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

"Go in, the leader is waiting for you," the henchman called out.

Song Beiyou perked up. He had never seen the "true form" of this leader of the Yihe Society. He immediately strode over the threshold.

On the table across the street was a small copper pot, bubbling and steaming, with several plates of thinly sliced ​​meat next to it, and a large bowl of golden-brown, crispy flatbread.

Across from them, a fat man with a thick neck and slicked-back hair was enjoying his meal.

"You're here? Sit down." Bao Ye slightly raised his eyelids, quickly stuffed the meat-filled pancake in his hand into his mouth, then scooped a bowl of thick soup from the small pot. Ignoring the heat, he gulped down a large mouthful, and fine sweat had already seeped from his forehead.

"Great!" Bao Ye's face was shiny with oil as he greeted, "Sit down, what are you standing there for?"

Song Beiyou then noticed that there was another person sitting next to him, dressed in coarse cloth and short clothes, chewing on a flatbread without saying a word.

He pulled out a chair and sat to the left of the man, observing him intentionally or unintentionally—the man was dark-skinned and thin, with a thick layer of calluses on his fists, indicating he was also a martial arts expert.

A maidservant quickly came over, added bowls and chopsticks, and poured tea.

Bao chuckled, "Authentic donkey meat sandwiches, you can't find this flavor in Jiangzuo. I was planning to have one when you arrived, but I couldn't resist." As he spoke, he picked up another pancake.

"Back when your father and I were in Tianjin with the old man, the most enjoyable thing was to eat ten baked buns in one go with a bowl of mutton offal soup. It was so satisfying! Back then, your father was as strong as an ox, just like you."

His hands moved swiftly, picking up four or five slices of donkey meat and placing them on the flatbread, then sprinkling on some pepper. "This is the authentic donkey meat sandwich. Come on, have a taste."

Song Beiyou didn't stand on ceremony and took it. He was indeed a little hungry. "Thank you, Uncle." According to Ding Qiang's memory, his father was indeed a trusted confidant of Master Bao.

The scar on Bao Ye's left cheek looked like a writhing red centipede. He ladled out another bowl of steaming hot mutton offal soup and pushed it in front of Song Beiyou. "Let's eat and talk."

Song Beiyou had no dietary restrictions. He had been in this realm for a year and had never eaten anything so good. It was a pity that it wasn't the real body, so he could only satisfy his craving. He immediately began to eat heartily.

Bao Ye pulled off the large napkin tucked into his collar, revealing a black vest and white shirt underneath. Leaning back in his chair, he slowly said, "Those sons of bitches from Japan are swaggering around on our turf. What are they anyway? They're just relying on the foreigners to back them up."

"A few days ago, two of our rickshaw dealership brothers died and more than a dozen were injured while pulling rickshaws in Hongkou. It was them who did it. The leader is called Kato Yuichi."

Zhang Dabao paused, sat up straight, his broad shoulders slowly leaning forward, and asked, "I want you to kill him. Do you dare?"

Song Beiyou's mind raced—Zhang Feilong tricked me. Wasn't it said that several branches were supposed to send people? Why are there only two now? No wonder he only saw Ding Qiang charging in the water mirror image.

He took a sip of the piping hot mutton soup and felt a surge of heat rush into his throat. He nodded and said, "Why wouldn't I dare?"

"Haha, you've got your father's spirit back in the day. Well done!" Zhang Dabao's gaze shifted to the silent middle-aged man beside him. "Ah Zheng, what about you? Do you dare?"

The man stopped puffing out his cheeks, forced himself to swallow the mouthful of food, and then said, "I'm fine."

"Alright, you've got guts! I, Zhang Dabao, will never treat my brothers unfairly. Whoever brings back that Japanese bastard's head, I'll make him the Red Stick Leader."

Song Beiyou glanced at A Zheng beside him, grinned, stuffed half a baked bun into his mouth, and mumbled, "Thank you for your guidance, Uncle. However, Hongkou is the territory of the Japanese. If we fail, life and death are minor matters, but it will be difficult to deal with them again in the future."

Zhang Dabao raised his thick eyebrows slightly: "Too many people will attract attention and make things worse. As long as the knives are sharp, two will be enough. But don't worry, someone will be there to help."

Ring ring—the phone rang next door. Soon, a young man with a buzz cut walked up to Bao Ye and whispered a few words in his ear.

Bao Ye frowned: "Didn't we give her the best serum? Why is she still running a fever?"

The short-haired young man shook his head: "The young mistress wants you to go back immediately."

Master Bao nodded and ordered, "Go prepare the carriage." He then waved behind him, took the hot towel brought by the maid, and wiped the sweat from his face and forehead. Suddenly, the obese man sprang up and slapped him across the face.

Caught off guard, the maid was sent flying, landing heavily on the ground with a muffled groan. Blood immediately trickled from the corner of her mouth, and she lowered her head, not daring to utter a sound.

"How many times have I told you? The towel has to be piping hot. You can't teach someone properly." He adjusted his collar, changed his expression, and shouted outside:

"Ah Biao, come here for a second."

Song Beiyou narrowed his eyes. Although this guy was fat, he was still agile and probably hadn't lost his kung fu skills.

"Senior brother." An old man in a gray cloth jacket walked in through the doorway.

Zhang Dabao forced a smile again, "Something came up at home, so I have to go back first. Abiao will take care of the rest."

Song Beiyou nodded calmly: "Understood. Take care, Uncle."

Ah Zhen, who was standing next to him, also stood up and said, "Farewell, Master Bao."

Zhang Dabao put on a black tuxedo and hurriedly left like a rolling ball of flesh.

……

One after another, rickshaws chugged past. A car honked its horn.

The long street was bustling with traffic and pedestrians. There were people in short jackets and long gowns, as well as suits and top hats. There were also Japanese women wearing brightly colored kimonos, carrying lacquer boxes, and taking small, quick steps, and groups of Japanese ronin dressed in saka-sei (traditional Japanese robes) parading through the streets.

"Brother Biao, do you have a gun?" Song Beiyou asked.

The old man stroked his goatee: "No. What kind of guns do we, the gangsters, use?"

"We don't need it, but who knows if the Japanese devils might have it."

"Hehe, everyone says you, Qiang, are a simpleton, but I don't think so at all." Boss Biao blew on his beard. "Black guns on the market aren't cheap. Those Japanese devils, their hometowns are half occupied by 'Sea Fog,' they're dirt poor, most of them don't have any."

"Most likely?" Song Beiyou's lips twitched, then he asked, "What's Kato Yuichi's strength?"

"What kind of strength could they possibly have? If they were experts, would they need to compete with our Yihe Society for manual labor jobs?"

"real?"

"Would I lie to you?" Biao Ye glared at him.

He Zheng walked beside him, keeping his head down and hurrying along, like a silent gourd.

Song Beiyou's eyes flashed like lightning. He noticed the old man's evasive gaze. Thinking of Zhang Feilong's evasive words, the leader's hasty departure in a suit and tie, and the dissatisfaction of his underlings with his smoking ban, a chill ran down his spine.

He suddenly asked, "Brother Biao, hasn't our Boss Bao been to the main branch for a long time?"

Biao Ye raised his droopy eyelids slightly: "The boss is busy with big business and has long looked down on the petty squabbles in the gang."

Just as I suspected. There was still some dissatisfaction in the old man's voice. Song Beiyou's heart skipped a beat, and he asked again, "So who's in charge of the Yihe Society now? Second Master Feilong?"

Biao Ye's lips curled into a smirk: "If Big Brother is busy, then Second Brother will have to work harder."

Song Beiyou turned and stared into Biao Ye's eyes, a half-smile on his face. "Then Biao Ye and Second Master must be quite close, right? Do you often play mahjong with him?"

Biao Ye's expression changed slightly. A chill ran down his spine as Song Beiyou stared at him. He roared, "Stop talking nonsense! What are you trying to do here, gathering intelligence?"

Song Beiyou withdrew his gaze and shook his head, saying, "Why is Master Biao so nervous? I'm just asking." He had already made up his mind: Zhang Feilong wanted to use someone else to kill him, cut off Master Bao's wings, and take his place.

To break through this impasse head-on, there's only one way: take the target's head and go see Master Bao. Having reached this conclusion, he then asked, "And how much longer until Qingchuan Teahouse?"

"Soon, it will be over in the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. I've arranged for some brothers to keep watch."

Song Beiyou then said, "If you don't have a gun, you should at least have a knife, right? I need a good knife."

Biao nodded.

The usually taciturn He Zheng finally raised his head, glanced at the two men, and said, "I want the knife too."

"Only Japanese devils can enter that place. I have prepared a samurai outfit and two Japanese swords for the two of you."

"Does Master Biao have anyone here who speaks Japanese?" Song Beiyou asked, frowning.

No, not at all.

"Wouldn't we be exposed as soon as we get to the door? Prepare two well-fitting, high-end suits for us." Song Beiyou flipped open his watch; 12:44.