Fists can't cross Tianjin

Chapter 1 Coachman

In the winter of 1981, the wind in Tianjin was not strong, but it was gloomy.

It's like it's hooked, crawling down the collar and cuffs into the gaps between people's bones.

The smell of coal smoke mixed with the fishy odor along the Haihe River was choking and made one's throat tight. A layer of dark ice had formed on the cement ground, making a crunching sound when stepped on.

Chen Zhuo wrapped his patched black cotton-padded coat tightly around himself, put his hands in his sleeves, hunched his neck, and squatted like a sick chicken against the wall of Tianjin East Railway Station Square.

cold.

It's fucking cold.

But the cold was bearable; what was worse was the hunger.

My stomach felt like it was filled with a mouse, writhing and thrashing about. Waves of stomach acid surged up, burning my esophagus. This hunger wasn't a desire to eat; it was panic. Every cell in my body was screaming, demanding fuel.

Chen Zhuo squinted at the pedestrians in the square, their breath steaming in the air.

Those people in blue overalls riding old-fashioned bicycles were distorted in his eyes. They became walking pieces of braised pork, steaming hot buns.

"Good boy..."

Chen Zhu cursed under his breath.

Who would have thought that a disciple of the outer sect of Xingyi Quan in his previous life, and a popular live streamer on a short video platform, would be reborn in this life as a laborer pedaling a tricycle?

This is the best of times, a land of opportunity where even a pig can fly if it stands in the right place at the right time. It's an era where "no matter how skilled you are in martial arts, you're still afraid of a kitchen knife; no matter how good your kung fu is, a brick can knock you down." It's also an era of chaos, wildness, rampant scheming and deceit, and fierce clashes between old and new rules.

But for Chen Zhuo now, the era doesn't matter.

The important thing is whether I can find work tonight, whether I can earn a few cents for the share, and then exchange that for two hot steamed buns to fill this bottomless pit of a stomach.

"Waaah—"

The piercing sound of the steam horn tore through the night sky.

In the distance, a green train, like an old black dragon panting heavily, slowly pulled into the station, puffing out white smoke.

The once lifeless square instantly erupted in chaos.

"We have work to do!"

"Don't push! I'll fight anyone who does!"

The large group of rickshaw pullers who had been crouching by the wall suddenly stood up as if they had smelled blood. Some were adjusting the seat cushions, others were tightening their belts, and their eyes were wide open.

Chen Zhuo did not move.

He lowered his eyelids and adjusted his breathing.

Inhale like a toad, exhale like a silken thread.

The previously shrunken and shrunken abdomen swelled slightly, and a warm current slowly spread along the spine, barely dispelling some of the stiffness and coldness in the limbs.

This is the "Toad-Fishing Strength" from the Xingyi School, specifically used to nourish qi and lock in essence. This body is severely depleted; if it weren't nourished, it would have starved to death by the roadside long ago.

Once the crowd had subsided, Chen Zhuo slowly stood up. He was tall, standing at 1.78 meters, which would be a towering figure among southerners, but in Tianjin, he was just an average height. However, his eyes were frighteningly dark, like two dry wells.

A crowd surged out of the exit.

People carrying large and small bags, with their families in tow. At this time, those who could afford to take the train were either officials on official business or successful traders, and they all had some spare money.

"Grandpa! Need a ride? A tricycle!"

"Liberation Bridge! Two cents or not?"

"Ouch, you stepped on my foot!"

The scene was in complete chaos.

Chen Zhuo pushed the dilapidated tricycle, seemingly clumsy but actually quite slick. He weaved in and out of the crowd, casually leaning his shoulder against someone or shoving them in.

There's a specific technique to this squeezing.

It's not about using brute force, but about using the skeleton to support it.

A burly coachman next to him tried to shove him aside, but the moment his shoulder touched Chen Zhuo, he felt as if he had bumped into an iron pillar. Before he could react, Chen Zhuo's shoulder twitched slightly, and a spiraling force dissipated the other man's force, allowing him to slide past him.

The coachman stumbled and almost fell to the ground.

"That damned bastard..." he cursed as he turned around, only to see Chen Zhuo's patched-up back.

Chen Zhuo's goal was very clear.

A middle-aged man wearing a gray woolen overcoat and carrying a leather suitcase.

This person looks like a manager or an engineer in a large factory. Such people value appearances, dislike haggling, and are afraid of losing their lives.

"Comrade, need a ride?"

Chen Zhuo parked the car in front of the man, his face plastered with that honest smile he had practiced countless times, his back slightly bent, exuding a simple and honest air.

The man frowned, glanced at the messy surroundings, and then looked at Chen Zhuo. Although the car was a bit dilapidated, the young man looked clean and tidy, unlike those shifty-eyed types.

"How much does it cost to go to the Little White Building?" the man asked reservedly.

"Five cents," Chen Zhuo quoted an honest price.

"Okay, let's go." The man nodded and put the suitcase in the car.

Several other rickshaw drivers who hadn't managed to get fares immediately cast envious glances at him. The Little White Building was in the former concession area; it was a long way, but the pay was good, making it a lucrative job.

"This newcomer is quite robust."

"Hmph, just because they're agile..."

"Young man, if you lack martial ethics, you'll suffer sooner or later..."

Chen Zhuo's ears twitched, but he pretended not to hear. He lifted his buttocks, pushed off with his feet, and the tricycle creaked and glided steadily away.

The Little White Building is some distance from the train station; you have to cross the Liberation Bridge to get there.

At night, the streetlights in Tianjin are dim and yellow.

Chen Zhuo pedaled the bike, but his breathing remained perfectly steady. Even though he was starving, his legs moved up and down rhythmically like precise pistons.

The large tendons on the inside of the thighs snap and bounce with each movement, saving at least 30% of the effort.

This is kung fu.

Incorporating kung fu into cycling—that's true spiritual practice.

Unfortunately, spiritual practice cannot fill an empty stomach.

The car turned onto a quiet, secluded street. Ahead was the Liberation Bridge; beyond the bridge lay the concession area, where the roads were wide and well-lit.

Just then, three people swayed out from under the streetlights ahead.

The leader was wearing an ill-fitting military overcoat, a Lei Feng hat askew on his head, and a toothpick dangling from his mouth. He was swinging a bicycle chain lock around, making a loud clanging sound.

Erga Zi.

This is a notorious troublemaker in the area, and one of the two henchmen of "Flower Cat," the deputy manager of the HQ District Material Recycling Company.

On the surface, Erga was a temporary worker in the East Station loading and unloading team, doing odd jobs like moving things and dealing in secondhand goods. But in reality, they were in charge of all the private transactions and unlicensed taxi drivers in the area. Hua Mao was a big shot with connections to the highest levels; it was said that he had a high-ranking official in the district protecting him, and even the joint defense team gave him some face.

Erga Zi deliberately blocked the way on this only road, claiming to "borrow money," but actually just to show off.

The middle-aged man in the car clearly sensed something was wrong and shrank back slightly: "Sir, this..."

"It's nothing, we just ran into the road administration inspectors."

Chen Zhuo casually made up a sentence, without stopping his feet, but slowed down.

"Whoa—"

Erga stood in the middle of the road, the chain pointing at Chen Zhuo's nose, his hoarse voice sounding particularly grating in the night wind.

"Stop! What are you doing? Are you blind? Can't you see me poking around here?"

Chen Zhuo squeezed the brake.

The car came to a steady stop one meter in front of Ergaizi.

He jumped off the car seat, his expression instantly changing. The coldness of a seasoned expert vanished without a trace, replaced by a fawning and humble demeanor. He rubbed his hands together, hunched over, looking every bit like a country bumpkin who had never seen the world.

"Oh, isn't this Second Master? Still out on official business so late? You must be working so hard."

Ergazi glanced sideways at Chen Zhuo and snorted, "Stop arguing with him. New here? Don't you know the rules?"

He tapped the metal of the tricycle with the chain lock, making a crisp clanging sound.

"We're a bit short on cash lately, so we were thinking of borrowing a couple of bucks from passersby. We all know this area, so don't make things difficult for me, okay?"

The man on the bus turned pale with fright, clutching his suitcase tightly and not daring to utter a sound. These days, gangsters really fight to the death; it's common for them to use knives over a few dollars. And these guys all have connections; you can beat them up and get away with it. Call the police? They'll be in jail one minute and out the next.

Chen Zhuo's smile froze for a moment, and he looked very embarrassed: "Second Master, you see, I just got this job, and I haven't even received the money yet. I haven't eaten all day..."

"Stop talking nonsense!"

Ergazi's eyes widened, and he slammed the chain lock in his hand onto the ground, sending sparks flying.

"No money? If you have no money, then rip that overcoat off this sheep!" He pointed at the middle-aged man. "A car wheel grazed my military overcoat just now, and a button fell off. This is a good piece of equipment from the army; it wouldn't be cheap without it. Using this woolen overcoat to pay off your debt is a bargain for you!"

This is a typical case of staged accident and fraud.

The middle-aged man was so frightened that he almost fell off the car.

A barely perceptible glint of cold light flashed deep within Chen Zhuo's eyes.

He looked at Ergaizi's arrogant face and the waving chain lock. In his eyes, Ergaizi was full of flaws.

The lower body is unstable, and the center of gravity is entirely on the heels.

His right ribs are wide open; a single powerful punch could break three of his ribs and pierce his lungs.

With the carotid artery exposed, a single slap could cause him to go into shock due to insufficient blood supply to the brain.

Killing him is easier than killing a chicken.

Chen Zhuo's fingers tightened slightly, and his heels lifted up an inch silently.

Although we live in a civilized society and murder is unlikely, teaching these little bastards a lesson is still a piece of cake.

Just as he was about to erupt.

"No! Don't do it!"

The middle-aged man on the bus shakily pulled out a wallet from his pocket, took out a five-yuan note, and said, "I'll pay! I'll pay!"

The man was genuinely scared.

He saw that the young driver was hot-blooded and impetuous, and that if a fight broke out, it would be troublesome.

Besides, I'm busy delivering the blueprints, which is a big deal. I can get by with a few dollars now, so there's no need to be stingy here.

As he spoke, he got down, handing over the large sum of money while tightly clutching Chen Zhuo's clothes.

"Hmph, you're smart to know what's good for you!"

Erga was also intimidated by Chen Zhuo's glare earlier, and originally planned to scare him by taking advantage of the fact that there were more of them.

But now that the middle-aged man has been sensible enough to pay, we can at least save face.

He then snorted and left with a few thugs.

"Master, don't get angry with them, it's not worth it!"

The middle-aged man patted Chen Zhuo on the shoulder. "I have urgent business here. Shall we continue?"

Chen Zhuo slowly loosened his clenched fingers, his heels returned to the ground, and he nodded.

When they arrived at Xiaobailou, the man got out of the car, took out a dollar from his pocket, and handed it to Chen Zhuo.

"Here's the fare, keep the change. Young man, a moment of patience will calm things down. If you had really started a fight just now, none of us would be leaving today."

The man patted Chen Zhuo on the shoulder, speaking earnestly.

Chen Zhuo took the money and nodded: "You're right."

Chen Zhu put the money away, got on his tricycle, turned it around, and rode towards the snack street behind Quanyechang.

There you'll find the most authentic and meatiest pork trotter noodles in all of Tianjin.