slammed his hand on the table, while the burly, dark-skinned one leaned back, making the bench creak.

The old man's face changed, turning a sallow yellow with a hint of white, but the smile remained on his face, as if nailed on: "Master Xi is joking. Master Xi sitting here is giving this old man face, isn't that a blessing? With you all sitting here, my stall is immediately different, even passersby will take a second look."

Upon hearing this, Uncle Xi gave him another look and nodded: "Old Wu, you're getting better and better at talking. Who taught you that, hmm?"

He leaned back and gestured with his chin towards the back of his head: "Sit down, everyone sit down. Eat steamed buns, it's Master Xi's treat today."

""

The three ruffians sat down immediately, making the bench creak and groan as they squeezed together.

The weasel-faced man came over, grinning, and said, "Brother Xi, you're treating? That's great! I'll have to eat a couple more baskets. I haven't had breakfast yet, and my stomach is already growling."

Master Xi glanced at him coldly: "Eat, eat as much as you want. Anyway—I don't have to pay."

He drew out the second half of his sentence, glancing at the old man.

The hooligans burst into laughter again, laughing so hard they almost fell off the bench.

The old man had already brought over the steamed buns, placing them one basket at a time on the table. His hands trembled slightly, his knuckles turning white, but he still managed to put them down steadily.

The steaming buns were emitting a wonderful aroma, but his face was as dry as the water in the steamer.

Master Xi picked up a steamed bun, took a bite, chewed it, and frowned.

He chewed the bun a few times, turning it over and over in his mouth, then suddenly spat it onto the table: "Old Wu, the filling in your buns today isn't very good."

The old man bent even lower, his chin almost touching his chest: "Uncle Xi, this, this was all freshly wrapped this morning, and the meat was also freshly bought—from Butcher Wang on East Street, it's front leg meat, I watched him cut it—"

"Bought fresh?" Uncle Xi tossed the steamed bun onto the table. It rolled around on the table before falling to the floor, where it got dusty. "Then try it. Is this what you call fresh?"

The old man didn't dare to respond, he just forced a smile, the smile frozen on his face, as if it were pasted on.

Then the weasel-faced thug behind them started commotion, his voice shrill: "If Master Xi says it's bad, then it's bad. Old Wu, are you trying to close this stall?"

The old man's face paled for a moment, his lips trembled twice, and he couldn't utter a word.

At this point, Old Man Xi waved his hand lazily and said, "Alright, don't scare him. Old Wu, sit down."

The old man dared not sit; he simply stood, his legs trembling slightly.

Master Xi didn't force him. He picked up another bun, took a bite, and said in a muffled voice as he chewed, "Old Wu, don't be afraid. Things are different now. Our Blood Blade Gang has been instructed by our superiors not to cause trouble."

The old man paused, his fear turning to surprise, a glint of light flashing in his cloudy eyes: "This..."

This is----"

Master Xi chewed on a steamed bun, wiping the grease from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand: "Have you heard about the new chief inspector of the Zhenfu Division?"

The old man shook his head, very carefully, with a very small amplitude.