The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Zhang Ansheng lay on the roof of a townhouse, observing his target under the moonlight through the shadows of the tiles.

The factory buildings were arranged in a row of three, with a thick chimney atop the tallest one in the middle, still belching black smoke. A wooden wall surrounded the factory, and seven or eight martial arts masters with knives stood guard at the entrance.

Judging from their attire and the uniquely shaped tsuba (handguard) on their swords, they are from the shogunate.

"It's quite lively today..." Zhang Chang'an said helplessly, looking at the scene before him.

Because right in front of these people, a large group of people, carrying torches, dressed in all sorts of robes, carrying knives and bamboo spears, were closing in.

The leader was a burly ronin with a thick beard and two swords at his waist: "You lackeys of the shogunate! Hand over our parts!"

The guards at the gate all placed their hands on their swords. The middle-aged samurai in the lead spoke slowly and deliberately: "Parts? What parts? The output of this factory is allocated by the shogunate. You'll have to ask the Kyoto Steamworks Director if he agrees."

"Bullshit!" A young man behind the bearded man rushed forward, pointing at the courtyard gate and shouting, "We paid! The order is in black and white, what right do you have to withhold it?"

The middle-aged samurai sneered: "Who knows what you're going to do with those parts? Are you going to make bombs to bomb the Aizu Domain's garrison, or make guns to assassinate someone at the gate of some office in Kyoto?"

You people shout slogans, but all you do is rob and plunder.

"You—" The young man's face flushed red, but he choked.

"What if we don't give it to you today? Are you planning to storm in and rob us? That would be the same thing you did in Sanjo-dori."

The middle-aged samurai interrupted him, pointing his sword forward: "Come on then, if you dare! Let's see how capable you are!"

"Ya Lu!" The crowd behind the bearded man erupted in chaos. Some people brandished bamboo spears and tried to charge forward, but they couldn't get past the bearded man.

The two groups faced off, the atmosphere tense and ready to clash.

Zhang Chang'an, however, was thoroughly enjoying himself: "The anti-shogunate faction, huh? Their thinking these days is quite interesting—respect the emperor and expel the barbarians. Kick the shogun out of power, let the emperor come back and close the country off from the world. In this day and age, there's never a shortage of entertainment to see here."

Meiji was called a reform movement, but those who wanted to overthrow the shogunate were actually preventing technological progress because Emperor Komei had an extreme aversion to Westerners.

Some of these anti-shogunate faction members thought the same way, while others wanted to borrow his name, so they could only follow suit and eventually turned to the Meiji Restoration.

Regardless of their past or present circumstances, they were all called patriots, but as the samurai at the gate said, not all of them knew how to conduct themselves properly and how to act appropriately. There were always people in their ranks who behaved more like thugs or even bandits.

However, what does this have to do with Zhang Chang'an? Even if these people are truly patriots, it doesn't really concern him much.

"Why did they have to come now of all times to cause trouble? There must be more guards at the factory now." Zhang Chang'an pondered, calmly starting to move towards the factory while counting the number of guards nearby.

There were significantly more guards at the gate than at the beginning, making quite a show of force, but most people were drawn to the standoff, so other areas were relatively quiet.

Zhang Ansheng silently slid down from the roof of a building adjacent to a factory, like a cat stalking the night, disappearing into the building's shadow. He hadn't gone two steps before he touched the side of the main factory building.

Looking up, he saw several ventilation windows on the second floor were open. So Zhang Ansheng moved his fingers, dug them into the cracks in the red bricks, and quickly, like a gecko, squeezed into the ventilation window.

Inside, it was a spacious metal processing plant filled with a lot of machinery, and it was also a warehouse.

The factory's structure was described in detail in Tie Zhougong's daily records, and he had just observed it from the rooftop. The warehouse before him was heavily guarded, and one of the crates inside did indeed have the name of the part he needed written on it.

However, there were still quite a few guards inside the house waiting for him to deal with.

Two of them were whispering to each other: "How long do you think those guys will keep causing trouble? Will we be in trouble here?"

"Unless someone manages to get around to our location, any trouble will be dealt with from the front." The slightly older one yawned.

"Anyway, we were only temporarily transferred here to prevent those people from causing trouble. We'll be on guard for a little while, and then we can go back to sleep."

Unbeknownst to them, a figure had already crept up to them atop the massive steel beams above the warehouse, listening to their conversation.

"call!"

Zhang Chang'an released his hands and emerged from the shadows above the warehouse.

The two people below, one is leaning against the wall yawning, and the other is looking down and lighting a cigarette.

His body, at that moment, landed silently and with extreme speed on the heads of the two guards.

With his knees slightly bent to absorb the force of the fall, Zhang Chang'an decisively drew his sword with a backhand motion. The steam-powered steel blade gleamed coldly, and the sturdy hilt, using the momentum of the fall, struck the older guard directly on the head. The man didn't even utter a sound before collapsing to the ground.

The young man had just raised his head, a cigarette still dangling from his mouth, when a dark shadow suddenly descended from above, and the senior beside him collapsed without even a sound.

He instinctively tried to draw his sword, but the moment his wrist touched the hilt, a black scabbard whistled through the air and struck him. He felt a chill on his neck and then lost consciousness.

Zhang Ansheng grabbed the man by the collar, gently placed him on the ground, and then slowly dragged him into a blind spot near the wooden crates.

The various boxes and shelves around him already displayed countless copper pipes, gears, valves, and sealing rings for him to choose from.

Of course, there are more than just these two guards, so it's still not safe at this point.

Hearing the faint noises around him, Zhang Chang'an turned around decisively. A guard was walking over from the other end of the warehouse. As soon as he turned his head, he saw the figure standing in the middle of the warehouse, and his pupils shrank.

Looking at the slightly strange mask on Zhang Chang'an's face:

"have--"

Before he could even utter the word "person," Zhang Ansheng vanished into the shadows of the room in a flash.

The samurai had just drawn his sword when he saw Zhang Chang'an vanish as if he had disappeared into thin air.

When he reappeared, the scabbard in his hand was already thrusting straight at the samurai, smashing into his liver.

The man hunched over, his eyes wide open, but just as he was about to shout, the blade struck his chin hard, forcing him to shut his mouth and nearly causing him to bite his tongue.

"Well……"

Zhang Ansheng gave him no chance to catch his breath, and with a flick of his arm, the back of his hand slammed hard into the side of his head, almost sending him flying.

As he dragged the man back, Zhang Chang'an no longer hesitated. While moving around the warehouse, he reached out and grabbed various parts.

Along the way, he encountered several locked wooden crates. He sheathed his knife and slammed his fist into the lock. The iron lock instantly broke open, revealing rows of clean glass tubes and complex metal parts inside.

Meanwhile, the other guards noticed the unusual quiet in the room and rushed over from another part of the warehouse. They saw a dark figure flash past several fallen samurai.

His movements were as fast as a ghost's, and the strange iron mask was extremely eerie. Before he could even put the parts in his pocket, the long sword in his other hand was already drawn and slashing down.