The convoy reached Yongchang Gate as the sun began to dip.

To reach the embassy district, they had to pass through West City.

Outside West City lay the airship docks, heavily guarded, with police outposts at every corner.

The sentries in the watchtowers weren’t like South City’s baton-waving “big hats.” Their uniforms were crisp, rifles slung across their chests, barrels polished to a mirror sheen.

Entering West City, Liu Tang’s tense shoulders eased, a smile breaking across his face. “Xiangzi, this job’s in the bag.”

Xiangzi, pulling his cart, sweat beading on his nose, replied steadily, “Thanks to you, Master Tang.”

Compared to the panting, exhausted veteran pullers, Xiangzi’s calm composure stood out starkly.

Liu Tang nodded, a glint of admiration in his eyes—this kid’s first mine run, and he’s this steady? Impressive.

Especially his vitality—it didn’t seem like just a month of stance training.

With a nimble flip, Liu Tang dismounted.

Tossing the reins to a guard, he approached Xiangzi, voice low. “I can’t run with you every day. From now on, Uncle Jie will keep an eye on the mine route.”

Xiangzi paused, glancing back at the black horse.

He caught Liu Tang’s meaning.

If Liu Tang was assigning his trusted Uncle Jie to assist, it meant this long-dormant tiger of the yard is finally making a move on the mine route.

Dusk hadn’t yet fallen, but the embassy district’s streets were already ablaze with lights.

The bluestone pavement was spotless.

Few pedestrians passed, and those who did were dressed in fine clothes.

Even the rickshaw pullers stood ramrod straight, stepping with measured precision.

Rows of shops displayed rare foreign goods unseen elsewhere.

Xiangzi spotted a store selling phonographs.

At the street’s end, a green tram with a bow-shaped pantograph clattered along steel tracks.

Such modern trams, in all the Great Shun Dynasty, were found only in Forty-Nine City and southern Shencheng.

In Forty-Nine City, the embassy district was the epitome of refinement.

Unlike Xiangzi’s past life on Earth, this district wasn’t home to blond foreigners but to lofty aristocratic families.

What were these families, and where did they come from? Xiangzi didn’t know.

From the elders’ tales, they’d existed before Forty-Nine City was built.

They kept to themselves, rarely appearing in public.

But one thing was widely accepted: these families held the world’s lifelines.

Even the warlords fighting to the death were merely their pawns.

Rumor had it Marshal Zhang seized Forty-Nine City years ago with a great family’s backing.

The ore delivery point was a sprawling factory.

Stretching across half the embassy district, its towering brick walls blocked all prying eyes, leaving its purpose a mystery.

Workers awaited at the gate, unloading the ore as the convoy arrived.

By rule, delivery was complete once unloaded.

Xiangzi checked the accounts with the workers, then led the pullers to rest nearby.

Seizing the rare break, Xiangzi had prepared several packs of Daqianmen cigarettes. With a nod to Wen San, the grinning man began passing them out.

The pullers’ eyes lit up at the packs. “Master Xiang’s generous! We’re tasting foreign smokes today!”

Xiangzi didn’t forget to offer one to Old Ma.

Old Ma, dazed, took it with trembling hands, fumbling with the match until Xiangzi leaned in to light it.

The pullers, puffing silently, watched the scene unfold.

In the haze of smoke, Xiangzi noticed the unloaders and froze—all martial artists who’ve broken the Vitality Barrier?

The embassy district is truly a den of dragons and tigers. Even unloading ore requires such men?

Seeing Xiangzi’s surprise, Wen San sidled up, grinning. “Xiangzi, don’t underestimate them. These are Dock Gang workers, earning twenty percent more than our east building guards!”

Xiangzi nodded in realization.

The “Dock Gang” handled cargo for airships in West City.

Hundreds of martial artists, united, made West City an iron fortress. Even the police chief gave them deference.

A local saying went: First-class men train fists in martial halls; second-class men haul loads at the docks; third-class men pull carts at the yards.

Who’d have thought the Dock Gang worked the embassy district too?

They worked swiftly—before a cigarette was finished, the ore was stored.

The pullers shouted about grabbing “leftover banquet” meals—scraps from wealthy feasts mixed with radish greens and pickled stems, cheap but filling.

Wen San invited Xiangzi to Cheap House for roast duck, but Xiangzi, wary after the Ma Liu ambush, suggested a tea shop by the yard instead.

Leaving the embassy district, the group scattered into the twilight.

As Xiangzi and Wen San departed, they glimpsed Old Ma wandering like a lost soul at West City’s gate.

Wen San sighed, his usual cheekiness gone. “Xiangzi, in this world, you live day by day. How can you look out for others?”

Xiangzi nodded, turning away.

They reached South City’s Yangping Pavilion, a squat tea shop bustling with short-shirted laborers.

Wen San, eager to show off his connections, greeted everyone.

They called him “Master Wen,” giving him full respect.

Wen San, grinning, ensured extra fennel beans for friends, charging them to his tab.

Truth be told, being a second-class puller at Harmony in South City was no small feat.

Room, board, and a communal bunk—sheltered from wind and rain—were enviable.

Wen San proudly introduced Xiangzi, emphasizing “lead puller.”

The crowd sized up the young man—so young, and already a lead puller at Harmony?

That’s a lucrative post!

And this young lead puller called Wen San “Third Brother”?

Wen San’s doing well at Harmony!

The “Master Wen” calls gained sincerity.

Even those who’d scorned Wen San stood, their faces eager, asking him to introduce Xiangzi.

For laborers and pullers, befriending Harmony’s lead puller was like grabbing a thick lifeline!

Wen San waved them off dismissively.

The laborers, unfazed, flashed fawning smiles at Xiangzi from afar.

Seated, Wen San grandly told Xiangzi to order freely.

Xiangzi chose two plates of braised beef and a dish of smacked cucumber, then closed the menu.

Wen San snatched it, insisting on a bottle of Lotus White.

Unlike cheap bamboo-tube liquor, Lotus White was a branded spirit in a porcelain bottle, costing a full silver dollar.

Wen San was splurging!

Before the food arrived, they sipped liquor with peanuts and fennel beans.

After a few sips, Xiangzi’s attention was caught by the next table’s chatter.

“Hey! Heard about West City? Ma Liu Yard’s Skinny Master got killed in an alley the other day!”

“Which Skinny Master?”

“Who else? Zhang the Skinny, broke the Vitality Barrier!”

Xiangzi’s chopsticks froze midair, then plucked a fennel bean.

The bean popped in his mouth, like the sound of snapping Zhang’s leg bone.