Becoming an immortal from a canal worker

Before the morning mist had completely dissipated, Chen Ping set off for the greywater treatment plant.

With a red ribbon tied around his waist, he walked at a steady pace.

Walking west from Qingkou Wharf, the streets become increasingly dilapidated as you move towards the edge.

The brick and gray tile pavements gradually disappeared, replaced by sheds made of rotten planks and thatch.

A nauseating smell permeated the air.

It was a stench from a mixture of feces, rotting food, and moldy straw, mixed with the sour smell unique to crowds gathering together.

Further ahead is the greywater treatment plant.

The westernmost part of Qingkou Town is a festering sore, a gathering place for displaced people, and also the boundary of Qingyi Community's territory.

Chen Ping stood on a sloping hill, his gaze sweeping across the area below.

The densely packed shacks resembled a patch of mold spreading across the land, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The shacks were connected by narrow, muddy paths, with sewage flowing everywhere, making it impossible to find a place to step.

Several skinny stray dogs were scavenging for food in the garbage dump. When they saw Chen Ping, they bared their yellow teeth warily.

By the roadside, several ragged refugees huddled around a pile of nearly extinguished firewood, their eyes vacant and their faces pale and sickly.

An old woman squatted in front of the shack, her broken bowl filled with watery wild vegetable porridge. Several naked children crawled in the mud beside her, as thin as skinned monkeys.

This is the greywater treatment plant.

In the third year of Xuanwu of the Great Wei Dynasty, war broke out in the north, and refugees fled south, eventually gathering in this chaotic slum.

Chen Ping walked along the muddy road.

Several burly men squatted by the roadside, their eyes fierce, scanning him up and down as if they were sizing up prey.

These are thugs.

The so-called order maintainers of the greywater treatment plant.

They do not engage in production; they make a living by oppressing displaced people, collecting protection money, and engaging in forced buying and selling.

"New here?"

A tall, thin man stood up, a half-smoked pipe dangling from his lips, and swayed as he blocked the way.

"You look unfamiliar. Which gang are you from?"

The tall, thin man reached out to pat Chen Ping on the shoulder.

Chen Ping stepped aside, his eyes calm.

"Get out of the way."

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried a chilling undertone.

The tall, thin man paused for a moment, then grinned: "Oh, you're pretty cocky—"

Before he could finish speaking, his smile froze.

His pupils contracted sharply when his gaze fell on the bright red cloth belt around Chen Ping's waist.

Red flower stick.

The tall, thin man's face turned deathly pale instantly. His outstretched hand froze in mid-air before he abruptly pulled it back, bowed, and smiled obsequiously, his movements as swift as a sudden change of expression.

"Oh! It's Master Chen! I was blind to your abilities, please forgive me!"

Chen Ping ignored him and walked straight past him.

The tall, thin man stood frozen in place until Chen Ping had walked far away before he dared to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.

The thugs behind them also lowered their heads, not daring to utter a sound.

Chen Ping continued to delve deeper.

The further you go in, the worse the scene becomes.

In the open space, two migrants were fighting over a moldy half-sweet potato, their heads bleeding from the process.

A few thugs leaned against the wall watching the show, occasionally letting out a few loud laughs.

Not far away, a thug was grabbing a woman by the hair, demanding her protection money for the month.

The baby in the woman's arms cried loudly, and the surrounding refugees watched numbly, no one daring to step forward.

There was also a boy carrying a heavy sack who fell down and was kicked in the stomach by the overseer. He curled up like a shrimp in pain, but still struggled to get up and continue working.

Oppression, exploitation, violence.

A hint of reluctance flashed in Chen Ping's eyes.

There is no law here, only the survival of the fittest.

A few seconds later, Chen Ping's gaze returned to indifference, and his steps did not falter in the slightest.

He is not a savior, nor can he manage these matters.

He was observing.

Observe the terrain, observe the distribution of power, observe the rules.

Clearly, it was worse here than he had imagined.

The thugs and their gangs colluded to treat the displaced people like livestock.

The so-called manager, Rouge Tiger, was either incompetent or the mastermind behind it all.

After making his rounds, Chen Ping had a better understanding of the situation.

The water was very muddy, but he wasn't going to wade through it.

The "manager" title that Huang Ya gave him was just a nominal one.

As long as nothing major goes wrong, no one will say anything.

That's perfect, he just wanted to coast through life practicing boxing.

"Master Chen."

A respectful voice came from the side.

Chen Ping stopped in his tracks.

A middle-aged man dressed in blue walked quickly over, clasped his hands together, and bowed deeply.

"My name is Li Fu, and I work for Madam Rouge Tiger."

Chen Ping nodded: "What's up?"

Li Fu straightened up, a smile plastered on his face, and pulled a heavy package from his pocket, handing it over with both hands.

"Madam heard that Master Chen is taking office today, so she specially sent me to deliver this gift."

Chen Ping took the package and weighed it in his hand.

Very heavy.

Li Fu lowered his voice, his tone respectful yet meaningful: "Madam said that Master Chen is a smart man. Although this greywater factory is chaotic, it has its own rules. As long as Master Chen doesn't meddle in other people's business, everyone can live in peace. As for the gang, Madam will take care of things and will never make things difficult for Master Chen."

Chen Ping opened a corner of the package.

Two five-tael silver ingots, gleaming brightly. There was also a delicate little porcelain bottle with red paper pasted on it.

"This is a wound medicine that Madam herself made; it's just a small token of her appreciation."

Chen Ping looked at the silver and medicine in his hand and remained silent for a moment.

Ten taels of silver.

This amount of money is enough to buy him out of his meddling ways.

Rouge Tiger's meaning was clear: I'll give you the money and the face, but don't touch this territory.

This was exactly what Chen Ping wanted.

He tucked the package into his arms, his expression indifferent.

"Please thank Madam Rouge Tiger for me."

Chen Ping looked at Li Fu and said calmly, "Tell her that I hate trouble the most. As long as no one bothers me, I'll pretend to be blind."

Li Fu breathed a sigh of relief, his smile became more genuine, and he bowed again.

"Master Chen is indeed a straightforward man. Then I will not disturb Master Chen's enjoyment any longer."

Watching Li Fu leave, Chen Ping turned and walked back.

Along the way, those thugs who were originally arrogant and domineering were now all standing obediently by the roadside, heads bowed, respectfully making way for each other.

Even the thug who was just beating people was now standing ramrod straight, not daring to utter a sound.

This is the taste of power.

It was already afternoon when we returned to the courtyard.

Chen Ping casually tossed the silver and medicine bottle onto the table, took off his outer garment, and walked shirtless into the courtyard.

He preferred this kind of pure thing to scheming and intrigue.

Take a deep breath, slightly separate your feet, and focus your energy in your lower abdomen.

The starting stance of "Crushing Stone Force".

"call--"

The wind howled from the punch.

One punch, two punches, three punches...

The twelve-style boxing technique was repeatedly disassembled, reassembled, and unleashed in his hands.

Every movement is precise as if measured with a ruler, and every muscle moves in rhythm with breathing.

[Stone Crushing Force, Proficiency +1]

Current progress: Minor success 127/500

Pull your fist in and exhale.

Chen Ping looked at his sweat-drenched fists, a glint of light flashing in his eyes.

The displaced people at the greywater field lived like livestock; that was their fate.

He didn't want to be treated like livestock, so he had to become stronger.

Only when you have a strong enough fist will others give you money, make way for you, and respectfully call you "Master Chen".

This is the truth of this world.

Keep practicing.

Chen Ping once again assumed a fighting stance, immersing himself in the sweat and the increase in strength.