The next day.
The air inside the shack was stale and damp, thick with the smells of sweat, feet, and moldy straw.
The fire in the charcoal brazier had long gone out. Only a few dull-red embers remained, clinging to the last scraps of warmth.
Xu Chun lay sprawled on a straw mat near the back, snoring loud enough to shake the roof and smacking his lips now and then.
Uncle Jin was curled up in a heap of tattered cotton batting, his body rising and falling with each breath.
Qin Geng got up as quietly as he could.
There was no rooster crowing.
In Tianjin, where every inch of land was worth gold, especially in the shanty district, no one kept a living alarm clock. It would probably be stolen within days.
He pulled his jacket tighter, took the cold half of a flatbread left over from last night out of his coat, and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he pushed his brand-new rickshaw silently out of the shack.
The wheels rolled over the packed earth with the faintest rustle.
Outside, the sky was still ink-black, with only a scattering of stars.
The sun had yet to show itself, but Ping'an County Town was far from still.
Orange lamplight already shone through many of the paper-covered windows along the streets.
In the Great Xin Dynasty, ordinary folk kept a peculiar schedule: they slept in two stretches.
Once darkness fell, most families blew out their lamps and candles early to save oil money and went to sleep—unless they had spare cash to hear songs at a pleasure house or linger in a teahouse.
After sleeping their fill, they woke around the middle of the night, near the hour of the tiger.
This was what people called "rising at midnight."
In wealthy households with a promising young scholar, the child would be woken to recite the classics while the night was quiet and his mind clear;
husbands and wives in humbler homes would talk over the family finances beneath the covers, or give their children a scolding;
and those with a taste for such things might invite a few friends out for a lantern-lit stroll and a late-night snack.
The bustle of those midnight hours could last for an hour or two.
Only when sleepiness returned would everyone go back to bed for a second round of sleep, lasting until broad daylight.
But Qin Geng had no such luxury.
He was a Carriage Driver, a poor devil who traded muscle for meals.
Qin Geng's schedule followed copper coins, not the sun.
At this hour, apart from the night watchmen, the busiest people on the streets were the breakfast vendors.
White steam billowed from bamboo steamers, oil bubbled around frying dough, and the fragrance drifted far on the chilly morning breeze.
Qin Geng pulled his rickshaw along at a brisk pace, heading straight for the south gate.
The south gate stood wide open, its two heavy iron-bound wooden doors looming silently in the night.
The entrance blazed with lamplight, and people streamed through it.
Farmers carried vegetables into town on shoulder poles, Porters pushed deliveries in wheelbarrows, and traveling merchants headed out with bedding rolls on their backs.
Looking at the open gate, Qin Geng could not help feeling a pang of nostalgia.
When he was little, people could not pass through it so freely.
Back when the Great Xin Dynasty still cared about keeping up appearances, anyone entering or leaving town had to pay a "city wall levy." Two rows of Great Xin soldiers stood at the gate with long guns on their shoulders, fierce as demons.
In those days, the gate would not open before the third quarter of the hour of the rabbit, when daylight was well underway.
Even if people froze or starved to death outside, the guards still opened it by the rules.
Later, the Foreigners' ironclad ships and powerful cannons blasted open the gates of Tianjin, and they carved out a Concession in a new district.
Ever since, the gates of Tianjin's old town and several nearby county towns had been like tigers without teeth. They were never shut anymore.
There were still Great Xin soldiers around, but they wore baggy uniforms and dozed beneath the city wall clutching their muskets. No one bothered to check who came or went.
Qin Geng stopped his rickshaw in front of a busy breakfast stall.
The vendor was a bald, heavyset man, stirring the frying dough in a pot of oil with long chopsticks.
"Boss, two bowls of tofu pudding, extra sauce, and ten big fried dough sticks!"
Qin Geng set down the rickshaw handles and planted himself on a stool.
"Coming right up!"
The vendor answered automatically without pausing his work. Out of habit, he called, "That'll be ten copper coins—"
Halfway through, he turned to look and froze.
He had assumed anyone with an appetite like that would be some burly dockworker who hauled heavy sacks, or perhaps a Blacksmith or carpenter.
But the customer before him was hardly broad-shouldered. He was rather slight, in fact, and still just a half-grown boy.
"Little brother, ten fried dough sticks and two bowls of tofu pudding? Can you really finish all that?"
The vendor offered the warning kindly.
"Don't worry. I can."
Qin Geng wasted no words. He counted ten copper coins, still warm from his pocket, and lined them up on the table. "I've got a long run ahead. I need a full stomach."
With the money on the table, the vendor said no more. He quickly served two steaming bowls of tofu pudding, topped with thick savory sauce, cilantro, minced garlic, and a spoonful of bright-red chili oil.
Next came a basket of big fried dough sticks, golden and crisp, each as long as a forearm.
Qin Geng grabbed a spoon and slurped down a huge mouthful of tofu pudding. Its scalding, savory warmth slid down his throat into his stomach, driving away most of the chill in his body.
He picked up two fried dough sticks in his left hand and, without breaking them, stuffed them straight into his mouth. They crunched loudly between his teeth.
Most of the other diners had ordered a bowl of soy milk and two flatbreads. They could not help glancing over at the Carriage Driver devouring his food like a whirlwind sweeping away clouds.
"Whoa!"
"A growing boy can eat his old man out of house and home. They weren't kidding!"
"That kid sure can eat."
Qin Geng paid their looks no mind.
Ever since he unlocked the [Divine Stride] talent, his appetite had grown.
Then he unlocked [Endless Breath], and it grew bigger still. His stomach was like a bottomless pit.
He had to go to Bell Mountain soon, a journey of thirty-odd kilometers. What if he ran out of steam halfway there because he had not eaten enough?
As he ate, Qin Geng kept an ear on the chatter around him.
"Heard the news? Another Foreigners' ship docked yesterday. They unloaded all sorts of strange contraptions."
"Of course they did. What do you think Tianjin Guard is? We're the gateway at the Son of Heaven's feet. Outside the Capital, nowhere in the Great Xin Dynasty is more prosperous."
"True enough. Shanghai might be able to give us a run for our money, but everywhere else falls short."
Several diners in long gowns sipped tea and held forth on the state of the world, wearing the particular pride and sense of superiority of old Tianjin locals.
Qin Geng clicked his tongue to himself.
Prosperous, sure. But that prosperity belongs to the Foreigners and the rich. What does it have to do with poor devils pulling rickshaws?
In no time, he had drained both bowls of tofu pudding to the last drop and eaten all ten fried dough sticks.
Qin Geng wiped the oil from his mouth and let out a satisfied burp. Strength had returned to his limbs.
"Time to go!"
He took up the rickshaw handles, passed through the gate, and set out on the official road to Bell Mountain.
Qin Geng had no foreign watch, but years of pulling a rickshaw had given him a good feel for the time.
It was about the fourth quarter of the hour of the tiger. There was still some time before the hour of the rabbit.
Once outside town, he saw fewer and fewer travelers on the road.
Wind rose beneath Qin Geng's feet.
The trees on either side flashed backward as the dim official road stretched ahead of him.
He ran hard the whole way. When he reached Heaven-Reaching Gate at the foot of Bell Mountain, the sky was still sunk in deep, lifeless black.
Heaven-Reaching Gate was really just a crumbling stone archway standing alone at the mountain's foot.
Dense woods surrounded it. When the wind blew, the leaves rattled as though countless hands were clapping.
Qin Geng stopped the rickshaw and crouched behind a large rock that sheltered him from the wind, hunching his neck into his shoulders.
For some reason, the moment he stopped, the temperature seemed to plunge.
Autumn had come and the weather was turning cold, but this chill felt as though it seeped out through the gaps in his bones. It was eerie enough to make every hair on his body stand on end.
"Strange..."
Qin Geng rubbed his arms, unease stirring in his heart. Didn't Master Zhu Xin say last night that Bell Mountain sits at the tip of the Dragon Vein's tail, with dragon energy holding it down, and that there'd be no Demons or ghosts? Why does this place feel more sinister than a mass grave?
The silence around him was terrifying. Not even an insect chirped or a bird called.
Only the wind moaned through the gaps in Heaven-Reaching Gate's stonework, like a woman weeping softly.
For those five silver dollars, Qin Geng gritted his teeth, forced down his fear, and waited.
But he did not let down his guard.
In these chaotic times, his life was his own to protect.
He gripped the rickshaw handles tightly with one hand, the muscles in his legs taut. At the slightest rustle, he was ready to pull the rickshaw and run.
Time trickled by. Every second was torment.
Just as Qin Geng began to wonder whether he had remembered the time wrong, or whether that fortune-teller had played him for a fool—
"Go!"
A low, urgent shout exploded beside his ear.
It came so suddenly that Qin Geng jerked all over and nearly fell to the ground.
Before he could react, a dark figure burst out of the dense woods beside him like a great bird and landed heavily on the rickshaw seat with a thud.
The rickshaw sank sharply under the weight.
It was the customer in the black robe and dark glasses.
"Move! Run as hard as you can!" Shopkeeper Lu urged.
Qin Geng instinctively glanced toward the voice, into the pitch-black woods.
That one glance nearly blew the top of his head off.
In the depths of the dim forest, several shadowy "people" were following.
They wore Qing Dynasty officials' robes and plumed hats. Their faces were white as paper, with scarlet rouge smeared across their cheeks.
Their arms stretched straight out before them, and their knees were stiff, yet they sprang upright from the ground.
Thump!
One leap carried them three or four meters.
Zo... Zombies?!
"Fuck me!"
Terror seized Qin Geng. His scalp prickled as a cold rush shot from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
"Hold on tight, sir!"
He shouted through trembling lips, no longer caring about conserving strength or keeping his breathing steady.
Boom!
In that instant, Qin Geng felt less like a man than a wild horse.
He drove both feet into the ground so hard that he left two pits in the dirt. The rickshaw shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
The wind turned to knives, slashing across his face.
The scenery on either side blurred into streaming lines.
He had never run this fast in his life.
Angry roars seemed to rise from the woods behind him, followed by the muffled thuds of heavy things striking the ground. Soon, he left the sounds far behind.
Qin Geng did not dare look back. Only one thought filled his head: Run!
Slow down, and those Zombies will tear me apart and eat me alive!
A thick taste of blood rose in his throat. His lungs were being pushed beyond their limits.
His heart hammered as though it would smash through his ribs and leap out of his throat.
Strangely, despite his furious pace, the rickshaw remained remarkably steady.
It was as though an invisible force supported the carriage, letting it glide over the uneven official road as smoothly as level ground.
The passenger on the seat had been tense as well.
But when he felt that extraordinary speed and steadiness, he gave a soft sound of surprise.
He turned his head slightly to study the back of the boy pulling the rickshaw, then looked down at the two wheels spinning so fast their spokes were almost invisible.
"Has the Fire Wheel grown again?"
Shopkeeper Lu murmured thoughtfully, then seemed to breathe easier.
He took something wrapped in yellow cloth from inside his robe and carefully lifted one corner.
In the faint morning light, a single translucent, jade-carved petal of a lotus-shaped object came into view.
He quickly wrapped it again and tucked it deep into an inner pocket against his body. Then he folded his arms, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the seat to rest.
He did not know how much time passed.
At last, the eastern sky paled, and a sliver of dawn pierced the darkness.
The outline of Ping'an County Town appeared on the horizon.
By the time Qin Geng pulled the rickshaw up to Osmanthus Fragrance Studio in South City, day was just beginning to break.
"Huff... huff..."
Qin Geng stopped, braced his hands on his knees, and gulped down air.
Sweat dripped from his chin, quickly darkening a small patch of ground.
Even with the [Endless Breath] talent sustaining him, sprinting at full speed for dozens of kilometers had taken a tremendous toll on his strength.
Shopkeeper Lu stepped down from the rickshaw at an unhurried pace, looking as composed as ever.
He watched Qin Geng pant like a bellows. A faint smile touched his lips, and he nodded.
"Not bad."
Just two simple words, but they were high praise.
"Y-you flatter me..."
Qin Geng straightened up and forced an awkward smile.
What was that zombie in the woods?
Why had Master Zhu Xin said there were no demons or monsters in Dragon Vein Town when I'd run into a zombie?
What did this passenger actually do?
At that moment, a thousand—ten thousand—questions churned through Qin Geng's mind.
But he swallowed every one of them.
Zip your lips and let words blow past your ears.
That was the rule, and a talisman for staying alive.
The five silver dollars his passenger had paid bought more than the strength of his legs. They bought his silence.
If he wanted to keep making a living this way, he had to be blind, deaf, and mute.
Shopkeeper Lu seemed pleased with his attitude. He turned and went into the Rouge Shop, which had yet to open.
Before long, he came back out with five silver dollars in his hand.
"Catch."
Shopkeeper Lu tossed them over.
Qin Geng's eyes and hands were quick; he caught them at once.
They were heavy in his palm.
He picked up each coin, blew hard against its edge, then quickly held it to his ear.
Hummm—
Hummm—
Five clear, pleasant rings sounded one after another.
At last, a genuine smile spread across Qin Geng's face. He carefully tucked the five silver dollars into the cloth pouch against his body, then patted them through his clothes.
"Lu Xingmin."
Shopkeeper Lu watched him with an unreadable half-smile, then introduced himself.
"I own this Rouge Shop. You can call me Shopkeeper Lu. I'm a man of some standing in Ping'an County Town. I wouldn't palm off counterfeit silver dollars on you."
Qin Geng paused, then hurriedly cupped his hands in salute. "Thank you, Shopkeeper Lu. You're an honorable man."
With that, he turned to leave.
"Don't you want to know what a Fire Wheel is?"
Shopkeeper Lu's voice drifted after him, carrying a hint of amusement.
Qin Geng stopped dead.
Fire Wheel.
The man had mentioned it once before. Qin Geng thought he had heard him mutter it again on the road today.
Qin Geng swallowed, turned around, and looked at the inscrutable man in little round dark glasses. He asked honestly:
"Shopkeeper Lu... what's a Fire Wheel?"
"Haha."
Shopkeeper Lu laughed. The morning breeze stirred his long robe, lending him something of an immortal sage's air.
"There's an old saying in the Great Xin Dynasty: 'Mastery comes through diligence, and may reach ghosts and gods.'"
"The Three Teachings and Nine Schools, every trade under heaven—they may seem divided into high and low, noble and base, but to people, they're all equal."
"If your heart is sincere, you work hard enough, and you're willing to put in the effort, you can discover something of your own within your trade."
Shopkeeper Lu extended a finger and pointed at Qin Geng's legs.
"In the trade, we call it 'reaching another level' or 'gaining cultivation.'"
"Someone with enough insight could even carry night soil and make something remarkable of it—make a name for himself."
Qin Geng stared, dumbfounded.
"You managed to run up a Fire Wheel on your own. That means you have talent, which is why I'm telling you this much."
Shopkeeper Lu continued, a note of guidance in his voice. "Haven't you noticed? Anyone else who ran dozens of miles like you just did would be sprawled on the ground coughing blood—or even dead from exhaustion. But you?"
He pointed at Qin Geng. "We've only exchanged a few words, and already your breathing has steadied and your mind has settled. Your face isn't red, and you're not panting. That's the wondrous effect of reaching a higher level of cultivation."
"A Carriage Driver has his own strengths: speed, endurance, a steady stance, and a better foundation for martial arts than most. A fortune-teller has his own mysteries: he can Avert Calamity and Attract Good Fortune, even glimpse heaven's secrets. Even a star performer in a theater troupe, if he sings well enough, can sing in a way that draws the worship of thousands and startles ghosts and gods..."
"The Three Teachings and Nine Schools, every trade under heaven—each one can reach the divine!"
Shopkeeper Lu's words exploded through Qin Geng's mind like a thunderclap.
The Book of a Hundred Trades!
Qin Geng's eyes lit up, and his heart hammered.
Everything Shopkeeper Lu had said matched the [Book of a Hundred Trades] in his head exactly!
So that was it!
Pulling a cart every day, earning experience, and leveling up—that was cultivation!
That was "reaching another level"!
If I took the Carriage Driver trade to its peak, I could gain great Supernatural Abilities too. I could become a "Master" too!
The [Book of a Hundred Trades] had merely made that cultivation visible as experience.
"Thank you for your guidance, Shopkeeper Lu!"
Qin Geng bowed deeply, grateful from the bottom of his heart this time.
Shopkeeper Lu waved a hand. He clearly had no intention of taking Qin Geng as a disciple or teaching him anything more. He merely said:
"The third of next month. Same place. Five silver dollars."
"Of course! You can count on me!"
Qin Geng straightened and nodded vigorously.
Though he still had a bellyful of questions, Qin Geng knew when to stop.
The man had already done him an enormous favor by saying this much. To ask more would be pushing his luck.
After bidding Shopkeeper Lu farewell, Qin Geng picked up his cart, his steps so light he felt he might fly.
The five silver dollars lay heavy against his chest, while Shopkeeper Lu's words still burned bright in his mind.
Qin Geng made no stops and took no other fares. He pulled the cart in one long stretch, heading straight for Xu Jin's Shanty.
Before you continue