Undercurrents begin to emerge

The bloodstains at Xifengkou, dried into ink-black glory on the newspapers, settled into a more profound and somber power in Gu Tieshan's memory. The formidable reputation of the 29th Army's Big Sword Brigade terrified the enemy, and what followed was an even more frenzied counterattack by the Japanese army, along with even more elite troops.

The fighting spread along the Great Wall, becoming more frequent and brutal. Gu Tieshan had been promoted to company commander for his military achievements, and his men were mostly fierce soldiers who had received his personal swordsmanship training, wielding their broadswords with the speed of a whirlwind. However, flesh and blood were ultimately no match for the steel torrent.

During a fierce defensive battle, Japanese artillery fire relentlessly plowed through the hilltop. Gu Tieshan's company suffered heavy casualties, and he personally led his men in repelling several Japanese infantry charges. In the chaos, a stray bullet exploded not far from him, the scorching blast wave carrying sharp shrapnel instantly throwing him into the air.

A sharp pain shot through his right chest and left leg, and his vision was quickly swallowed by blood and darkness. In his last moments of consciousness, he seemed to hear his comrades' desperate cries: "Company Commander—!"

...

When he regained his hazy senses, he found himself on a simple but clean earthen bed in a farmhouse. Around him, medical personnel dressed in gray homespun military uniforms with the word "Eighth Route Army" on their armbands were busy at work.

"You're awake?" A gentle voice sounded, with a touch of refinement. "Comrade, you're badly injured. We've done everything we can, but the medicine..."

Gu Tieshan tried to speak, but only managed a hoarse, breathy sound. He recognized the surroundings; this wasn't the 29th Army's field hospital. He struggled to move, but a pair of steady hands gently pressed him down.

"Don't move. You have three broken ribs, shrapnel embedded in your left leg, and you've lost too much blood." The speaker was an older Eighth Route Army officer wearing glasses. He introduced himself as Yang, the political commissar of this guerrilla unit. "When we found you, you were lying among the dead, barely clinging to life. It was the local people who risked their lives to bring you here."

Gu Tieshan felt a chill in his heart. His company, his brothers… Battalion Commander Zhao Dengyu, Army Commander Song Zheyuan… what happened to them?

In the days that followed, his injuries recurred, and he suffered from a persistent high fever. The Eighth Route Army lacked medical supplies, and Political Commissar Yang tried everything, but could only manage to keep him afloat with herbal remedies. Gu Tieshan's body deteriorated at a visible rate, and he was on the verge of death.

One night, he fell into a deep coma again, his pulse so weak it was almost undetectable. After examining him, Political Commissar Yang and the doctor looked grief-stricken and helpless.

"Prepare for the worst." The doctor shook his head heavily. "The injuries are too severe. The infection and persistent high fever have caused his bodily functions to fail."

Left with no other choice, the soldiers, with tears in their eyes, wrapped this unnamed hero of their ally in a tattered mat and hastily buried him on a sunny slope behind the mountain.

...

However, the tenacity of life far exceeds everyone's imagination.

Consciousness sank into boundless darkness and suffocating cold. After an unknown amount of time, a surge of "dantian qi" (vital energy) originating from the internal cultivation of Xingyi Quan (a style of Chinese martial arts) was ignited deep within the lifeless body. The instinct for survival propelled this remaining, faint true qi to begin circulating spontaneously.

My chest felt suffocated, and the longing for air overwhelmed everything else!

Gu Tieshan awoke in the cramped coffin, the intense pain almost tearing him apart once more. He struggled, his fingers digging into the damp coffin, his knees slamming against the soil above. The stench of the earth seeped in through the cracks, burning his lungs.

"I can't die... I can't just die like this..."

A fierce energy emanating from his very bones erupted! He recalled the breathing technique and the secrets of explosive power from his adoptive father, forcibly gathering his scattered true energy and concentrating it in his arms.

"open!"

The power of Xingyi's "bear shoulder" combined with the explosive force of "flipping" in Chuojiao Fanziquan erupts with a roar!

"Snap!"

The thin coffin was forcefully smashed open, and damp earth rushed in. Ignoring the danger, like a trapped beast emerging from the earth, he used his last strength to dig and climb upwards…

When his head finally broke through the soil and came into contact with the cold, fresh air, he tilted his head back and took a deep breath, then burst into a violent cough, spitting out a mixture of blood and dirt. The pale moonlight shone on his mud-covered, ghostly face.

He lay beside his own "grave," gazing at the sparse starry sky, as if in another world.

Rebirth from the ashes.

But this miracle came at a great cost. Besides the numerous wounds, his brain, due to oxygen deprivation and the intense mental shock, became a chaotic mess. His past memories, like a shattered mirror, were reduced to blurry images and unconnected fragments. Who was he? Where did he come from? Why was he here? These questions echoed only in bewilderment.

Driven by instinct, he wandered aimlessly. Like a lost soul, he blended into the crowd of refugees, following the flow of people, bewildered and struggling, heading towards the legendary Northeast, where life was still said to exist.

...

Meanwhile, in Shanghai, thousands of miles away.

Beneath the surface of the bustling, neon-lit, and seemingly peaceful Shanghai lies a covert war even more treacherous than the one fought on the northern battlefields.

Backstage at the Paramount Ballroom, in a private dressing room, Shen Lanjun carefully drew her eyebrows in front of the mirror. The woman in the mirror had bright eyes and white teeth, a beautiful face, and wore a light purple embroidered cheongsam that outlined her slender figure. Anyone who saw her would think she was a popular dancer or a movie star.

Only those eyes that occasionally lift up and glance at the mirror are calm as water, yet deep within them lies a sharp, icy edge.

There was a knock on the door, three long and two short.

"Come in." Shen Lanjun's voice carried a hint of languid Wu dialect, quite different from her eyes.

A young man dressed as a waiter slipped in, quickly closed the door, and his frivolous expression vanished instantly, replaced by utmost respect.

"'Shopkeeper,' 'Black Fox' has made another move." He said in a low and quick voice, "Our liaison station in Zhabei has been taken down. Old Zhou... sent word before he sacrificed himself that it was 'Black Fox' who personally led the operation. He has defected to 'Plum Agency,' and now he is extremely arrogant."

Shen Lanjun's hand, which was applying makeup, didn't pause for a moment, and her tone was calm: "I understand. What about the losses?"

“Two intelligence agents were killed and one was arrested. It was…it was the ‘carrier pigeon’ responsible for contacting our ‘home base’ in the north.” The waiter’s voice was filled with suppressed anger and grief. “‘Black Fox’ is familiar with too many of our internal communication methods and personnel characteristics. He’s like a malignant tumor; if he’s not removed, the consequences will be endless! Moreover, a coded telegram came from our ‘home base’ that our organizational network in the north has been extensively damaged and urgently needs to be rebuilt. We also need to find out the details of the so-called ‘infiltration plan’ that the Japanese are planning and assess the Black Dragon Society’s hidden forces.”

Shen Lanjun put down her eyebrow pencil, picked up a lipstick from the table, and slowly applied it. In the mirror, a flicker of emotion finally appeared in her eyes—a chillingly cold killing intent.

“‘Carrier Pigeon’…” she repeated the code name softly. It referred to a young man she had personally mentored, intelligent, enthusiastic, and full of hope for the future. Now, betrayed by a traitor, his fate was unknown.

“'Black Fox' Yin Xiaoshan…” she uttered the name as if chewing on a piece of ice, “He thought that by hiding in the Japanese’s pants, I couldn’t do anything to him?”

She stood up, straightened the wrinkles in her cheongsam, and instantly, the image of that charming dancer returned to her.

"Reply to 'Hometown'," her voice regained its previous languidness, but the content of her words was resolute, "'Bluebird' requests to go north. Mission: First, clean house and capture the traitor 'Black Fox'; second, rebuild the northern communication network; third, investigate the 'Change of Country Plan' and the Black Dragon Society's movements."

The waiter was startled: "'Manager,' you're going in person? The north is a dangerous place now, full of all sorts of scoundrels! Besides, 'Black Fox' knows you!"

“Precisely because we know each other, he never expected me to go.” Shen Lanjun picked up an exquisite handbag and smiled slightly, but that smile sent chills down one’s spine. “He considers that defeat his greatest shame, and so do I. I cannot rest easy until this villain is eliminated. Besides, there is an order from my ‘hometown’ to rebuild the North, and no one but me is fit to do it.”

She walked to the window and looked down at the brightly lit Shanghai, a city rife with crime.

"Get ready, we're going by land, heading north on foot," she said softly, her gaze already fixed on the wider, more dangerous world. "It's time for 'Black Fox' and all those demons and monsters to remember the name 'Bluebird' again."

Two originally parallel paths of fate: one, due to severe injury and amnesia, wanders south in a daze; the other, driven by mission and hatred, resolutely heads north. The torrent of history is pushing them towards a destiny-like intersection.