The Turmoil of the Bund Chapter 10: Joining the Foreign Firm, Aiming for Strength

When the rag was torn from his mouth, Liu Wei trembled all over like a fallen leaf in the autumn wind.

Before him, Chen Lin was no longer a mere boy but a vengeful specter—those eyes cold enough to freeze bones. Liu Wei dared not meet his gaze, shrinking his neck like a frightened quail.

“I... I’m telling you...” His voice quivered out of tune, accompanied by chattering teeth and ragged breaths.

“My patience is running thin.” Chen Lin’s voice was like ice, striking Liu Wei’s ear sharply.

“Y-yes, yes! Your mother was sold to a merchant from Zhenhai!” Liu Wei’s face flushed purple with panic, words spilling out like spilled beans.

“Which merchant from Zhenhai? Name?” Chen Lin stepped forward half a pace, his shadow pressing down, making Liu Wei’s neck seem even shorter.

“I don’t know! Really don’t know!” Liu Wei shook his head like a rattle, his hands blanching as they struggled against the knots binding him. “We never ask buyers’ names, as long as the silver is received...”

“I told you! Let me go!” Suddenly raising his voice, his eyes flickered with a last flicker of struggle, “I’ll pay you! One hundred taels! Enough for you for years! When it’s used up, I’ll pay more!”

Chen Lin said nothing, but reached out and stuffed the rag back into his mouth.

“So, you’re completely useless. I’ll never lack money in the future. I promised not to turn you into water, but I never promised to spare your life.” His voice was as calm as stagnant water. “My father below ground wouldn’t agree either.”

A dagger was drawn from his waist, bringing with it a chill wind.

Its tip, polished to a shine, barbs glinting coldly in the moonlight—this was sawed off from a harpoon left by his father, fitted with a wooden handle, heavy in the hand.

Chen Lin held the dagger before Liu Wei’s chest, his fingertips hovering over the acupoint at the sternum, as if measuring something.

Liu Wei’s body was frozen, but his head shook wildly; a wet patch stained his crotch, the scent of blood and sweat mingling with alcohol drifting in the air.

“Oh, almost forgot.” Chen Lin suddenly stopped. “Let me ease your pain a little.”

He pulled out a small porcelain bottle, uncorked it, and waved it before Liu Wei’s nose.

The sweet, cloying smell of ether seeped in again. Liu Wei’s entire body tingled, limbs soft as cotton, yet his consciousness remained terrifyingly clear—Chen Lin was controlling the dose, wanting Liu Wei to watch in horror as he was killed.

Such a scumbag could not be given any mercy.

He must be dragged to hell carrying fear.

Chen Lin raised his hand, the dagger slowly thrust into Liu Wei’s heart.

Liu Wei watched the iron spike pierce flesh without feeling pain.

Only when the barbed tip was pulled out of his heart did he feel as if his bones had been extracted; his head tilted, and he fell silent.

Chen Lin pressed Liu Wei’s clothes over the wound, struggling to pull out the dagger, which held a blurred fragment of flesh and blood on its barbs.

His first kill—he neither vomited nor felt the exhilaration of revenge, only a heavy gloom like a wet block of wood pressing on his heart.

While tidying the scene, he found the silver fragments in Liu Wei’s arms, cold and heavy, biting into his palm.

Peeking into the inner room, the woman behind the half-closed door still lay unconscious.

He wrapped the unfinished pig’s head on the table and tiptoed out of the courtyard.

No surprise—the woman would find the corpse upon waking tomorrow morning.

But no one would suspect him—for then, he would be working in the concession.

Outside the courtyard, the alley was deserted, only the rustling of dry grass by the wall stirred by the wind.

The city gates had long been closed. He was outside the East City, walking north along the street running south to north.

Today, he had avenged his father and confirmed his mother was alive.

Knowing she had been sold to a Zhenhai merchant, he could follow that trail to find her.

Suddenly, sounds of a fight came from ahead.

Chen Lin crouched behind a tree, reason telling him to detour, but his feet felt nailed down—youthful curiosity could not be suppressed.

Three men in short jackets circled and beat a woman.

She was small and nimble, slipping like an eel through their fists and kicks.

Dressed in tight black night clothes, her face masked with a black scarf, she was nothing but a swift black shadow in the dark.

“Little lady, been waiting for you a long time!” a scar-faced man sneered. “Come with us, you’ll be comfortable!”

“Scum! Selling opium and poisoning our people, you deserve a terrible death!” The woman’s voice was icy sharp, striking like a blade.

Chen Lin’s brow twitched sharply—that voice sounded so familiar.

“We don’t sell; plenty of others do!” the scar-faced man spat. “The court doesn’t care, why should you meddle?”

The three men closed in again; the woman fought and retreated, unknowingly edging closer to Chen Lin.

His heart wrestled, but he gritted his teeth—emotion finally overcame reason.

He pulled out a three-inch bamboo tube from his waist—an unused tool until now, just right for the moment.

Hiding in the shadows, he waited for an opening. When the woman briefly distanced herself from the men, he darted out from the darkness, spraying his homemade pepper spray mixed with tar, covering the three men perfectly.

“Ouch! Damn!”

“Dirty trick!”

“Cough, cough... my eyes!”

The three clutched their burning eyes, crouching and coughing uncontrollably.

The woman was stunned by the sudden turn of events. Before she could react, Chen Lin grabbed her hand and ran north. The wind roared in their ears; only their panting could be heard.

They ran for an unknown length of time until their calves trembled. Chen Lin pulled her into a small roadside grove.

“Y-you were there?” The girl pulled off the black cloth masking her face, her eyes sparkling like stars in the night, filled with surprise.

“Just passing by,” Chen Lin waved it off, his chest heaving. “Don’t tell me what you were doing.”

He did not want to get entangled in others’ fates; everyone had their secrets, and saving her was just a moment’s impulse.

In his past life, he had been too kind, easily manipulated.

“Hmph... who said I’d tell you?” The girl’s tone was proud like a young maiden’s. “Today, I owe you a favor.”

Turning to leave, she stopped after a few steps and looked back, her voice softening. “It’s so late; are you really going to let a girl walk alone?”

Chen Lin shook his head and stood up to leave the grove.

The girl hurried after him; her footsteps pattering behind.

“It’s too late; I can’t see you back to Yangjing Town,” Chen Lin said without turning. “Stay at my place, or find your own way.”

“I’m going to see Miaomiao.” Liu Lihua watched his retreating figure, musing quietly—this man was strange, cold yet courteous, doing good deeds but refusing thanks.

Moonlight poured over them, stretching their shadows long like a couple sneaking out.

Liu Lihua blushed and spoke first, “I heard you’re going to work at the foreign firm?”

“Mm.”

“Do you know the firm secretly sells opium?” Her voice suddenly rose. “Working for them isn’t just aiding evil?”

“I know.”

“You still go?”

“To eat.”

Chen Lin’s reply was terse, like chopped knife strokes—each word hard and sharp.

“How can you be like this!” Liu Lihua was exasperated. “Yesterday, you seemed so polite!”

Chen Lin stopped walking, perhaps still chilled by the kill. His tone was as cold as ice: “I can’t explain. No use in saying more.”

Unexpectedly, the girl seemed fired up, insisting on understanding: “Someone has to do it! I almost burned their opium today!”

“And then what?” Chen Lin sneered, a cold, hard curve at his lips. “The English grow massive poppy fields in India and can ship more anytime. To end opium, there’s only one way.”

Liu Lihua’s eyes lit up instantly. “Tell me! What way?”

“To knock them down,” Chen Lin’s voice deepened. “Show them we can sit at the table as equals, not be butchered like fish.”

“The foreigners’ ships and guns are powerful; even the court can’t beat them. How could we...?” Liu Lihua’s voice faltered.

“The court can’t because it’s the Manchu elite’s court, not the people’s.” Chen Lin turned, moonlight revealing the fire in his eyes. “We have four hundred million people; the English only tens of millions, not even a tenth of us. If it came to a fight, even barehanded, we could win. But the court doesn’t want that.”

“Why? Doesn’t the court want to win?” Liu Lihua asked, wide-eyed.

“Because that kind of power would overthrow the court too.” Chen Lin’s voice held a trace of mockery. “The foreigners plunder with opium; the Manchu court relies on its officials—aren’t they just robbers?”

The thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girl was rooted to the spot, eyes unblinking.

At this moment, Chen Lin was like a storyteller, radiating an extraordinary light.

“Master Chen, you must have a way, right?” she suddenly asked, her voice soft with trust.

“We must become strong.” Chen Lin looked northward, toward the concession. “Have money, build our own industry. Build warships, make guns, arm soldiers. Then, whether the court or the foreigners, they will all be toppled.”

He turned to Liu Lihua, his eyes shining brightly. “Now you understand why I’m going to work for the foreigners, don’t you?”