Western Battle Gear

The sun sank in the west, and the cold wind rose again.

Lu Zhen pushed open the broken courtyard gate in Pig Cage Alley. Dusk had already fallen.

By the dim yellow light of an oil lamp, Shen Yun was mending an old padded jacket in the main room. When she saw Lu Zhen enter, she rose out of habit, but before she could speak, he spoke first.

"Sister Shen, I have to take a water route tomorrow morning. I've taken a job escorting a merchant ship for a chamber of commerce. I probably won't be back for four days."

The needle in Shen Yun's hand paused, and an unshakable worry flickered in her eyes.

She didn't ask about the dangers of the martial world. She only nodded gently. "The wind is strong on the river. Be very careful. I'll knead extra dough tonight and bake you a few hard, unleavened flatbreads to take along."

"Sorry for the trouble." Lu Zhen glanced at the tightly shut doors and windows and reminded her, "While I'm gone, you and Wan'er must bolt the door. Whatever you hear outside, don't go wandering around for no reason. Things aren't peaceful on the streets these days."

"Of course, I know. Don't worry."

After settling things at home, Lu Zhen left the courtyard and went straight to knock on Uncle Ma's door next door.

Uncle Ma wore a tattered, patched cotton-padded jacket and poked half of his gaunt head out.

Without another word, Lu Zhen pulled two Silver Dollars from his sleeve and pressed them straight into Uncle Ma's calloused hand. They felt hard as stone.

"Master Lu, what are you—" Uncle Ma cried, his hand trembling.

"Uncle Ma, I have to go on a long trip. I'll be back in a few days."

"There are only two women at home. Sorry for the trouble, but please keep an eye on them. If some foolhardy stranger comes nosing around, don't fight them head-on. Just shout for help or go to the street and call the constables."

Two Silver Dollars were worth more than half a month's earnings from Uncle Ma's rotten-vegetable stall.

His eyes lit up. He clutched the silver coins and thumped his chest so hard it boomed.

"Master Lu, set your mind at ease! As long as Old Ma's still breathing, nobody from outside will set so much as a toe over your threshold!"

Lu Zhen changed into a neat blue cloth jacket and trousers, threw a windproof sheepskin vest over them, and tucked two short knives close to his body. Then he strode into the back courtyard of the Tongjiang Chamber of Commerce.

The courtyard was already packed with more than thirty guards, carrying swords and sabers or gripping cudgels.

At their head stood Zhao Si, the guard instructor who had crossed hands with Lu Zhen the other day.

Zhao Si was a righteous man who had spent years roaming the martial world. Openhearted and forthright, he immediately came forward with a hearty laugh when he saw Lu Zhen. "Brother Lu, we've been waiting for you! Come, let me introduce you to the brothers aboard our ship!"

He led Lu Zhen to the front of the crowd and introduced the two men at his side, his closest aides.

The one on the left was as thin as a stalk of hemp. His Triangular Eyes darted about as he ogled a young woman passing outside the gate, nearly drooling.

"This is Hou San, nicknamed Skinny Monkey. He's good with throwing knives, but he's light in the bones. Show him a woman and he can't take another step. Born and bred a lecher." Zhao Si laughed and kicked Hou San.

Hou San didn't take offense. He grinned and cupped his hands toward Lu Zhen. "Master Lu, if you ever go to Badahutong, your brother here will show you around!"

The one on the right was a short, stout man who hunched his shoulders and clutched the purse and short knife at his waist with both hands. His beady eyes held a timid, cautious look.

"This is Chen Er, nicknamed Mouse." Zhao Si sighed. "He's more cowardly than a needle's eye. Even the sound of a wave on the water can make him jump. But he's an excellent swimmer. He can hold his breath in the river for the time it takes an incense stick to burn, so we're keeping him on to scout the waters."

Chen Er hunched his shoulders and stammered, "G-Good to meet you, Master Lu."

These rough men had spent years living by the blade. They were usually wary of privileged disciples from martial arts schools, thinking they were full of airs and hard to deal with.

But Lu Zhen didn't put on the slightest airs of an Inner Sect disciple.

He took two packs of Old Knife Brand cigarettes from his pocket, opened them, and cheerfully passed them around.

As the men accepted the cigarettes, they noticed Lu Zhen's broad, rough hands, thick with calluses. Their minds settled at once—this was a brother who had truly done hard labor, someone who had clawed his way up from the mud at the bottom, not some pampered young master.

"You're all too kind, brothers. The river can get rough, so I'll be counting on you to look after me." Lu Zhen lit a cigarette himself and exhaled a familiar ring of smoke.

A few words and a cigarette were all it took to warm the atmosphere.

Just like that, Lu Zhen slipped seamlessly into the rough-and-ready crowd.

After gathering the men, the group of more than thirty left the city in a grand procession, heading straight for Shiliupu Pier.

The pier stood along the river. Though it lay within Ocean City, it was in practice a lawless foreign enclave, a bridgehead of the concessions.

The atmosphere turned oppressive as soon as they neared the outer perimeter.

Rows of barricades strung with barbed wire sealed off the road, leaving only a single checkpoint.

Lu Zhen swept his gaze over the scene, and his eyes suddenly sharpened.

Beside the checkpoint stood a five-man squad of Eastern Island soldiers.

The five wore dark blue Western military uniforms and had samurai swords at their waists. Each was solidly built, with temples bulging high. They were clearly trained fighters.

But what made Lu Zhen uneasy was the blood and qi radiating from them.

Lu Zhen had already reached the Copper Skin Iron Bone stage, and his senses were sharper than an ordinary person's.

He could clearly feel that the Eastern Island warriors' blood and qi were powerful, yet strangely unsettling.

Their blood and qi were impure and violent, like black powder poured into a furnace. Though fierce, they carried a beastly, rancid heat, entirely lacking the rich, steady quality that came from a martial artist's breathing and cultivation.

Even more eye-catching was the Eastern Island Captain at their head.

His gaze was sinister, and he looked at the Chinese people around him as if they were a herd of pigs waiting to be slaughtered.

His right arm was fitted with a mechanical exoskeleton of interlocking brass and hardened steel—a piece of Western Battle Gear!

The apparatus extended from his forearm all the way to his shoulder, and a small steam pressure valve was strapped to his back.

Tiny gears slowly meshed amid the white steam, giving off a chilling hiss. In the morning mist, the cold gleam of metal radiated an unreasonable, brutal beauty.

At the feet of these foreign masters stood a group of Chinese collaborators in black uniforms, conducting the body searches.

These lackeys threw their weight around under foreign protection, carrying batons and beating and cursing the laborers and common folk passing through the pier.

Near the front of the line, an old man was leading a young, unmarried girl who had just turned fifteen through the checkpoint.

Two black-uniformed lackeys' eyes lit up. Using the search as an excuse, they sidled up on either side of her. Their filthy, calloused hands shamelessly groped her chest and backside, while they leered and laughed.

"Hey, look at that figure! You hiding something forbidden? Let your daddy give you a proper search!"

The girl was so frightened that tears streamed down her face as she clutched her collar shut.

The old man fell to his knees and begged, only to be kicked over. He even knocked out two teeth.

Hundreds upon hundreds of ordinary people stood in line, but one by one, they hunched their shoulders and bowed their heads. They could only swallow their rage and stay silent.

"Brother Lu, hold it in. Don't cause trouble." Zhao Si pressed down on Lu Zhen's arm and lowered his voice. With a discreet tilt of his chin toward the Eastern Island Captain, he said, "This is foreign territory. See that hunk of iron on the Eastern Islander's arm?"

"Is that Western Battle Gear?" Lu Zhen asked quietly.

"Exactly. Ocean City is a small place, after all. The thing on his arm is only the lowest-grade Type C Basic Model Steam Battle Arm."

A deep wariness flashed through Zhao Si's eyes, and he smiled bitterly.

"But even a lousy basic model like that, fitted to a Late Force Refining Realm martial artist, can use the thrust from its steam valve to give a punch that packs seven or eight tenths of the power of a Bright Force Martial Master's strike! Just brush against it and you're injured. Take a direct hit and you're dead!"

Zhao Si gritted his teeth and went on. "And the foreigners also have a special kind of fighter who takes drugs and gets injected with beast blood—the Hetero-Martialists. They don't practice stance training or temper their bones and sinews. They get fast-tracked with drugs! If it comes to a fight, those of us who've trained hard for over a decade will be at a huge disadvantage!"

At that, Hou San couldn't help spitting a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground.

"Bah! Brother Zhao, you're just puffing up others and cutting down your own people!"

Hou San touched the throwing knives at his waist, his face brimming with the pride and arrogance of a National Martial Arts practitioner. "Those fast-tracked Hetero-Martialists are nothing! They borrowed an animal's blood, so now they're half animals themselves!

"That crooked path damages their foundations. They'll go mad and drop dead before they're even forty!"

"If you ask me, the National Martial Arts passed down by our ancestors is the one true, upright path! It cultivates the mind and nourishes the qi, refining both body and spirit! If we reach the advanced realms of Bright Force and Dark Force, what can those frauds, built out of hunks of iron and vials of medicine, do? They're nothing!"

The other guards nodded and puffed out their chests, their faces shining with deep conviction and pride.

Lu Zhen gave no sign of his thoughts. He simply watched the checkpoint ahead, sealed off by barbed wire and warships with guns.

The one true, upright path?

A crooked path?

If Western Hetero-Martialists and Battle Gear really were as useless as these men claimed, if they were all flawed products...

Then what had the foreigners used to brazenly blast their way through the gates of the country decades ago?

How had they trampled over the corpses of countless Huaxia martial artists who'd proclaimed themselves upright, carving out one concession after another on this land?

National Martial Arts might be the righteous path, but the high-end fighting power of those "crooked paths" was far more terrifying than people imagined.

"In this man-eating world, black cat or white cat, if it can kill, it's a good cat."

Lu Zhen unclenched his fist and gazed through the morning mist at the steel behemoth moored on the river. Clarity glimmered in his eyes.

He must never grow complacent.