Fists can't cross Tianjin

Chapter 2 Pig's Trotter Noodles

The snack street behind Quanyechang is more of a narrow alley blackened by smoke and fire than a street.

This place is a melting pot of all sorts of people, but at least it has a warm, welcoming atmosphere.

A few dim light bulbs swayed in the wind, and below them were several large iron pots churning, steam rising from them. The aroma, a mixture of spices, soy sauce, and the smell of meat, was more alluring than any love potion.

"...Now, Qin Shubao, trapped in Tiantang County, was penniless and his heroic spirit was waning, his horse thin and long-haired. With no other choice, he could only lead his yellow horse to the market to sell it..."

An old-fashioned "Peony" brand radio in the corner was crackling and hissing, with Shan Tianfang's unique husky voice coming from it.

This is from "Romance of the Sui and Tang Dynasties," specifically the episode of "Qin Qiong Selling His Horse."

Chen Zhuo locked his tricycle to a lamppost at the alley entrance and practically pounced on the noodle stall that hadn't closed yet.

"Boss, a bowl of braised pork knuckle noodles, please!"

His voice was hoarse, with a trembling tone of impatience.

"Add extra chili! And if there's any meat left, cut up another five cents' worth!"

The stall owner, a bald old man, was stirring the pot with a large ladle when he heard this. His hand trembled, and he almost dropped the ladle into the pot.

He looked up and sized Chen Zhuo up and down.

A tattered cotton-padded jacket, cotton shoes that exposed his toes, and a pale, sickly face. A typical migrant laborer.

This person, who usually wouldn't even add a poached egg to their noodles, is now asking for 50 cents worth of meat?

Five cents! That's more than half a pound of cooked meat, enough for a family to make dumpling filling for several meals!

"Young man, five cents is a lot of meat, you..." The old man wanted to say something to persuade him, but doing business is not easy these days, and it would be a fool not to make money.

He curled his lip, his eyes carrying a hint of mockery towards a spendthrift son:

"Seventy cents in total. Pay first."

Chen Zhuo's hands trembled as he pulled the still-warm one-yuan bill from his inner pocket. He felt a pang of heartache for a second, then slapped it onto the greasy table.

"Wait."

The old man took the money, pulled out three cents from his apron pocket, threw it on the table, and turned to leave.

Chen Zhu put away the coins, sat on the bench, and his legs trembled uncontrollably. It wasn't the cold, it was hunger.

The hunger had now spread from his stomach to his head, making his eyes gleam with a green light. He stared intently at the large iron pot, watching the noodles bubbling and the chunks of meat floating inside, his Adam's apple bobbing wildly.

grunt.

The sound of swallowing saliva was particularly clear in the noisy alley.

Poor scholars, rich warriors.

These four words are not just for show.

Practicing martial arts is about refining essence into qi.

Where does essence come from? It comes from grains and cereals, and from the flesh and blood of birds and beasts.

Ordinary people only need to eat three full meals a day, but martial artists, especially those like him who have just opened up their muscles and bones and are in the process of developing their skills, need to eat five meals a day, and every meal must include meat. If they don't get enough nutrition, forget about developing skills; they're just training themselves to death, eventually ruining their bodies and becoming a tuberculosis patient.

……

"The noodles are ready! Be careful, they're hot!"

The old man brought over a large bowl and slammed it heavily on the table.

Full.

That's fucking full.

A thick layer of red chili oil floats on the dark red broth. Half a bowl is filled with tender, fall-off-the-bone braised pork trotters, piled high and trembling, covering the noodles underneath, and topped with a handful of bright green garlic sprouts.

Chen Zhuo almost dropped his chopsticks because he couldn't even hold them properly.

He took a deep breath, and the strong aroma of meat rushed straight to the top of his head, instantly brightening his previously blurred vision.

There's no need to be polite.

He picked up a mouthful of noodles, wrapped it around a trembling piece of pigskin, and slurped it into his mouth with a slurp.

hot.

hot.

Fragrant.

The scalding hot noodles slid down my esophagus like a fire dragon diving into an ice cave. My stomach was instantly soothed, and the agonizing panic subsided slightly.

Chen Zhu ate quickly, but not in a disheveled manner.

He chewed each bite very thoroughly, using the force of his jaw to grind the food into a paste so that his stomach and intestines could absorb it as quickly as possible. This was a habit his body had developed, and also an instinct for survival.

Just as he was eating, having swallowed several pieces of pork knuckle and enjoying himself,

On the radio, Shan Tianfang was at the climax of his story:

"...Just as Qin Qiong was about to start bargaining, a person suddenly appeared from the side and shouted..."

As if in sync with Young Master Ma's voice, a sudden commotion arose from the side.

"Damn! You're asking for it, aren't you?"

"Brothers, give them a shout!"

Chen Zhuo chewed on the meat, not even lifting his eyelids, but burying his face in the bowl, one hand protecting the rim of the bowl, as if afraid that dust would splash in.

These days, street fights are commonplace.

Especially in places like this where all sorts of people gather, there are plenty of people who, after a couple of drinks, forget who they are. And these tough guys don't care about one-on-one fights; they always swarm each other.

It's not very good.

Anyway,

As long as it doesn't interfere with his eating noodles and meat, even if the sky falls, it has to wait.

"Snapped!"

A beer bottle exploded on the ground not far away, sending shards of glass flying everywhere.

Then came the sound of tables and chairs overturning, the dull thud of fists hitting flesh, and a woman's scream.

Chen Zhuo glanced at it briefly.

Skillful.

He didn't recognize the group of people who were beaten, but the leader of the group that beat him was none other than Erga, who had just taken two and a half cents from him.

This guy was currently leading seven or eight of his buddies, beating up three people at another table. The group, led by Kang, appeared to be a few out-of-town fabric dealers; there was also a young woman among them, who was crying with her arms crossed.

"Damn it, you're asking for it! Second Master is praising you a couple of times, and you dare to glare at him? Don't you know who's in charge here?"

Erga stood on the outer circle, holding that chain lock in his hand, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, looking utterly arrogant.

It turns out he tried to flirt with a girl but was rebuffed. Feeling humiliated, he called for backup. These days, "fighting at the drop of a hat" is the norm, especially for these tough guys who value their reputation above all else.

The out-of-town traffickers were quickly beaten to the ground, curled up and begging for mercy while protecting their heads. But the thugs showed no sign of stopping, raining blows with the soles of their leather shoes onto their faces and ribs.

On the radio, Shan Tianfang continued, "...It's truly a case of a tiger fallen into the plains being bullied by dogs, and a dragon stranded in shallow waters being mocked by shrimp!"

Screams echoed.

Meanwhile, Chen Zhuo was still slurping his noodles.

Just then, an unexpected change occurred.

Among the group of out-of-towners who were being beaten, a seemingly thin young man suddenly sprang into action. He somehow produced a meat-cutting boning knife (probably swiped from a nearby butcher stall), and with bloodshot eyes, he charged at Ergaizi, who was standing on the sidelines watching the spectacle.

"I'll kill you!"

The young man screamed with all his might.

Erga Zi was clearly taken aback by the fact that this rabbit would bite when cornered, and he was so startled that he dropped his cigarette. But being a seasoned hoodlum, he reacted quickly, dodging to the side and simultaneously kicking out with his leg.

The kick landed squarely on the young man's stomach.

Chen Zhuo's lips twitched slightly.

In his eyes, Ergaizi's kick was like leaving holes all over his body.

The center of gravity leaned back too much, the left leg was unstable, and the major tendons were disconnected... This is just bullying an honest person. If it were a trained fighter, the moment he raised his leg, he only needed to lightly tap the back of his supporting leg, and that leg would be ruined.

It's full of flaws.

The thought flashed through Chen Zhuo's mind.

"Bang!"

Although Erga Zi's kick was technically terrible, his youth and strength allowed him to send the young man who had attacked him flying.

Not to die.

The young man flew backwards towards Chen Zhuo's table.

Chen Zhuo was still in a daze when his body reacted instinctively.

He wasn't going to pick someone up; instead, he instinctively protected his large bowl.

But it was too late.

The young man slammed heavily onto Chen Zhuo's table. The already rickety little square table collapsed with a crash.

Although Chen Zhuo managed to protect the bowl in his hand, when the table tipped over, one of the table legs hooked onto his elbow.

pat.

Hand trembled.

The large bowl, which still contained a little less than half a bowl of soup and meat, fell to the ground.

The soup was spilled all over the floor, steaming hot.

The bowl didn't break, but it rolled twice on the ground and got covered in coal dust.

Chen Zhuo remained frozen in mid-air, still in the position protecting the bowl.

The air suddenly became quiet.

Erga's men stopped, and the young man who had launched the sneak attack lay on the ground groaning.

Chen Zhuo slowly withdrew his hand, his gaze following the bowl.

The bowl was sitting in a puddle of sewage.

Damn it, there are still several pieces of meat and two cloves of garlic at the bottom of the bowl.

A surge of anger welled up inside him.

"Hey, isn't that the poor pedicab driver from earlier?"

Ergazi walked over and kicked the large bowl even further away, making a crisp sound.

"What's wrong? Still hungry? Want me to give you a couple of spits to eat?"

The surrounding thugs burst into laughter. One of them even whistled, "Second Master, this kid looks like a starving ghost reincarnated. Look at his eyes, they're practically green."

Chen Zhuo slowly stood up.

He kept his head down, and no one could see his expression.

But beneath that tattered cotton-padded coat, his previously hunched back was gradually straightening. Like a gun that had been bent for too long, finally about to snap straight.

A surge of warmth, from the recent tonic, flowed from his stomach to his limbs and bones.

Although it's not enough, it's enough to catch a few stray dogs.

"That's my bowl."

Chen Zhuo's voice was very soft, so soft that it sounded like he was talking to himself.

"Huh?" Ergazi didn't hear clearly, so he leaned closer. "What did you say?"

Chen Zhuo raised his head.

Those eyes, as dry as wells, now held no trace of humility, only a deathly stillness that sent chills down one's spine.

"I said."

"You kicked my garlic and made it dirty."

Erga was stunned for a moment, then looked as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world. He moved his face even closer, and the smell of cheap tobacco hit Chen Zhuo's nose.

"Damn! You're pretty arrogant, aren't you? Trying to scam me, huh? You're asking for trouble..."