South City, Forty-Nine City, Qingfeng Street.

The morning mist lingered, a half-moon hanging faintly at the horizon.

At the entrance of Harmony Rickshaw Yard, voices clamored in a lively din.

The moment the two green-lacquered gates swung open, the rickshaw pullers lined up like candied hawthorns on a stick, the tail of the queue nearly spilling out to the alley’s mouth.

When it came to the most prosperous rickshaw yard in South City, none could rival Harmony.

The rickshaws were sturdy, their paint gleaming, even the brass horns polished daily with oil.

Only such well-kept rickshaws, pristine inside and out, could catch the eye of wealthy patrons.

What’s more, the daily fee was fair—just a dime and a half.

With thirty years of a golden reputation, Fourth Master Liu firmly held the throne as the head of Qingfeng Street’s rickshaw trade.

Fourth Master Liu had large, round eyes, a square jaw, and a sizable scar stretching from his cheekbone to his right ear, giving him a fearsome look.

Even more remarkable was that this near-seventy-year-old man moved with the vigor of a dragon and the stride of a tiger.

Word on Qingfeng Street was that Fourth Master Liu was a hidden martial artist. Some even whispered, with wilder exaggeration, that he was a cultivator.

Regardless of the rumors, everyone agreed: as long as Fourth Master Liu was around, Harmony Rickshaw Yard would never fall.

Sure enough, the moment his figure emerged from the morning mist, the clamor hushed, and the rickshaw pullers’ queue snapped into perfect order.

“Fourth Master, blessings to you!”

“Fourth Master, up early, eh?”

Fourth Master Liu, hands clasped behind his back, offered no reply, merely grunting a curt “hm” through his teeth as acknowledgment.

As usual, he would stroll into the courtyard, lean back in his glossy pearwood armchair, and wait for a servant to bring steaming bean juice and crispy oil cakes.

But today, Fourth Master Liu paused mid-step, his tiger-like eyes fixed on the far end of the street.

Soon, the clear jingle of a bell rang out, and a rickshaw emerged from the mist.

The puller was a young man.

Fourth Master Liu tucked his hands into his sleeves, a faint smile curling his lips. “Xiangzi, back already? How was business last night?”

The young man called Xiangzi had dark skin and plain features, but he was tall and broad, with sharp, defined contours to his face.

Around eighteen, he still carried a trace of boyish innocence.

“Thanks to your blessings, Fourth Master, I wandered around the embassy district last night—business wasn’t bad,” Xiangzi said, handing over a kraft paper bag. “Fourth Master, these are oven-baked pancakes from Drunken Immortal House, stuffed with donkey meat.”

“Not bad, Xiangzi. Being literate sure pays off—you’re already making a fortune in the embassy district,” Fourth Master Liu said with a grin, accepting the steaming pancakes. “You’ve got heart. You worked all night, so go rest for a bit.”

Xiangzi smiled, his eyes narrowing into slits. “No rush. I’ll clean the rickshaw first—got some dust on it from passing through Ore Street last night.”

Fourth Master Liu nodded, his smile deepening. “Come find me in the courtyard this afternoon. I’m not too sure about leaving the books to Hu’er alone.”

Hu’er was Fourth Master Liu’s only daughter, a late-life treasure he cherished dearly, though she had a stocky build and less-than-delicate looks.

“As you say, Fourth Master,” Xiangzi replied simply. He pulled the rickshaw into the yard and began wiping it down with a hemp cloth, his movements swift and practiced.

Seeing Fourth Master Liu give Xiangzi such special attention, the other rickshaw pullers felt a sour churn in their stomachs.

They were all just stinking rickshaw pullers—why did Xiangzi get to pay a nickel less in fees than the rest? Just because he could read a few words?

Fourth Master Liu himself had clawed his way up from the edge of a blade, illiterate as a basket of bricks—so why was he so taken with this literate Xiangzi?

Was the old man going senile?

Of course, the pullers didn’t dare voice these gripes in front of Fourth Master Liu.

But muttering behind the back of the ever-honest Xiangzi? That they dared.

“No idea what’s up with this Xiangzi, suddenly learning to read. That’s a rare one,” one puller grumbled bitterly.

“Hah, that’s nothing. There’s something even stranger,” another puller leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “Heard Xiangzi was conscripted by Marshal Zhang and escaped as a deserter.”

“For real? If he’s really one of Marshal Zhang’s deserters, how does Fourth Master Liu dare keep him?”

Their lively debate was cut short as they failed to notice Fourth Master Liu approaching.

“Got nothing better to do, huh? Hurry up, grab your rickshaws, and get lost!” Fourth Master Liu barked.

The group fell silent as cicadas in winter, hastily paying their fees at the counter, grabbing their tags, and slinking off with their rickshaws, heads bowed.

Fourth Master Liu’s brows furrowed, the donkey-meat pancake in his hand suddenly less appetizing.

Xiangzi, a deserter?

He’d caught wind of this rumor lately.

In these chaotic times, with soldiers killing each other over those precious ores, Forty-Nine City had changed hands from Warlord Cao to Marshal Zhang in just a few years.

None of that mattered to Fourth Master Liu.

As long as Harmony Rickshaw Yard remained under his control, it didn’t matter which warlord or noble family held sway.

The city’s banners could change a hundred times, but they’d still need his men, his rickshaws.

As for Xiangzi, he was a good lad—honest, obedient, and hardworking.

Most importantly, Xiangzi had somehow learned to read, helping Fourth Master Liu manage the books.

Lately, Xiangzi had kept the accounts in perfect order, outshining even Hu’er.

In these troubled times, finding a literate, numerate bookkeeper wasn’t cheap.

But Xiangzi? He did it for free.

That saved a pile of shiny, jingling silver coins.

A few days ago, Fourth Master Liu had even suggested Xiangzi stop pulling rickshaws and focus solely on the books.

The fool refused.

Fourth Master Liu didn’t mind—after all, Xiangzi still paid his fees as a puller.

Of course, he’d keep helping with the books, too.

Between the fees and the bookkeeping, Fourth Master Liu was earning double from Xiangzi—how could he not favor him?

But if Xiangzi was truly a deserter from Marshal Zhang’s army, things weren’t so simple.

Marshal Zhang commanded thousands of guns and tens of thousands of soldiers.

Fourth Master Liu couldn’t afford to cross him, nor did he see the need to.

His gaze drifted to the young man diligently working in the courtyard.

Xiangzi finished cleaning the rickshaw, tested the brass horn, and parked the spotless vehicle in the shed.

He waved at Fourth Master Liu from afar, flashing the same simple smile as always.

But the moment he turned away, that smile vanished completely.

Xiangzi was indeed a deserter from Marshal Zhang’s army—and he’d been caught and executed.

That was his former life.

Before his death, Xiangzi was alive. After his death, he lived again.

Crawling out of a mass grave, he was no longer the same Xiangzi.

The name Xiangzi felt strange, especially in a place like Harmony Rickshaw Yard, where there really was a Fourth Master Liu and Hu’er.

But this world wasn’t the old Earth, nor was it the setting of some literary master’s tale about a camel.

Xiangzi set down the rickshaw and looked up, his gaze settling on the massive shadow looming over the docks—a steam-powered airship under Marshal Zhang’s command.

A rickshaw and a steam airship in the same scene—how surreal.

It was like a dream.

As for his deserter status, Xiangzi wasn’t sure how long he could hide it from Fourth Master Liu.

But he wasn’t too worried.

In this war-torn world, as long as no one blabbed, who would bother digging into the past of a lowly rickshaw puller?