In South City’s cutthroat world, who wasn’t a shrewd operator?

Seeing Liu Hu’s attitude, the other pullers read the room.

A few close to Xiangzi crowded around, showering him with congratulations.

Wen San pushed through, his raspy voice booming, “Brother Xiangzi! You’ve leapt over the dragon gate! Don’t forget your old brother when you’re on top!”

Xiangzi smiled. “Brother San, that’s too much.”

The words stunned the yard—Xiangzi had never called Wen San “Brother San” before!

Wen San was a nobody at Harmony.

A second-class puller in name, he was all bluster, always “Master Wen” this and that, with a slippery streak that made him unpopular.

If not for his brute strength, Master Hu would’ve kicked him out long ago.

But Xiangzi?

Now Fourth Master’s favorite, a guard earning ten silver dollars a month, even getting face from Master Hu.

A phoenix risen from the branches.

And yet, Xiangzi still called Wen San “Brother San”?

Everyone saw it—he was giving Wen San respect.

The pullers sighed, looking at Xiangzi with new regard.

This big fool’s got a loyal heart.

Their half-hearted congratulations grew sincere.

That “Brother San” sent a tingle through Wen San, like sipping iced plum soup in the summer heat.

Back when Xiangzi arrived, Wen San had only helped with small things—grabbing clean bedding, securing morning water.

Yet Xiangzi remembered.

Wen San’s eyes welled up as he gripped Xiangzi’s hand. “If you’re ever wronged in the east building, come to your Brother San!”

Pure bravado, of course.

What was Wen San? Could his reach extend to the east building?

Normally, that’d earn mockery.

But seeing Xiangzi stay silent, no one dared smirk.

Some even joined in, “Wen San, your mouth’s too slow! No more ‘Xiangzi’—it’s ‘Master Xiang’ now!”

“Right, that’s the way!”

“Morning, Master Xiang!”

“Take care, Master Xiang!”

The chorus of “Master Xiang” echoed through the second-class yard.

Xiangzi, hearing the unfamiliar honorifics, felt a daze.

When he first joined the yard, even the cooks sneered at him. Now, a guard, he was a “master”?

As Forty-Nine City’s saying went, the gatepost becomes a temple arch—he’s risen in rank!

With rank came loftier titles.

Such was the way of the world.

Amid the buzz, a loud bang—the door was kicked open.

Jin Fugui stood there, face dark, his blue shirt washed to a faded white. “Move it! Think Master Hu’s words are wind in your ears?”

Seeing the future chief, the pullers scrambled to gather their things.

The lively mood was doused like a bucket of ice water.

Who didn’t know Jin Fugui was seething—Xiangzi stealing his thunder?

He shot Xiangzi a sidelong glance, said nothing, and stormed off.

Outside the yard, a scrawny, rat-eyed puller sidled up. “Brother Jin, Xiangzi becoming a guard out of nowhere—it’s fishy!”

“Heard he went to Fourth Master’s room last night.

”

“Quit circling!” Jin Fugui’s eyes narrowed, dodging the locust tree’s dappled shade. “What’s Fat Master up to at Ma Liu?”

The scrawny man shrank, forcing a smile. “Fat Master took a hit, they say. Word from Ma Liu is he’s put a bounty out for Xiangzi’s leg.”

“But now Xiangzi’s a guard. On our turf, Ma Liu’s men can’t touch him.”

“Can’t touch him?” Jin Fugui sneered. “Keep an eye on him. Once he steps out of the yard, guard or god, he’s meat on the block.”

The scrawny man hesitated, grinning nervously. “Brother Jin, that’s… tricky. He’s a guard now. If Fourth Master finds out—”

“Idiot,” Jin Fugui growled. “If the ore route business leaks, you and I are dog food for Fourth Master!”

The scrawny man shivered, nodding frantically.

Compared to the massive stakes of the ore route, a guard’s life was nothing.

After he left, Jin Fugui exhaled, his expression complex.

Xiangzi had been sniffing around the ore counts—who knows what flaws he spotted?

But Fourth Master’s methods were clear. If he suspected anything, Jin Fugui would’ve been done for already.

Now with Ma Liu stirring the pot, Fourth Master was bound to notice the ore discrepancies soon.

Once the old man caught on, those secrets wouldn’t stay hidden.

Jin Fugui mulled it over, sensing something off but unable to pin it down.

Either way, dealing with Xiangzi early was the safe bet.

As he pondered, Liu Hu swaggered out.

Jin Fugui’s dark expression cleared, replaced by a beaming smile. “Blessings, Master Hu! With you overseeing the ore route today, we’re at ease!

”

“If those punks slack off, just say the word—I’ll whip them straight!”

Liu Hu glanced at him, grunting softly. “Fugui, I spoke with Fourth Master this morning. Your promotion to second-class chief? It’s looking tricky.”

Jin Fugui’s smile froze.

Harmony Rickshaw Yard, the east building.

A three-story red-brick structure, gleaming with white paint, it looked like something from the embassy district.

Unlike the cramped second-class yard, each guard here had a private room, copper pipes running water inside.

Wen San would’ve slapped his thigh and called it “fancy”!

As for food, even stingy Fourth Master Liu spared no expense—big fish, big meat, every meal.

Of course, that comfort came at the cost of blood and sweat.

And so, Liu Tang led Xiangzi into the east building.

In the chilly spring breeze, a dozen shirtless guards practiced horse stance in the courtyard.

Each hand held a palm-sized grindstone, sweat steaming off their bodies.

Xiangzi gaped in awe.

The guards paused, seeing him.

Liu Tang stopped, brow furrowing. “Sink your qi to your dantian, breathe evenly. Hands drop half an inch, you stand an extra incense stick today!”

His words were sharp, and the guards’ faces turned solemn.

Though young, Liu Tang commanded respect in the east building.

He led Xiangzi to a corner room on the third floor, tossing him a cloth sack.

Xiangzi caught it, the silver dollars inside jingling pleasantly.

Before he could speak, Liu Tang grinned. “Fourth Master’s orders—your advance pay, fifteen silver dollars. Count it.”

Xiangzi gripped the sack, tucking it carefully into his pocket, and clasped his fists. “Thanks, Brother Tang!”

His voice held a trace of uncontainable excitement—fifteen silver dollars!

A third-class puller could break his legs running and not save that much in a year.

At West City’s Cheap House, it’d buy a month of roast duck feasts!

Yesterday, he couldn’t afford half a pound of beef tripe. Today, his pocket jingled with enough for nearly thirty ducks.

Even with two lives’ worth of experience, Xiangzi felt like he was in a dream.