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

"Okay, coming right away." This is Ding Qiang's grandmother. The two depend on each other for survival, and the old woman raised him single-handedly.

The old woman's cloudy eyes flickered with surprise. Normally, her "Qiangbao" would have said, "You eat first, don't worry about me," and then continued his frantic boxing practice. But today was different! She grinned, revealing a toothless smile, and said happily, "Okay, okay, Grandma will get you some porridge." With that, she turned and went back into the kitchen, her back still hunched.

"Big Brother! Brother Qiang!" came a shout from outside the courtyard. Three burly men wearing open-fronted cotton-padded jackets and baggy trousers entered without any hesitation.

Song Beiyou glanced around; they were all Ding Qiang's henchmen, wielding axes. He asked, "What's the matter?"

One of them, older than the other, had a sunken face covered in stubble, looking like he had been chronically sleep-deprived. He replied, "Second Master is looking for you; it's urgent."

"What's so important?" Song Beiyou stared at him casually.

The bearded man's heart skipped a beat—Brother Qiang seemed like a different person today. Normally, he'd hear Second Master's call and head straight for the place without a word. He quickly lowered his voice: "I heard our Yihe Society is going to have a fight with the Japanese in Hongkou."

Song Beiyou's heart skipped a beat. The territories of the Japanese in Hongkou and the Yihe Society bordered each other, and their conflicts had long been rife. This Second Master, whose real name was Zhang Feilong, was a key figure in the Yihe Society; the loan sharks had borrowed money from him. He raised an eyebrow and said calmly, "Understood."

The bearded man blinked, exchanged glances with the other two, and all three shook their heads slightly. They couldn't figure out what was wrong with their boss today; something seemed off.

Song Beiyou ignored them and turned to walk into his bedroom. He pulled out a wooden box covered in cobwebs and dust from under the bed, brushed off the dust, and took out a soft armor covered in rust and two heavy bronze wrist guards.

This was an old item passed down from Ding Qiang's ancestors, said to be able to save lives in critical moments. Song Beiyou hastily wiped the rust off the soft armor, then put it on close to his body, fastened the two wrist guards, and put on a loose blue cloth jacket to cover the marks before coming out.

Grandma, who was in the kitchen, saw him dressed and ready to leave and said anxiously, "Qiangbao, where are you going? You haven't had breakfast yet!"

Among the three, a young man as thin as a bamboo pole overstepped his bounds and laughed, "Grandma, you eat first. Brother Qiang will come back to eat after he finishes his business..." As he spoke, he gestured for Song Beiyou to leave, but his shoulder was grabbed by a large, iron-like hand.

"What could be more important than eating? Hmm?"

"Straight Bamboo Pole" turned around in surprise, startled. Their leader, Brother Qiang, was, to put it nicely, straightforward and single-minded; to put it bluntly, he was naive and reckless. But the look in Brother Qiang's eyes that he had just met was bright and sharp, like a hawk hunting its prey—all traces of his usual naivety were gone!

Song Beiyou didn't make things difficult for him. He let go of his hand and turned to look at his grandmother: "Let's go eat. Let them wait."

In the kitchen, a large bowl of steaming white rice porridge sat on the dark stove, sprinkled with some pickled vegetable shreds. He picked it up, not caring about the heat, and gulped down most of it in a few mouthfuls. Although Ding Qiang was a leader, he wasn't well-off, and with his large appetite, being able to eat his fill three meals a day was already a good thing.

Grandma secretly watched from the side. Today, "Qiangbao" suddenly seemed like a different person, as if he had become intelligent. A smile of relief involuntarily appeared on her dry lips, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by worry.

"Grandma, I've finished eating." Song Beiyou put down the large bowl, wiped his mouth, and said, "I'm going out to take care of something." Just as he stepped out of the kitchen, a thin figure suddenly rushed up behind him, trembling, and hugged his waist tightly.

"Qiangbao...are you going out to fight? Don't go...Grandma had a nightmare last night and is very worried. It's not a good omen...please don't go, okay?" The old woman's voice was trembling with fear.

Song Beiyou's heart felt a sudden clench. His large, bony fingers curled, and he slowly turned around, grasping her withered, claw-like hands. He knelt down, meeting her gaze, and said earnestly, "Grandma, I promise you, I'll definitely come back for dinner. From now on... I'll never fight with anyone again."

The old man raised his cloudy, tear-filled eyes and asked incredulously, "Really?"

Having received her grandson's affirmative nod, she happily shook Song Beiyou's hand and said repeatedly, "Good, that's great... My Qiangbao has become smarter and more sensible! Grandma will make your favorite braised mandarin fish tonight!" As she spoke, she took Song Beiyou's hand and gave it two quick kisses on the back.

Song Beiyou never expected the old man to pull such a stunt. Looking at the drool on the back of his hand, he was both amused and exasperated.

The younger brother next to her couldn't help but chuckle, "Grandma, our Brother Qiang is a hero, you still treat him like a little baby?"

Song Beiyou raised his hand and slapped the back of his talkative underling on the head: "I'm not a hero," he pointed to his grandmother, whose eyes were shining and whose face was full of smiles, "Grandma is the hero."

"Let's go!" he said, and without lingering, strode out of the courtyard.

Song Beiyou strode briskly along the soft muddy road, passing through streets and alleys, heading straight for the residence of Second Master Zhang Feilong, the largest gambling den in the area.

The three henchmen could only jog to keep up, the long-handled axes tucked into their waistbands swinging back and forth, making them grimace and quickly reach out to steady themselves.

Fifteen minutes later, Song Beiyou and his group arrived at Datong Road.

Steam rose from the small eatery on the street corner. Under the eaves and by the door, some laborers squatted, dressed in tattered coarse cloth clothes, chatting idly about everything under the sun. Then, a shout came from inside, and a few people went in, brought out a full bowl of plain noodles, and began to slurp them down.

The sounds of slurping and laughter, like raindrops scattered by a strange wind, suddenly subsided. Only after Song Beiyou and his companions had walked away did the noise rise again.

In this bustling area, there are more than 60 shops, seven of which are gambling dens and opium dens, and three are brothels.

Everyone at the "Four Seasons Gambling Den" was an acquaintance, and they greeted each other along the way. Song Beiyou was led up to a private room on the second floor, and a henchman pushed open the door to announce his arrival. Song Beiyou glanced inside and saw a group of people playing mahjong.

Zhang Feilong, wearing a white peaked hat and a silk mandarin jacket, reached out and patted the buttocks of the woman in the cheongsam next to him upon hearing the announcement, indicating that she should play a few rounds of cards for him. He then got up and walked over.

A menacing blue dragon tattoo slung across his neck, winding all the way to his ear, sending chills down one's spine. It was said that in his younger days, when he followed the bandit leader in the north, he was a ruthless killer. Although he now dressed like a high-class man, he couldn't conceal the viciousness in his bones.

"Ah Qiang is here." Zhang Feilong led him to another empty private room, sat down on the sofa with his legs crossed, took a deep drag on his cigar, and then spoke:

"Here's the thing. Those short Japanese bastards in Hongkou have been too arrogant lately. The boss wants each of our branches to send a skilled fighter to obey his orders. Your branch has the best fighter, so naturally you'll go. No problem, right?"

Song Beiyou clasped his hands in a fist and palm salute: "Since it's the leader who needs to get things done, no problem."

"Good! That's true loyalty! I, Feilong, admire brothers like that the most." Zhang Feilong slapped the sofa armrest and laughed, "Go to headquarters now and see the boss. After this is done, I'll throw you a celebration banquet!"

Song Beiyou stared intently at Zhang Feilong's chest and grinned, "Second Master, lend me this thing for a bit."

Feilong stared at him, surprised, then bent down and pulled a silver chain from the clasp. At one end of the chain was a gleaming silver pocket watch. He gestured with his cigar-holding hand towards Song Beiyou: "Good lad, you have good taste. Here you go!"

Song Beiyou caught it with his hand, pressed the buckle, and pushed it upwards with his thumb—click, the watch cover popped open: 9:18.

"Thanks, Second Master." Song Beiyou smiled and turned to leave.

He left the gambling den with a few men, but frowned inwardly. If it were the old Ding Qiang, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything amiss. But during his conversation with Feilong, he vaguely sensed something strange about the other man's expression.