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

"Hmph, you know I have a sharp eye, and you still want to fool me?" Song Beiyou's voice turned cold. "Is it the police station, or the Boxer Rebellion?"

"They're all just superficial injuries. When we were kids, we always got bruised and battered in fights," Shen Daguan said in a low voice. "The fact that you got out of the police station safe and sound today is a huge relief. We should go to Uncle Chen's tavern to celebrate properly, and call Ah Kuan over for a good, unbridled drink!"

"Whether it's the police station or the Boxer Rebellion, I won't let you get away with this beating," Song Beiyou said, enunciating each word clearly. "Believe me, it won't be long before I make you a millionaire and fulfill your wish."

"Hehehehe... I believe you." Shen Daguan continued walking, his voice warm. "With your intelligence and talent, Ayou, you'll make a name for yourself sooner or later. When that time comes... I'll buy my own new car, with gleaming bronze handlebars, solid rubber wheels, and two shiny headlights on the front!"

Song Beiyou's lips twitched slightly. "He's just a coachman, isn't he?"

Gradually, the road became increasingly bumpy. The cold, fishy smell of wet mud mixed with moss, the coal char smell tinged with moisture, and the sour stench emanating from the swill buckets... all wafted into my nostrils.

They had arrived at "Taomi Street". On both sides were all kinds of small shops: rice, flour and cooking oil, snack stalls, tailor shops, shoe repair stalls, coal briquette stations... You could basically find everything you needed for daily life here.

The black curtain of a gambling den was suddenly lifted a crack with a "whoosh." The pungent smell of cigarettes and alcohol mixed with the stench of sweat rushed into the damp, cold street, and the sounds of dice being shaken, shouting, cards being pushed, and laughter and cursing inside exploded for a moment.

A gaunt figure emerged from behind the curtain. His cloudy eyes suddenly lit up, and he called out, "Ayou! You brat, you're back?" The man pounced on the rickshaw like a clothesline pole, grabbing the handlebars, forcing Shen Daguan to stop.

Song Beiyou sat up straight, surprised, and asked, "Landlord? What's wrong with you? Did you lose all your money again and your legs are weak?"

"You brat! You're finally back!" The landlord cried, his face contorted with grief. "Second Master said he'd use me to settle your debts! Poor me, I've gone gray overnight!"

"Two hundred silver dollars? Landlord, you can't possibly be seriously injured by that, can you?"

"You make it sound so easy!" the landlord said impatiently. "Let me tell you, you're not allowed to run away! You're coming with me to see Second Master tomorrow! Otherwise, Da Guan will have to take the blame for you again!"

Song Beiyou frowned and said coldly, "So, you're saying that the Second Master sent people to attack Daguan?"

"Second Master" is Zhang Feilong, the second-in-command of the Yihe Society. He had met him before under the guise of Ding Qiang.

"That's right!" the landlord said in a low voice, "Da Guan's ten silver dollars, which he had painstakingly saved, were also stolen..."

Song Beiyou grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth: "Don't worry, landlord. Since I dared to come back, I won't run away."

The landlord felt a little uneasy under Song Beiyou's gaze. He shrank back, chuckled awkwardly, and released his grip, saying, "Alright, alright... Ah You is the most loyal. I'll be going now." With that, he hurriedly slipped back behind the black curtain of the gambling den.

"Ayou..." Shen Daguan pulled the cart, hesitating to speak.

"I know what I'm doing. Is Ah-Kuan alright?"

Shen Daguan muttered, "They found A-Kuan's house, and Uncle and Aunt had no choice but to pay twenty silver dollars."

Song Beiyou remained silent, his mind racing with calculations. Back in the "dungeon," he hadn't imagined he could return like this; at the time, he was only planning a famous prison break and a life on the run.

Things are different now. The best way to deal with Zhang Feilong is to use Zhang Dabao to make the two brothers kill each other. However, this needs to be done slowly.

Ding Qiang wanted to go and see him. To make a name for yourself in this world, you need not only strength, but also influence.

"We're here." Shen Daguan stopped, turned around and grinned. "Eat and drink your fill first! I've heard your stomach rumbling for a while now."

Song Beiyou jumped off the rickshaw. He was indeed starving—in the morning in the cell, he had snatched all the pig-swill-like breakfast from the twenty-odd prisoners and only managed to fill himself up to half full; the "vital energy value" displayed on his mask had only risen to 70%.

The sky was overcast, and darkness fell early. "Chen's Tavern" was deserted.

A lean old man was sitting at the doorway, fiddling with a small wooden box, from which a crackling electrical noise could be heard from time to time.

"Uncle Chen," Song Beiyou greeted him.

The old man looked up, his eyes wide with surprise, and exclaimed, "Ayou? You're back? Are you...are you alright?"

Song Beiyou smiled and said, "I'm doing great. I came straight here as soon as I got back, wanting to have a nice meal."

"It's good that you're alright!" Boss Chen put the radio on the table. "But you've come at an inopportune time. The weather's been damp and cold these past few days, and my old ailment has flared up again; my hand hurts so much I can't move it..."

Song Beiyou laughed and said, "I'll cut the meat and wash the vegetables. Uncle Chen will take care of the cooking, is that alright?"

Shopkeeper Chen glanced at him: "You're going to cut it?"

"Don't worry, Uncle Chen, who doesn't know how to chop vegetables?" Song Beiyou didn't dare to say he would cook—the key was that the cooking techniques of the "Master Butcher's" era were just a simple stew in water.

Manager Chen grinned, his eyes shining: "Sure! I'll only be in charge of cooking, you can do the rest."

Song Beiyou followed him into the restaurant. There were only two or three old tables in the hall, and a painting with a profound artistic conception, "The Immortal Crane's Longevity," hung in the center of the wall.

"What kind of dishes would you like to eat?"

"I'll cook whatever's available; I don't have any dietary restrictions."

Manager Chen lit a kerosene lamp, placed it on the cupboard, and began rummaging through the vegetable shelves.

"Let's start with some shredded pork, come and cut it." Manager Chen casually tossed out a piece of pork about the width of a palm.

Song Beiyou caught it and chuckled, "Uncle Chen, I've been having a bigger appetite lately, so you'll have to double the portion."

Without saying a word, Manager Chen tossed over another piece of pork and continued examining it. "Oh, kid, you're in luck! Braised pork belly, my specialty. Come on, chop the fish."

"Stir-fried bean sprouts with fried tofu, braised beef brisket... This really tests your knife skills, are you up for it?"

"No problem." Song Beiyou simply picked up a bamboo basket and waited to the side.

The ingredients were prepared, and he took double portions of everything as instructed. He brought over a cutting board, took the knife, and with a flick of his wrist, immediately assessed its weight and thickness.

Once the pork is placed on the cutting board, its texture and fascia are clearly visible at a glance, as shown in the diagram.

Manager Chen stood aside, glancing sideways. He wanted to see if this kid had become any more successful after spending a few months at the foreign hospital.

Song Beiyou began to slash. His knife moved like a swift swan treading on snow, leaving no trace. Under the kerosene lamp, the blade's light transformed into a flowing ribbon of white silk, spreading across the chopping board. The pork slices separated like snowflakes, thin as cicada wings, their textures clearly defined.

Manager Chen, standing to the side, stared wide-eyed, his jaw nearly dropping to the ground, his lips twitching uncontrollably—this knife skill would take decades to master, even he himself didn't have this ability, it was outrageous!

Song Beiyou glanced at Manager Chen and secretly felt smug. The Butcher Ding's twenty years of skill was no child's play.

Shen Daguan was also dumbfounded, stammering, "Ayou, where...where did you learn this skill? I've never seen you use it before?"

Song Beiyou smiled faintly and did not answer. In a short while, the pork slices were ready. With a flick of the knife and a smooth, hair-like wrist movement, he had cut the pork into evenly sized, fine shreds.

Shen Daguan watched for a while longer, then clicked his tongue in amazement: "You went to the Western hospital to learn how to cook, right? With this skill, you could easily work in a fancy restaurant. Hehe, I'm going to find A-Kuan and ask him to come along."