Blood Ear (Part 3)
Once a move is made, there's no going back.
It was a rainy day in Lankang, sticky, cold, damp, and humid.
Since the death of the old master, the former eldest son of the Yuan family has long since become the old master of today.
The couple were sitting at the table drinking hot tea when their maid suddenly knocked on the bedroom door.
"Master and Madam, a messenger just came by, saying there is an important letter that you need to see."
After swallowing the tea, Master Yuan slowly said, "Bring it in."
The letter felt damp and mushy after being covered by moisture.
Lord Yuan unfolded the letter and glanced at it twice, then his brows suddenly furrowed.
Seeing his complexion, Madam Yuan asked, "What's wrong?"
"It's Siyuan; he wants a batch of Western weapons."
Upon hearing this, the lady frowned and said, "Third brother actually knows how to pick his timing. The Japanese are watching Lan Kang so closely, how could we possibly get these things?"
After pondering for a moment, the old man gently stroked the rough surface of the letter with the back of his fingers.
He sighed and exchanged a glance with Madam Tongyuan.
The couple seemed to have agreed on something without prior consultation.
"That's all we can do," he said.
"What about your old acquaintances from the Chamber of Commerce? Ask them for advice. Let's gather them together first, and then we'll talk about the rest later."
Master Yuan smiled and shook his head slightly. "These people are already struggling to protect themselves, so how can we expect them to protect us?"
When disaster strikes, everyone flees for their lives.
“All of Lankang’s ports are now hunting grounds where Huai Xiankun can control everything. We can only ask him for help in this matter.”
The First Madam held her teacup, took a small sip, and inhaled the aroma.
"No wonder he comes from a family of compradors; his ability to charm foreigners and devils is something we can't compare to."
"Comparisons are infuriating."
Master Yuan knew she was being sarcastic, so he listened in silence until he finally said, "I'll go there tomorrow and see how he reacts."
Madam Yuan glanced at him, "Does the third son's wife know about these things?"
Master Yuan remained silent, while she gave a cold laugh.
"Then go ahead and ask. Go and see who still takes you, Lord Yuan, seriously these days."
She would never have said that a few years ago.
By then, the Yuan family had accumulated considerable wealth and influence over generations in Lankang.
Drag them to jail? Who dares to drag the Yuan family to jail?
But once the old man died, all that remained was the somber farewell of a glorious era.
The old aristocracy was scattered like war wreckage, lying all over the ground.
The former lord used to sit in that gloomy mansion smoking opium.
She had just entered the house when she saw the chaotic scene and was quite frightened.
As time went on, she gradually took charge of the entire Yuan family, managing everything inside and outside the household, and she saw all sorts of situations.
As one gets older, one becomes more profound.
Later, when she stared at that dark old door again, she appeared unusually indifferent.
Now that the opium addict is dead, the once grand Yuan mansion is now just an empty shell.
Outsiders may recognize their reputation, but they are ultimately innocent. Who in power would truly take them seriously?
Madam Yuan grew increasingly lost in thought, sighed softly, and stood up.
"Go ask them, but don't tell them I asked you to stand by and watch someone die."
That man surnamed Huai was a Japanese lackey long ago.
"Tiger's Den, Dragon's Pool, Elder, you'll regret this."
A cold rain was falling softly, and people were talking incessantly.
What if you regret it?
Humans are reincarnated, so if anything went wrong, it was wrong from the very beginning.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, no, no, no. Since it's fate, he accepts it.
The slender candlelight flickered, casting long shadows on the window paper.
On the paper, a portrait of Madam Yuan was cut out.
After all these years, she is still a thin strip.
A few lines appeared on her face, and the charming and carefree look she had when she first became a wife was completely gone.
Her lips seemed even thinner from being rubbed, and she was wearing rouge.
Sharp language
Sharpness is used to conceal the utter helplessness in one's heart.
Suddenly, Master Yuan covered his face with his hand, trembling slightly.
He should have thought of that sooner.
Already utterly helpless, they were covered in dust and grime in this muddy mess.
He called Huai's house early the next morning.
The maid answered the phone.
"Master Yuan, the gentleman has already gone out."
"Then I'll call back later."
There was a pause on the other end, and then the phone was handed to another person.
Yi Ling chuckled softly and asked, "Are you looking for my elder brother?"
"I originally came to see Boss Huai about something, but he's not here, so I'll call back later."
"My elder brother got up early today and will be home later. I'll have him give you a message."
After saying that, he paused for a moment and then asked, "Is there something urgent? I can tell them to go to the dock."
After a moment of silence, Mr. Yuan said a few words and then hung up the phone.
And so, four days passed.
Even the most foolish person should be clear-headed. It's not that Huai Xiankun is busy; it's that he simply doesn't want to get involved with him at all.
Half-dead nobles are no different from those suffering from infectious diseases.
If you drag a bunch of Japanese people into it, it could really turn the world upside down.
He cannot help, is unwilling to help, and dares not help.
Thick smoke billowed, and murder was rampant.
Thinking of the scene outside, a thousand sorrows surged up all at once.
This sorrow originates from loneliness, spreads across the land, and festers in the heart.
Thoughts surged up, like a snowball rolling, growing rounder and rounder, yet the sorrow deepened.
He worried about his third brother, whose fate was unknown, about his passive wife, and about how all his value as a human being had been wasted.
In the end, he could only sigh silently, sitting alone on the large rattan chair covered with old memories, feeling resentful and angry but unable to calm down. So he slowly rocked the chair back and forth, his eyes closed, as if he were about to die.
After a while, he opened his eyes and stared blankly at the view outside the window, a strange light gleaming in his eyes.
He straightened up, leaned on the side of the chair to slowly stand up, pushed open the door, and walked out.
Four days later, Yuan Siyuan, far away in Minkou, received the following letter:
The letter paper was rough and yellowish, and under the lamplight, it looked like a withered branch.
The letter contained only one sentence and an address. The signature simply read "Brother."
His fingers covered the character "brother," gently stroking it, and his eyes even felt a little hot.
However, before this heat could spread and develop, it was completely destroyed by a bucket of ice water poured over its head.
When he met Li Xiangyan with the boxes containing weapons, the other man glanced at him and said only one sentence: "Arrest Master Yuan."
He looked at him, puzzled, but the man remained silent, staring at him with an obscure yet resolute gaze, revealing no flaws.
Only when he was alone and taken to the prison did he clearly understand his situation, and the distress in his heart was replaced by clear-headed thoughts.
He finally realized that they had clearly known about the bombing of the arms depot long ago, but deliberately let it happen.
This whole self-inflicted injury ruse has been staged.
The purpose was to achieve a great victory with a small investment, and to take the opportunity to eliminate the underground faction in Minkou.
They were completely oblivious, led by the nose for a full kilometer. Only when forced to turn back did they realize they had lost everything, having been thoroughly outmaneuvered.
He leaned against the damp, cold prison wall, slowly relieving himself, then sat down on a pile of haystacks, giving a wry, vacant laugh.
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