Western War Machines

The sun set, and the cold wind rose again.

Lu Zhen pushed open the dilapidated gate of the courtyard in Pig Cage Alley as the sky turned dark.

Shen Yun was mending an old padded jacket by the dim light of an oil lamp in the main room. Seeing Lu Zhen enter, she stood up out of habit, just about to speak, when Lu Zhen beat her to it.

"Sister Shen, I'm heading out on the river tomorrow morning. I took a job guarding a boat for the Tongjiang Chamber of Commerce; it'll likely take four days to return."

The needle in Shen Yun's hand paused, and a flicker of deep, unshakeable worry flashed in her eyes.

She didn't pry into the dangers of the martial world, merely nodding softly. "The wind on the river is strong, you must be careful. I'll knead some extra dough tonight and bake you a few hard flatbreads to take on the road."

"Sorry for the trouble." Lu Zhen glanced at the tightly shut doors and windows, cautioning, "While I'm away, you and Wan'er keep the door bolted. No matter what noise you hear outside, don't go wandering about. The streets aren't peaceful these days."

"I know, don't you worry."

After settling things at home, Lu Zhen turned and left the courtyard, heading straight to knock on the door of Uncle Ma next door.

Uncle Ma, draped in a patched, tattered cotton coat, poked his thin, gaunt head out.

Without a word, Lu Zhen reached into his sleeve, pulled out two silver dollars, and shoved them directly into Uncle Ma's calloused, rough hand. They felt hard and heavy.

"Master Lu, this is..." Uncle Ma was startled, his hand trembling.

"Uncle Ma, I have to go on a long trip and won't be back for a few days."

"There are two women at home, so I'm troubling you to keep an eye on things. If any strangers with no sense of propriety come lurking, don't try to fight them head-on; just shout for help or go to the street corner and call the patrolmen."

Two silver dollars were worth more than half a month of selling rotten vegetables for Uncle Ma.

His eyes lit up fiercely. He gripped the silver coins tight and slapped his chest with a loud thud:

"Master Lu, set your heart at ease! As long as I, Old Ma, have a breath left, I won't let those stray cats and dogs from outside step even half a foot over your threshold!"

Lu Zhen changed into a crisp blue cloth short-jacket, threw on a windproof sheepskin vest, tucked his two defensive short blades close to his body, and strode into the backyard of the Tongjiang Chamber of Commerce.

In the courtyard, over thirty guards were already gathered, carrying swords, sabers, and fire-and-water staves.

Leading them was the guard instructor who had sparred with Lu Zhen that day, Zhao Si.

Zhao Si was a righteous man who had spent his life in the martial world, open-hearted and frank. Seeing Lu Zhen arrive, he immediately stepped forward with a hearty laugh. "Brother Lu, we were just waiting for you! Come, let me introduce you to our brothers on the boat!"

He pulled Lu Zhen in front of the crowd and pointed to his two closest henchmen.

The one on the left was as thin as a hemp stalk, his Triangular Eyes darting around as he stared intently at a young woman passing outside the gate, his mouth nearly drooling.

"This is Hou San, nicknamed 'Skinny Monkey'. The kid is good with throwing knives, but he's got no backbone; he can't walk straight when he sees a woman. A natural-born lecher." Zhao Si laughed and kicked Hou San.

Hou San didn't mind, grinning as he cupped his hands to Lu Zhen. "Master Lu, if you ever go to Badahutong, this brother will lead the way!"

The one on the right was a short, stout man, his neck hunched, both hands clutching his money pouch and short blade for dear life, his Mouse eyes filled with a cautious, timid fear.

"This is Chen Er, nicknamed 'Mouse'." Zhao Si sighed. "His guts are smaller than a needle's eye; he jumps at the sound of a ripple on the water. But the kid has excellent swimming skills and can hold his breath for the time it takes to burn an incense stick. We keep him around to scout the water."

Chen Er hunched his shoulders, trembling as he said, "M-Master Lu, hello."

Usually, these rough men who licked blood off their blades were resistant to disciples from the big martial arts schools, feeling they were too arrogant and hard to please.

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

He pulled two packs of "Old Knife Brand" cigarettes from his chest, broke the seal, and smilingly handed them out to everyone.

As he passed the cigarettes, the men caught a glimpse of Lu Zhen's rough, broad, calloused hands and felt reassured—this was a brother who had truly done hard labor and crawled out of the mud and mire, not some pampered young master.

"Thanks, brothers. The wind and waves on the river are rough; I'll be counting on everyone's support." Lu Zhen lit one himself and blew a smoke ring with practiced ease.

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

Just like that, Lu Zhen blended into this group of rough men without a trace.

With the men assembled, the group of over thirty marched out of the city, heading straight for Shiliupu Pier.

The pier was built along the river; though it was within the territory of Ocean City, it was effectively a lawless zone for foreigners, a bridgehead for the concessions.

As they approached the perimeter of the pier, the atmosphere grew oppressive.

Rows of barbed-wire barricades blocked the main road, leaving only a single gate.

Lu Zhen swept his gaze across, his eyes suddenly sharpening.

Beside the gate stood a five-man squad of Japanese foreigners.

The five were dressed in dark blue Western military uniforms with samurai swords at their waists. Each was sturdy, their temples bulging—clearly, they were all trained fighters.

But what made Lu Zhen's heart palpitate was the blood-energy radiating from them.

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

He could clearly feel that while the blood-energy of these Japanese martial artists was powerful, it carried an indescribable, strange quality.

That blood-energy was chaotic and volatile, like pouring gunpowder into a furnace; though fierce, it carried a beast-like, raw stench, lacking the mellow depth of a martial artist's internal cultivation.

Even more striking was the Japanese captain leading them.

The man's gaze was sinister, looking at the surrounding Chinese as if they were a herd of pigs waiting for the slaughter.

His right arm was outfitted with a mechanical exoskeleton made of brass and refined steel—a Western Battle Gear!

The gear extended from his forearm all the way to his shoulder, with a small steam pressure valve strapped to his back.

Fine gears meshed slowly amidst the white steam, emitting a chilling, hissing sound, the cold metallic luster exuding an unreasonable aesthetic of violence in the morning mist.

Under the feet of these foreign masters, the ones responsible for frisking and inspections were a group of Chinese traitors dressed in black dog-skin uniforms.

These lackeys threw their weight around, wielding police batons and beating or cursing the laborers and commoners passing through the wharf.

In the front of the line, an old man was preparing to pass through the gate with a young girl who had just reached womanhood.

Two black-clad lackeys' eyes lit up. Using the pretext of a search, they crowded in from both sides, their rough, filthy hands wantonly groping the girl's chest and buttocks while they let out lewd, unbridled laughter.

"Yo, look at this little figure. Hiding contraband, are we? Let your master give you a proper search!"

The girl was so terrified that tears streamed down her face, her hands clutching her collar tightly.

The old man knelt on the ground, begging bitterly, only to be kicked over, losing two teeth in the process.

There were hundreds, if not thousands, of civilians in line, yet each one shrank their necks and kept their heads bowed, forced to swallow their teeth along with their blood, daring to be angry but not to speak.

"Brother Lu, hold back. Don't cause trouble."

Zhao Si pressed down on Lu Zhen's arm, lowering his voice as he subtly gestured with his chin toward the Japanese captain. "This is the foreigners' territory. See that iron contraption on the Japanese man's arm?"

Lu Zhen whispered, "Is that Western Battle Gear?"

"Correct. Ocean City is a small place after all; what he has on his arm is merely the lowest-tier 'Type C Basic Model' Steam Battle Arm from the West."

A flicker of deep apprehension crossed Zhao Si's eyes as he smiled bitterly.

"But even this piece of junk, if equipped on a martial artist at the late stage of Lianli, can use the thrust of that steam valve to deliver a punch with force comparable to seven or eight parts of a Bright Force Martial Master! A graze means injury, a hit means death!"

Zhao Si gritted his teeth and continued, "Furthermore, the foreigners have 'Hetero-Martialists' who specialize in taking drugs and injecting beast blood. They don't practice stance training or temper their bones; they rely on quick-fix serums! If a real fight breaks out, those of us who have trained hard for over a decade will be at a huge disadvantage!"

Hearing this, Skinny Monkey Hou San nearby couldn't help but spit a glob of thick phlegm onto the ground.

"Pah! Brother Zhao, you're boosting their morale and crushing our own!"

Hou San touched the throwing darts at his waist, a look of arrogance and pride typical of a National Martial Arts practitioner appearing on his face. "Those quick-fix Hetero-Martialists aren't worth a damn! Once they borrow the blood of beasts, they become half-beast themselves!

That kind of crooked path damages the foundation; they'll go mad and drop dead before they turn forty!"

"If you ask me, the National Martial Arts passed down by our ancestors are the only upright, righteous path! Cultivating the heart and nourishing the qi, refining both body and spirit! Once one reaches the profound realms of Bright Force or Dark Force, those fake tricks built on iron scraps and potions won't amount to a bird's fart!"

The other guards nodded and puffed out their chests, their faces filled with deep, heartfelt pride.

Lu Zhen remained calm on the surface, silently watching the gate locked down by barbed wire, sturdy ships, and heavy cannons.

Upright and righteous?

Crooked and evil?

If the Western Hetero-Martialists and battle gears were truly as vulnerable as they claimed, and truly all just flawed products...

Then how did the foreigners brazenly break through the gates of the country decades ago?

How did they trample over the corpses of thousands of Chinese martial artists who prided themselves on being "upright and righteous," carving out one foreign concession after another on this land?

While National Martial Arts might be the righteous path, the high-end combat power of those "crooked paths" was absolutely far more terrifying than they imagined.

"In this man-eating world, it doesn't matter if it's a black cat or a white cat; as long as it can kill, it's a good cat."

Lu Zhen loosened his clenched fists, his gaze piercing through the morning mist to stare deeply at the massive steel ship docked on the river, a flash of clarity in his eyes.

One must never be complacent.