During the Republic of China era, I achieved unparalleled success by returning to the past.

The 36th year of the Eastern Xia calendar, the 21st day of the 11th month.

The night rain pattered down, cutting the dim streetlights into countless tiny, slanted beams of light.

On the banks of the Suzhou River, a figure sat upright in a wheelchair, letting the cold raindrops hit his head and face, and trickle down his hair and neck.

The neon lights of the night scene were shattered by the rain, and the colorful ribbons of the Bund swayed in front of me. It was a pleasure-seeking place where wealth and desire intertwined, a den of iniquity.

A glint of light appeared in Song Beiyou's bright eyes. He gripped the cold metal wheel rim tightly and resolutely turned north. After passing Xibuhe Street and Xianghua Lane, one would reach Yaoshuizhai in Zhabei—one of the notorious slums.

The last gas streetlight disappeared behind us.

Song Beiyou pursed his cold lips, his whole body already soaked in sweat.

A narrow alleyway is formed by two layers of stone gates, and the damp smell of coal smoke and swill hits you. By the light of the fuzzy lamp on the second floor, you can see that the bluestone slabs have been soaked by rainwater and are shiny and gray.

Along both sides of the wall, there were porcelain basins, earthenware jars, and wooden buckets everywhere to catch raindrops. The raindrops fell into them, like popping beans.

Suddenly, a drawn-out, distorted melody and a unique singing voice drifted out from the crack in the upstairs window:

The south wind brings coolness~

The nightingale's soft song...

The flowers under the moon are all dreaming~

Only the night-blooming jasmine~

Song Beiyou used both arms to push the wheel rim hard, rolling forward on the wet and slippery bluestone slab, leaving two shallow water marks behind him.

In the shadows under the eaves, a spark flickered on and off before bouncing away, tracing an arc as it landed in the puddle in front of us—it was a half-eaten "Daqianmen" cigarette.

Song Beiyou paused in his wheel-pushing motion, his brow furrowing. Blocking the way at midnight is never a good thing.

A figure moved under the eaves, revealing its form. It wore a dark blue uniform, and beneath a white helmet with a round, doughy face, with fine beads of sweat on its forehead.

At the same time, the sound of footsteps wading through water came from behind, neither too loud nor too soft, slowly approaching.

Oh no! Song Beiyou's heart sank. He turned his wheelchair, turned to face both ends of the alley, and glanced around. Sure enough, a dark figure blocked his way.

Twisted shadows were reflected on the bluestone slabs, and the sounds of rain and singing mingled, creating a chaotic and unsettling atmosphere.

The round-faced man slowly approached, his small eyes narrowing as he chuckled, "That foreign woman is really good to you. Just this wheelchair, a top-quality imported item, is worth several dozen silver dollars. Tsk tsk."

With just one glance, Song Beiyou had already guessed the man's background. He stretched his arm, which was stiff from exertion, and calmly said, "Concession police. You're the son of the old man in the back house of the church hospital, right? You received the news and rushed over to intercept me. You haven't even finished your cigarette yet, and your sweat hasn't even dried. You've had a hard time."

Her round face and small eyes widened in surprise: "You recognize me? I rarely go to see that old man."

"I guessed. Not many people know my background. Mainly because your face is like his, seemingly harmless." Song Beiyou's voice was calm, as if he were talking about something trivial. Although when he left, the old gatekeeper smiled kindly and took his only bamboo-cased thermos.

"Hey." The round-faced policeman's lips curled into a smirk, but his face had already darkened. He slapped his palm with his two-foot baton repeatedly. "You've got some skills. No wonder you can keep that foreign woman happy."

The man behind me, his black boots splashing water, had already approached; he was an old police officer with graying temples.

"Class monitor," the round-faced man greeted.

The old constable nodded, his triangular eyes above dark, drooping eye bags looking as cold and sinister as a venomous snake.

Song Beiyou pulled down the wheelchair handbrake, quietly moved his hand under the seat, and asked, "What do you two police officers want with me cornered in this alley?"

"We received a report from the foreigner that you stole from the hospital. We're here, of course, to arrest you." The old policeman had a half-smile on his face.

Song Beiyou frowned slightly; this old constable was far more cunning than the younger one. He asked, "What did I steal?"

"For example, this wheelchair is worth at least fifty silver dollars. If it were converted into a rickshaw, it would be worth even more. This is a big case." The old policeman stopped five steps away, greedily admiring the imported goods.

"This is a gift from Dr. Evans. You can go ask her about it," Song Beiyou said casually, while his eyes carefully observed the two of them.

"Stop your damn nonsense! Let's not beat around the bush. Hand over not only this wheelchair, but also all the good stuff that foreign woman gave you! Otherwise, I'll show you what I'm capable of!" The round-faced policeman wiped the rain off his face, somewhat impatiently, and was about to step forward with his stick.

Song Beiyou's fingers had already touched the cold handle of a scalpel beneath the cushion—a sharp surgical knife. A flash of ruthlessness crossed his eyes, but his face remained calm: "Wait. She did give me some good things. But if I hand them over, will I live?"

The old constable's eyes lit up. He stopped the round-faced man from making a move and said in a gentler tone, "Don't worry, as long as you hand it over obediently, I, Zhao Xiaoliu, guarantee your safety. Tell me quickly, what good stuff do you have?"

"Five small yellow croakers."

"Really?" The old constable's face lit up with joy. The young, round-faced man's breathing quickened, his eyes gleaming. "Five sticks, five ounces! Nearly three hundred dollars!"

Song Beiyou nodded affirmatively: "It's true. Scarlett gave me two in total, and later I figured out her safe and 'took' three more."

Upon hearing this, the old policeman, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, hurriedly asked, "Where is it?" His gaze swept over the wheelchair. "You must have put it in a safe place. Tell us, and we'll let you go immediately."

Song Beiyou glanced at the round face licking its lips, then turned back and said, "You tell him to leave. I'll only tell you."

The expressions of the two constables, one old and one young, changed simultaneously. The round-faced constable's fat jiggled, and his eyes flashed with a fierce light: "You crippled wretch, don't try anything funny! If you don't talk, I'll make you suffer!"

Song Beiyou met his gaze coldly, his tone unusually calm: "Your father probably didn't tell you, but I came to this church hospital because I owe the Yihe Society a huge sum of money. I'm in this state and can't pay it back anyway; I'm going to die either way. Use whatever tricks you have up your sleeve. If I utter a sound, I'm not a man."

The round-faced girl was intimidated by his imposing presence, her expression shifting between anger and uncertainty.

The rain lessened, and the misty, silvery threads of rain fell like a large net descending from the rooftops of the alley. From that furry window, the singing continued.

Song Beiyou looked at the old constable: "Constable Zhao, what's going on? You can't control him, can you?"

Zhao Xiaoliu's triangular eyes darted around, glancing at the round face before he suddenly grinned and said, "Hmph, you little rascal, your tricks of sowing discord won't work on me."

Song Beiyou smiled coldly, drew his right hand, and pressed the gleaming blade against his left neck. With a slight exertion, blood trickled down the blade in a thin stream; the movement was swift and decisive.

"Alright, then those five gold bars will be buried with me."

"Don't act impulsively!"

"Wait! If you tell me where the gold is, I, Fang Ming, swear I'll get you out of China safely, how about it?" the round-faced man exclaimed.

It seems this guy is desperate for money. Song Beiyou's lips curled slightly. "Ming-ge's words seem more credible. Officer Zhao, you're too cunning. I don't trust you. Why don't you leave first?"

Fang Ming turned to Zhao Xiaoliu: "Old Zhao, why don't you go first? Don't you trust my character? Once we get the gold, I guarantee you'll get half."

A venomous glint flashed in Zhao Xiaoliu's eyes, and a smirk appeared on his lips: "Of course I trust Ah Ming's character. I'll keep watch for you at the alley entrance. You'd better watch out for this kid, don't let him get away."

Fang Ming's face flushed with excitement, like an inflated red balloon, and he nodded in agreement. Seeing Old Zhao backing away step by step, he immediately turned back: "So, now you should talk, right?"

Song Beiyou deftly moved the sharp blade aside. "Come here, I'll tell you something in private." Seeing Fang Ming's eyes fixed on the knife in his hand, he casually tossed it into a nearby puddle, giving a mocking smile: "You're worried that my paralysis will be a threat to you?"

Fang Ming glanced at the splashing water from the puddle, smiled, and immediately moved closer.

Song Bei moved his stiff fingers, catching a whiff of hair oil and cosmetics. He had already judged that Fang Ming was the easiest to deal with—impulsive and self-righteous. In contrast, the old constable was more like a calm, venomous snake.

At this moment, he seemed to have the upper hand, but in reality, it was the most dangerous time. Song Beiyou stared at his profile, his voice low, forcing Fang Ming to move closer.

"Take me to the outskirts of Yaoshui Village first, and I'll tell you the exact location then. Once you get me on the boat, the five gold bars and the wheelchair are yours; I only want ten silver dollars."

Song Beiyou spoke softly and slowly, his right hand quietly turning the cap of his Parker pen in his pocket.

"As for that old guy, we'll lure him to the riverbank and kill him, then say it was me who did it."

Seeing the change in Fang Ming's eyes, Song Beiyou had an idea and suddenly shouted, "Oh no! He has a gun!"

Zhao Xiaoliu, who had just walked a short distance, suddenly turned around! Fang Ming, who was beside him, also looked up in surprise.

The moment the two constables locked eyes, a sharp glint flashed in Song Beiyou's eyes. His back tensed instantly, and his left hand, gripping the armrest, tightened abruptly, veins bulging and muscles bulging as if it had magically expanded. At the same time, his right hand reached into his pocket and swiftly pulled out a Parker pen.

*Thud!* The pen tip pierced his flesh. Without hesitation, Song Beiyou pulled it out and inserted it again!

puff!puff!

The wheelchair creaked under the force.

Fang Ming gripped his wrist tightly as he tried to pull it away, his eyes filled with astonishment, fear, and helplessness.

"You...you..."

Hot blood spurted from the side of his neck. Fang Ming hurriedly let go to cover the wound.

Taking advantage of the moment, Song Beiyou pulled out his pen. *Swoosh*—his carotid artery was pierced, and blood, squeezed by the pumping force of his heart, gushed out, splattering all over his face.

Fang Ming clutched his neck with both hands, dark red blood gushing from between his fingers. "Zhao, save me... I..." His plea for help caught in his throat, his round face contorted in fear as he slowly collapsed to the ground.

Zhao Xiaoliu, who had turned around and was running over, stopped in his tracks, his face ashen.

The madness in Song Beiyou's eyes slowly faded. He suppressed his wildly beating heart, took out a pen cap from his pocket, slowly put the bent tip of the Parker pen on, grinned at Zhao Xiaoliu, revealing his gleaming white teeth: "I helped you kill someone to split the money, you should be happy."

Zhao Xiaoliu stared at Fang Ming, who was still convulsing on the ground and hadn't died yet. His eyes changed several times before he chuckled and said, "If your legs hadn't been crippled, you might have made a name for yourself in this vast Jiangzuo region someday. You're smart enough and ruthless enough."

"Thank you for your kind words. Now, let's talk."

"How do we negotiate?"

"Here are five small yellow croakers and this wheelchair. You can have them all. If you take me out of Jiangzuo, give me another twenty silver dollars."

Seeing that he stood there motionless, his brows furrowed into a deep frown, Song Beiyou said, "If you're not going to say anything, then I'm leaving. I owe the Yihe Society a huge loan at exorbitant interest rates, so this wheelchair and the little yellow fish can only go to them."

Officer Zhao raised his droopy eyelids slightly: "I, Old Zhao, have been in the police station for decades. I know that some money you can take, and some money you might not live to spend. If you dared to kill Ah Ming, you would have already given up on living. Why would I risk my life against you?"

As he spoke, he slowly retreated, then vanished into the darkness.

Song Beiyou shouted, "The older people get, the more afraid they are of death. They don't even dare to deal with someone like me who is half-paralyzed."

The other party didn't respond and had already disappeared into some shadowy corner. This kind of old fox would never let something slip away once it's in his grasp. He was only intimidated by the murderous aura he displayed earlier, and now he's surely lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance to strike.

Rain dripped from under the eaves. Fang Ming on the ground had stopped convulsing, and the dark red bloodstain beneath him was washed away by the water.

Song Beiyou let out a soft breath. The old man was right; he did indeed intend to make his money by killing one, and to gain an advantage by killing two. If he could still move his legs, he wouldn't have gone to such lengths.

The moment the two constables appeared, Song Beiyou knew they wouldn't leave him alive—the dead keep their mouths shut. He had only managed a desperate counterattack.

The five small yellow croakers he mentioned didn't exist at all. Although rumors about him and Dr. Scarlett Ivanson were rampant at the hospital, they were really just a doctor and assistant. He was the assistant.

The worst part was that, in order to get into the church hospital and smooth things over, he had indeed incurred high-interest loans from the Boxer Rebellion. If he went back, he would be skinned alive and his "parts" would eventually be sold to foreigners at the docks to pay off his debts.

His original plan was to use the wheelchair to pay off the interest first. He still had his brothers in Yaoshui Village, and with their intelligence and extra knowledge, they might be able to survive. But now, if he went back to Yaoshui Village, wouldn't he be a burden to them?

The room's occupant, bathed in dim light, seemed to have forgotten to change the record, playing the same song repeatedly.

I love this vast, dark night.

I also love the nightingale's song.

I love that flower-like dream even more.

Embracing the night-blooming jasmine~

He stared at the sliver of darkness separated by the narrow alley. The blood on his face had cooled, turning into pale red streaks from the drizzle.

Something suddenly appeared in his blank and dim eyes, and his pupils contracted sharply.