Chapter 18: Zhang Yang Gets Hooked

Inside the Shanghai-brand car driving into the city, Xiao He, the driver, stole a few glances at the back seat through the rearview mirror. The man with the scarred face had been resting with his eyes closed, but he suddenly spoke up: "You have something to ask? Go ahead."

Xiao He gave a dry laugh. "Nothing gets past you... Commander, is there a purpose to buying so many wolves?"

The scarred man slowly opened his eyes just a slit and said unhurriedly, "Not long ago, there was a meeting in the city. The authorities required us to follow higher directives to collect various large wild animals for research purposes." He paused, Zhang Yang's face resurfacing in his mind. "It was truly a stroke of luck from the heavens."

Xiao He sighed. "No wonder you've been to the black market twice in a row."

The scarred man warned, "This winter will not be peaceful; there is unrest everywhere in Zhenhai City. Tell Xiao Jin to have his men keep a closer watch on this area. The black market has been popping up too frequently lately, breaking all the established rules."

Xiao He acknowledged the importance of the order and promised to handle it.

The scarred man added, "Unless absolutely necessary, do not open fire!"

"Don't worry, Commander, we understand," Xiao He replied.

"Also," the scarred man said, recalling Zhang Yang’s steady grip on his rifle. He picked up his cane, watching the scenery as he continued, "Next time you see those two brothers from today, have the others test them. That young man has extraordinary skills; I hope he walks the straight and narrow path."

Xiao He was surprised. It had been a long time since he had heard the Commander praise someone like that. It seemed that the man truly had talent.

***

Zhang Yang and Zhao Dong wandered around the black market twice. The market was well-stocked with quality goods—rice, flour, and grain—far more abundant than the market Zhang Yang had visited previously. However, it was also truly expensive. Zhao Dong asked two vendors selling cornmeal, both of whom demanded sixty-five cents per catty, making him roll his eyes. Yet, the vendors were aggressive, snapping, "If you don't want it, plenty of others do! If you don't have the money, don't come to the black market! Don't embarrass yourself!"

Zhao Dong wanted to throw a punch, but the hostile glares from all around forced him to settle for dragging his cart away and complaining to Zhang Yang. When he turned his head, however, Zhang Yang was nowhere to be seen.

"Yangzi!" Zhao Dong called out, though he dared not be too loud. His voice was swallowed by the wind, and Zhang Yang did not hear him.

Zhang Yang had followed a man in a maroon padded jacket into a small alley. The man's jacket was partially open, revealing the butt of a gun tucked inside. One glance was enough for Zhang Yang to recognize it as a birding musket—a matchlock gun with a long barrel and small caliber. In ancient warfare, this weapon was a major player, capable of taking down a large horse with ease. Zhang Yang knew the rules of the black market: those selling firearms were not as brazen as those selling staples like grain, but they would find opportunities to show off a portion of their wares to attract potential buyers.

Zhang Yang followed the man into a mud house. The man had clearly noticed him long ago but showed no alarm, suggesting he was intentionally baiting him. Zhang Yang tucked his money away and continued inside. The house had a cellar of considerable size. Descending the stairs, Zhang Yang found a group of men playing cards. One look at their clothes, expressions, and movements told him they were not farmers; they were likely street thugs from Zhenhai City.

The man who had led him in whispered to a man with a fleshy, scarred face sitting in the corner. Zhang Yang, unhurried, stepped closer to watch the game. They were playing "Guandan." It wasn't new to Zhang Yang, but he recalled that the game originated in the Jianghuai region. Zhenhai City was a thousand kilometers away from Jianghuai. In an era with such poor transportation, the fact that it had spread here meant these people were well-connected. That meant they likely had some real treasures.

Zhang Yang observed the game. The other three at the table played smoothly, but the man in front of him was clearly a novice, hesitant and unsure of his moves.

"Peng the Fourth, can you hurry up? I’m about to fall asleep waiting for you to play a card!" shouted the man across from him, a man in his forties smoking a dry tobacco pipe, revealing a mouth of yellow teeth.

Under this roar, the man called Peng the Fourth played recklessly. Within minutes, he had lost all his chips. He cursed as he left the table, and in his haste, he bumped into Zhang Yang. "Are you blind?" he barked.

"Peng the Fourth, your sportsmanship is terrible. Why curse just because you lost?" someone mocked.

Peng the Fourth snorted and stormed off, but in his rush, he dropped something—a round black stone that rolled to Zhang Yang’s feet. Zhang Yang bent down to pick it up, ready to call out to him, when someone grabbed his shoulder.

"New here? You're pretty tall. Know how to play cards? Come on, sit down and play a round!"

Zhang Yang quickly mimicked Zhao Dong’s usual foolishness and gave a dull laugh. "I don't know how. I'm from the countryside; I just want to buy some things..."

Two underlings grinned. "Don't know how? Then learn!"

"Exactly, everyone had to learn sometime."

"Kid, meeting our boss today is your lucky day!"

"If you beat our boss, you can buy whatever you want in this black market!"

"And if it's not here, our boss can get it for you!"

Zhang Yang knew the routine; they were trying to intimidate a newcomer. Unfortunately, he had a mother, a sister, and three small children to feed. He wasn't here to pay respects. Ignoring the cards, Zhang Yang asked with a foolish grin, "Really? Can you get guns too?"

"Oh!" the room erupted. "You're here to buy guns?"

"Look at him, he wants a gun!"

"Do you even know how to use one? Don't end up shooting yourself!"

"Haha! If he even gets the chance. Look at him—does he look like he can afford one?"

They mocked him arrogantly, finding the dim-witted boy more entertaining than the game. Just then, the fleshy-faced man from the corner walked over. He whispered something to the boss with the pipe, who then raised his head and gave a sharp cough. The cellar fell quiet.

"I hear you hunted wolves?" The boss, clearly skeptical, squinted at Zhang Yang. "Know how to use a gun?"

Zhang Yang didn't flinch this time. "I do."

The man set down his pipe and adjusted his sable coat. "What kind of gun do you want?"

"Anything, whatever you have," Zhang Yang shouted, playing the part of a blunt, simple-minded man. "I want ten!"

"You've got some nerve!" the man laughed craftily. "Ten guns? Do you know how much that costs? Even if you gave me all the money you made from those wolves, it wouldn't be enough."

The underlings were stunned. "What? Wolves? He has wolves?"

"Yeah, he just sold them all at once..." Word of Zhang Yang's sale spread, and the eyes of everyone in the cellar changed.

Zhang Yang remained a greenhorn. He stared at the man with the pipe, stretched his neck, and shouted indignantly, "Our village only has one gun, and it's out of ammo! If we don't buy guns to defend ourselves, the whole village will be eaten by wolves!"

"I just want to buy guns and go back to the village!"

"If you don't have any, I'm going to ask somewhere else!"