(For Chapter 1-163, go to (https://chrysanthemumgarden.com/novel-tl/awbtv/))
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Since last night, rain had been falling over Haicheng.
The leaden clouds hung heavy, and the gray-black sky looked like a soaked rag that hadn't been wrung dry, pressing down from above, making the air thick and stifling.
Early that morning, Bai Chu got up and began moving his belongings down from the attic.
The small courtyard of the Fengxian Troupe was home to a handful of young boys who had rarely gone on stage—ones with little promise. The old troupe master, seeing that they had no real future, had simply bunched them together here. In another couple of years, when they'd grown too old and still hadn't made anything of themselves, they'd have to find their own paths. The troupe couldn't keep feeding them for free.
Bai Chu, however, had a fine voice, delicate looks, and graceful movements. By all accounts, he shouldn't have been among the hopeless ones.
But he still lived here.
Not for any other reason—simply because no one had ever liked him since he was a child. The old troupe master thought his temperament was poor and that he was timid on stage—not the material for a true performer.
But today, he was moving into his own courtyard.
Perhaps it was the courage he had gained from that Lantern Festival performance back on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, or perhaps it was the half pound of walnut crisps from Zhou's Pastry Shop —but whatever the reason, his life had, over the past few months, undergone a tremendous change.
Three days ago, he had taken the stage for the first time at the Haicheng Grand Theater, performing in a play newly written by a modern scholar.
A senior had advised him not to "sing Hou Ting Hua across the river" at a time like this—warning him to be careful lest the new youth movement crowd mock him harshly. He was, after all, now something of a rising star, but still far from the renowned masters whose names echoed through Haicheng. He needed to tread carefully.
But Bai Chu thought it over and decided to go ahead and sing anyway.
The play wasn't the kind people usually adored these days. It had no Wang Baochuan waiting in her cold kiln, no Yang Yuhuan sighing in springtime longing—only a story of the Song dynasty during the Jin invasion, of a fallen nation and mountains and rivers now overgrown with grass.
After that performance, he paid a large sum of silver dollars, severed ties with the Fengxian Troupe, bought a house, and moved out to make his own way in the world. The old troupe master had jabbed a finger at his forehead, cursing him for being ungrateful, a white-eyed wolf—scolding him for two whole days straight.
Bai Chu turned a deaf ear to it all.
He gathered up all the belongings that were his from the attic — there wasn't much, only two boxes in total.
After checking them over once more, Bai Chu stood up to close the small attic window.
The little window faced a street, and across it stood a newly built middle school. In front of the school, someone had set up a makeshift stage, and a few people dressed like students were gathered there. Along the street, leaflets dampened by the drizzle fluttered in the wind, most of them printed with slogans like "Refuse to Sign! Cancel the Secret Treaty!" and "Qingzhou Has Fallen — Is the Nation Still a Nation?"
Bai Chu could read and understood some writings. He knew that recently, this so-called matter of the "signing" had stirred up quite an uproar. But he didn't really understand it. Whenever he came across such things, he would avoid them from afar, unwilling to get mixed up in any trouble.
Whether the nation still stood or the family still stood — he had only just begun to make sense of his own life; he had no energy left to think about anything else.
Still, if things were truly as the other actors in the courtyard said — that soon the foreign powers would take over the government — he couldn't feel as pleased as those young boys who found foreign novelties exciting.
But he only knew how to perform opera, and nothing else.
Still, he thought, when it came to Haicheng, the foreigners didn't have the final say. This was Mr. Yu's city.
He knew that everyone in Haicheng was afraid of Mr. Yu — they treated him like the King of Hell, a local despot. Yet Bai Chu thought, if trouble ever came, they would still have to rely on Mr. Yu. That had nothing to do with fear or curses.
His mind wandering idly with such scattered thoughts, Bai Chu shut the window and went downstairs to call the rickshaw pullers. He had hired a rickshaw, and when they'd discussed the price, the pullers had promised to help carry his boxes down.
As soon as he stepped onto the staircase — worn and rotted by years of rain — the wood let out a series of harsh creaks, enough to make one's teeth ache.
The pullers carried the luggage downstairs, and Bai Chu followed close behind.
Halfway down the stairs, a sudden voice rose from below.
"What's going on here… What are you doing? Moving out? Who told you to move? The one living in the attic—where is he? Bai Chu… Bai Chu!"
The sound made Bai Chu pause in a daze.
Ever since Li Lingbi had moved out to live with Xuan Qinghe, Bai Chu hadn't seen his former friend for nearly a month. That had actually made his days much lighter—he no longer had to deal with that strange, unpredictable person who always left him uneasy.
In troubled times, people loved to gossip about spirits and omens. Bai Chu had once even suspected that Li Lingbi's sudden change in temperament earlier that year might have been caused by something unclean—perhaps possessed by a weasel spirit or some other evil thing.
He had even secretly tried using black dog's blood and boy's urine, and had furtively bought a few talismans—but none of it had worked.
In the end, though, he knew he could no longer remain friends with Li Lingbi.
"I'm the one moving out of the troupe," Bai Chu said evenly as he descended the stairs.
As he spoke, he gave Li Lingbi a quick look. This man had always possessed a beauty that leaned toward the feminine—charming and delicate—and now, freed from his opera persona, he dressed even more flamboyantly than he had on stage: silk garments of deep purple and vivid red, striking and gaudy.
"So the talk in the troupe wasn't just rumors, You really broke ties with them and plan to set up on your own?"
Li Lingbi's expression showed clear disbelief. "No—that can't be right. Why are you suddenly moving out? The troupe raised you and taught you, how could you just leave? Wait… Bai Chu, is it—have you been in contact with Mr. Yu? Is Mr. Yu taking you away?"
At first, Bai Chu thought his visits to Zhou's Pastry Shop had been discovered, and his heart jumped in alarm. But once he heard the rest, he relaxed.
He didn't know why Li Lingbi always acted as if Mr. Yu would take a liking to him, but as long as nothing had been found out, that was good enough.
Steadying himself, Bai Chu frowned and said, "There's nothing between Mr. Yu and me. What you're saying isn't even rumor—it's pure nonsense. Lingbi, you're always talking recklessly like this. Sooner or later, it's going to get you into trouble."
Seeing that Bai Chu's expression was calm and genuine, Li Lingbi dropped his speculation and asked in puzzlement, "Then why must you leave the troupe? Have they treated you badly?"
Bai Chu chuckled. "Not especially badly—but not well either. Once I walk out of here, we owe each other nothing. There's nothing more to say."
Li Lingbi, sharp-eared as ever, caught the hint of resentment toward the Fengxian Troupe in Bai Chu's words.
He glanced at the rickshaw pullers carrying out the boxes and suddenly felt a jolt of realization. Ever since he'd transmigrated into this book, his butterfly wings had flapped far too hard—everything about the plot had been utterly altered, and even the protagonist's personality had changed.
In his memory of The Republican Opera Troupe, Bai Chu had indeed been bullied by the Fengxian Troupe, but he had never spoken ill of them. He had only wept quietly in secret. Even later, when he rose to fame and gained Yu Jingzhi's protection, he had never severed ties with the troupe—in fact, he had shown great gratitude, caring for the old troupe master in his final years and seeing him properly buried.
But now—everything had changed.
Li Lingbi studied the young man before him carefully, sensing that something about him had changed.
"Bai Chu, your skills—all of them were taught by the troupe, you—"
Before he could finish, Bai Chu cut him off.
"My skills are my own. I haven't forgotten what the troupe taught me. If you're so curious, go ask the master how many silver dollars he took from me the other day." Bai Chu's gaze was cool and steady. "Li Lingbi, if you can walk away from the troupe, there's no reason I can't."
Li Lingbi almost didn't recognize the protagonist standing before him. "Bai Chu, what's gotten into you? How did you become like this?"
Seeing that his luggage had all been carried out, Bai Chu had no wish to argue further. He gave Li Lingbi one last look and said, "Li Lingbi, you've never treated me as a friend. And I won't call you one either."
With that, he turned and strode away down the moss-covered path toward the back gate, leaving cleanly and without hesitation.
Li Lingbi stood frozen in the middle of the courtyard, feeling utterly wronged.
He had never imagined that after treating Bai Chu so well since transmigrating here—always thinking of how he would one day rescue him from Yu Jingzhi's clutches—this would be the result. He had even come back today with good intentions, only for Bai Chu not only to reject any affection but to deny even their friendship. It felt as if his sincere heart had been fed to the dogs.
Li Lingbi couldn't understand where things had gone wrong.
Heartbroken and furious, he turned around—only to see that half the young boys in the courtyard had stopped practicing to watch the spectacle, all of them staring in wide-eyed curiosity.
He glared fiercely at the boys around him, and when the young boys scattered like startled birds, he kicked over the water bucket by the well with a loud clang, let out a cold snort, and turned on his heel to leave.
With a dark expression, Li Lingbi took a rickshaw back to his residence. He had wanted to find Xuan Qinghe to vent his frustration, but Xuan Qinghe was nowhere to be seen. When he asked the servants, they told him that a messenger had come from Xuan Qinghe, saying he was busy these two days with factory matters and wouldn't be coming by.
Hearing that, Li Lingbi couldn't help but feel like one of those modern girlfriends being neglected because her boyfriend was "busy with work." Usually, in times like these, the best cure for his bad mood was to hit a bar, have a good drink, maybe dance it all out, and enjoy some nightlife.
There were no nightclubs in this era, but there were dance halls and brothels.
He had no interest in brothels—women did nothing for him—but a dance hall? That, at least, could be fun.
Unable to sit still at home, he lasted only until after dinner before giving in completely to his restlessness. Without hesitation, he headed out the door, hailed a rickshaw, and told the driver to take him straight to the Paramount Dance Hall.
Meanwhile, completely unaware that Li Lingbi was out enjoying himself, Xuan Qinghe truly was busy.
Through certain connections, he had recently made the acquaintance of a Deyizhi official named Adams. He had waited the entire day for this meeting, and finally, after dinner, was granted an audience to discuss business matters and potential support for his factory.
Deyizhi machinery was world-famous and among the most advanced in existence—this was exactly why Xuan Qinghe, who was establishing a machinery plant, had sought Adams out.
Their first meeting was brief, and Adams didn't reveal any clear stance. Xuan Qinghe didn't mind; this wasn't the sort of deal that could be settled in a single sitting.
As he was leaving Adams's residence, Xuan Qinghe noticed the butler leading another Westerner inside—a blond-haired, blue-eyed man—and parked outside was the automobile that had brought him there.
When Xuan Qinghe looked more closely, he realized that the man sitting in the car's front passenger seat was none other than Du Tianming, the powerful and infamous head of the Tianming Society.
"Young master?"
The driver, who had just opened the car door, spoke up softly.
Xuan Qinghe withdrew his gaze, got into the car, and after a moment's thought said, "Take note of the license plate of that car ahead—find out who it belongs to."
He had a strong feeling that the foreigner who had just entered was no ordinary man.
Inside Adams's drawing room, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed as a porcelain figurine of a dancing girl twirled out from its case.
Seated in a velvet-cushioned chair, Pitt watched the deep red wine slowly pour into his glass and said, "Adams, you really ought to trust me. I've only been on Huaguo soil for half a year—I don't have the means to do anything to your people."
"And besides, England will always be your friend. That much is beyond question, isn't it?"
Adams, who had been pouring the wine himself, paused mid-motion and set down the bottle.
"I've always believed in your so-called friendship," Adams replied with a faint lift of his brow. "But that conference now being held in Ouhua doesn't seem to say the same. Deyizhi was defeated—that's the only reason we can sit here and share a drink. You understand what that means, don't you, Pitt?"
Pitt smiled lightly and raised his glass. "What happens in Ouhua is Ouhua's concern. Right now, we're in Huaguo."
Adams clinked his glass against Pitt's with a soft chime.
"Then let's talk about Huaguo," he said, taking a small sip and savoring the rich fragrance that spread through his mouth. Narrowing his eyes, Adams continued slowly, "Just as you said, Pitt —Ouhua is Ouhua. But here in Huaguo, I won't be stepping back or leaving easily. At least not until Ouhua itself urges me to do so."
"So now, I need some explanations from you."
Pitt's gaze darkened. "What kind of explanation are you looking for?"
"I have certain suspicions about Yu Jingzhi," Adams replied, sounding almost casual in his directness.
"Yu Jingzhi?" Pitt frowned slightly. "You want me to sound him out? As I recall, he used to be your business partner. He's established himself here in Haicheng and holds considerable power—all thanks, in part, to your support. Are you telling me now that your cooperation has fallen apart?"
Adams smiled and shook his head. "No… perhaps not yet."
Watching Adams's expression closely, Pitt said slowly, "I can tell you this, Adams—some things, I've already looked into long ago. Yu Jingzhi may be an arrogant and eccentric Huaguo man, and he certainly has close ties with those so-called progressive reformists, but there's nothing particularly suspicious about him."
"He's no different from the rest of those self-serving, profit-chasing parasites. At least, that's the conclusion I came to."
"Still, if this is what you need, as a friend, I won't refuse."
Adams simply smiled in return, saying nothing, and raised his glass once more.
An hour later.
Pitt stepped out of Adams's residence, carrying a faint trace of alcohol on his breath. Adams escorted him to the door, and the two exchanged a cordial wave of farewell.
The automobile turned down the street and, under the glow of the streetlamps, slowly disappeared into the night.
Inside the car, Pitt leaned back against the rear seat. The drunken haze on his face had completely vanished, leaving only sharp sobriety. He glanced out the rear window with an ambiguous expression and muttered under his breath, "Deyizhi lies."
Drawing his gaze back, he looked toward Du Tianming, who was sitting in the driver's seat. "And your son, Mr. Du?"
Earlier, it had been Du Qi driving the car, but now only Pitt and Du Tianming remained inside.
Du Tianming glanced into the rearview mirror and replied in a low voice, "There's some business in the gang—Du Qi went to take care of it."
Pitt had only asked out of idle curiosity, and he didn't press further. Closing his eyes, he began to think over what Adams had said earlier.
He had told Adams that he trusted Yu Jingzhi and had no intention of moving against him—but that, too, was a lie. In truth, as long as that juicy prize of Haicheng remained within reach, Pitt would never let Yu Jingzhi be.
More and more people wanted a bite of that piece of meat, and to all of them, Yu Jingzhi was nothing but a thorn in the eye, a nail in the flesh—none would ever see him otherwise.
Yet removing the vast, deep-rooted power Yu Jingzhi had built in Haicheng would not be an easy task.
Pitt knew perfectly well that, for now, he wouldn't refuse any of Adams's requests. But whether he might, in the process, do a few things Adams would find… unnecessary, well—that, he couldn't guarantee.
That same night, under the fine drizzle of the damp city, the traffic around the Paramount Dance Hall had begun to thin.
Li Lingbi, reeking of alcohol, stumbled out of the dance hall, parting ways with two slick, perfumed young dandies, and staggered unsteadily into the night.
He was truly drunk—so drunk that he didn't even think to hail a rickshaw, just kept his head down and stumbled forward.
He hadn't gone far before the garish lights and music behind him faded, and a wave of nausea surged up from his stomach. Clutching his mouth tightly, Li Lingbi glanced around, then suddenly lurched into a dark, narrow alley beside the street.
His throat tightened—he gagged and retched, his shoulder slamming against the damp wall as he vomited violently.
Most of the liquor came back up. After a few more dry heaves, he finally managed to catch his breath.
He staggered a step—and then his foot struck something. Looking down, he swayed unsteadily and fell forward.
But instead of hitting hard ground, he landed on something soft. A low groan sounded by his ear—a man's voice.
Li Lingbi reached out with his hand; his fingers brushed against something sticky and warm—blood.
That jolted him wide awake, the drunken haze clearing in an instant.
He lifted his head, squinting toward the faint light spilling in from the mouth of the alley, and finally managed to make out the face of the injured, unconscious man beneath him.
The moment his eyes adjusted, and he saw that cold, strikingly handsome face clearly—Li Lingbi froze in shock.
He felt as though he'd seen this person before at the opera house.
They said he was the young master of the Tianming Society, named Du Qi.
…
Completely unaware of the schemes happening outside—or of the historic encounter between Li Lingbi and Du Qi—Chu Yunsheng remained wholly absorbed in weapons and machinery.
In the end, the site of the munitions factory was chosen by Yu Jingzhi: an extremely secluded location, surrounded by several cover factories and even an abandoned dock that could be used for transporting certain goods.
Chu Yunsheng didn't need to personally follow up on the factory's operations. Aside from visiting for several consecutive days right after it was first set up, he hadn't gone back since. Any blueprints or items that needed handling would be transferred by people specially arranged by Yu Jingzhi, with top-level secrecy measures.
So apart from finishing work slightly earlier each evening to go home and study schematics, Chu Yunsheng's life remained as it had always been—mostly unchanged.
Occasionally, Yu Jingzhi would come over under the cover of night, exhausted to the bone and too tired to say much. He would simply lean into Chu Yunsheng's arms and fall deeply asleep. By the next day, before dawn had even broken, he would already be awake and hurrying off again.
After calculating Yu Jingzhi's increasingly insufficient sleep, Chu Yunsheng specifically prepared a medicinal prescription for him, brewing calming decoctions. Yu Jingzhi frowned as he drank them, then would flop onto Chu Yunsheng's pillow, saying that whether he drank medicine or not, he could sleep extremely well on this bed.
Chu Yunsheng ignored him and merely adjusted the formula, making the taste lighter and sweeter.
Chu Yunsheng didn't ask about the results of Yu Jingzhi's outings with Mr. Fang Jiming. But seeing Yu Jingzhi's expression grow colder and darker by the day, he more or less guessed the answer.
Perhaps because of that incident, Chu Yunsheng noticed that in recent days, more people seemed to be secretly observing him. And in the hospital, many patients also appeared to cast their eyes on him—intentionally or otherwise.
Chu Yunsheng had a feeling that something was about to happen.
Sure enough, on the fourth day after he began noticing those watchful eyes, a young female student with injuries appeared on the short road—only a few hundred meters long—that he walked home from work.
When the girl saw him coming toward her, her eyes lit with joy. "Dr. Chu… you're Dr. Chu from Renhe Hospital, right?"
Chu Yunsheng stopped and looked at the girl, who had a delicate, pleasant face.
"Dr. Chu, I'm Jiang Xiuxiu—we met at the hospital last time. Are you just finished with work at this hour? Does that mean the hospital is already closed? I heard some hospitals recently stopped taking patients at night…"
As she spoke, Jiang Xiuxiu let out a small cry and reached toward the injury on her knee, as if in great pain—her posture fragile and swaying, as though she could barely stand.
"Dr. Chu, I hurt myself at a rally. Could you talk to the hospital for me and help me get my wound treated…?"
Her eyes shimmered with tears, and she looked up at him pitifully.
But Chu Yunsheng did not pick up on any of Jiang Xiuxiu's delicate, helpless signals. He was looking down, examining the wound on her knee, already deciding that he needed to move up the plan to manufacture a batch of simple and convenient adhesive bandages.
"Dr. Chu?"
Jiang Xiuxiu called again.
At the sound, Chu Yunsheng snapped back to attention. With a calm expression, he raised a hand and stopped a passing rickshaw.
"Hello, please take this injured patient to Marina Hospital."
After speaking to the rickshaw puller, Chu Yunsheng looked at Jiang Xiuxiu again and sincerely added, "Miss Jiang, Marina Hospital continues to take patients at night. You can go without worry."
Jiang Xiuxiu froze.
"…Huh?"