Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 992 Crossing

"I just want to take back what's mine." She floated to the center of the stage and lightly tapped a blue brick with her finger. A tile suddenly popped up, revealing a wooden box underneath. Just then, the theater's main door burst open, and several men in black suits rushed in, guns drawn. Leading the way was a mustachioed man, none other than Zhang Biao, the city's police chief. "Zhao Changgeng, you've hidden gold bars, and you're playing tricks on me!" Zhang Biao aimed his gun at Zhao Changgeng. "These gold bars belong to former Qing princes and should have been confiscated long ago!" The ghost woman suddenly let out a sharp scream, her long hair whipping at Zhang Biao. The men in black suits retreated in fear, and Ling Yun seized the opportunity to draw his peach wood sword. "Evil creature! How dare you hurt me in front of me!" He muttered something, and a golden light emanated from the sword: "The heavens and the earth are boundless, the universe borrows its magic!" The peach wood sword pierced the ghost woman's shoulder, and she screamed, her body gradually becoming transparent. "Master, spare me!" the ghost knelt on the ground. "I just want the world to know the truth." Ling Yun watched her gradually disappear and sighed. "Well, you died unjustly. I'll give you a chance." He pulled a rebirth talisman from his pocket and lit it with a lighter. "Your earthly ties are over. May you be reincarnated soon." As the talisman crumbled to ash, the ghost vanished completely, leaving only a silver hairpin on the ground. Zhang Biao's men seized the opportunity to pry open the wooden box, revealing it to be filled with gold bars. Just as they were about to remove the gold bars, Ling Yun suddenly stopped them. "These gold bars are tainted with resentment. They must be soaked in pomelo leaves for seven days before use. Otherwise, anyone who touches them will be haunted by the ghost." Zhang Biao was skeptical, but he didn't want to take the risk. He had the gold bars sealed. The next morning, Ling Yun packed up the wicker box and prepared to leave. Zhao Changgeng chased after him, holding a cloth bag. "Master, you must accept this gift." Inside the bag were twenty silver dollars, but Ling Yun only took one. "I don't cultivate Taoism for money." He pointed at the plaque on the theater building and said, "This theater building is filled with negative energy. You'd better hang a Bagua mirror on the beam and hire a troupe to perform 'Zhong Kui Marries His Sister.' This will dispel the negative energy." Zhao Changgeng nodded repeatedly, watching Ling Yun disappear into the alley. Sunlight filtered through the mist onto the theater building, and the plaque reading "Juxian Theater" seemed to glow even brighter. Later, it was said that every Ghost Festival, the singing of "The Lock of Hair" could be heard from the theater, but the voice was no longer mournful, but rather spoke of an unfinished earthly relationship. Ling Yun walked the streets of Peking, carrying a rattan basket on his back, reading newspapers hawked by roadside newsboys—they were bearing news of the "Zhili-Fengtian War." He touched the peach wood sword at his waist, knowing that in these turbulent times, there were still more evil spirits waiting for him to conquer. The aroma wafted from the wonton stall on the corner. Just as he was about to approach, he suddenly saw a girl in a school uniform speaking to the air. A circle of purple fingerprints marked the girl's neck. Chen Feng's eyes snapped open, the pungent smell of coal smoke and the clamor of voices overwhelming his senses. He looked around blankly, his eyes fixed on a mottled wooden wall. A yellowed newspaper hung on it, its front page emblazoned with the words: "The Zhili-Fengtian War Re-emerged in the 21th Year of the Republic of China." "Where am I?" Chen Feng struggled to sit up, finding himself lying in a simple inn room. A sudden surge of unfamiliar memories filled his mind, and he realized he had traveled through time—from a st-century mechanical engineer to a down-and-out scholar of the same name and surname during the Republican era. The original owner, a poor scholar, had unsuccessfully sought refuge with relatives in Peking. He ran out of money and caught a cold, succumbing to his illness. This body was then taken over by Chen Feng, a man from a hundred years in the future. "Now that I'm here, I'll make the best of it." Chen Feng took a deep breath and looked out the window. The streets of Peking were bustling with traffic. Pedestrians in long robes and mandarin jackets, merchants in suits and leather shoes, and soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders blended the old and the new. He felt his pockets, only three silver coins jingling. "I have to survive first," Chen Feng said with a wry smile. Drawing on the memories of the original owner, he knew that this was the nascent stage of national industry, with the widespread advocacy of "saving the nation through industry." This might be an opportunity for someone like him, skilled in mechanical engineering. The next morning, Chen Feng used his remaining money to buy two steamed buns. Armed with a pen and paper borrowed from the innkeeper, he began to observe the streets. He noticed that Peking's tap water supply was extremely unreliable. Most people still had to draw water from wells, and in the few places that did have running water, the pipes frequently burst, making repairs time-consuming and laborious. "Got it!" Chen Feng's eyes lit up. He remembered a modern quick-connect technology that greatly improved the efficiency of water pipe repairs. He immediately found a blacksmith, drew a blueprint from memory, and had the blacksmith forge several prototypes. This connector featured a bayonet design, requiring only a half-turn to secure it securely, making it over ten times faster than the flange joints commonly used at the time. Chen Feng took the prototype to the Peking Water Supply Company, where he was greeted by an elderly technician with a goatee. "Will this little thing work?" the old technician was skeptical, and immediately had a broken water pipe brought in for testing. The worker used Chen Feng's design to repair the pipe in less than three minutes, which would have taken half an hour. "Great stuff! Really great stuff!" the old technician patted Chen Feng's shoulder excitedly. "Young man, we want these connectors! I'll give you fifty cents each, and I'll order a hundred!" With a profit of fifty silver dollars from his first sale, Chen Feng finally established himself in Peking. He rented a small workshop and hired two blacksmiths to specialize in producing water pipe connectors. But it wasn't long before troubles came knocking on the door - the foreign companies in the city saw that this business was profitable and also started to produce similar connectors, with prices % lower than Chen Feng's. "Boss Chen, why don't we also lower the price?" The employee stamped his feet anxiously. Chen Feng shook his head, knowing that he would never be able to compete with the wealthy foreign companies in terms of price. He improved the design overnight and added a rubber sealing ring on the inside of the connector to solve the problem of water leakage. This inconspicuous improvement made the water company's orders pour in. Half a year later, Chen Feng's "Xingbang Machinery Factory" already had more than workers. One day, a man in military uniform came to the door and claimed to be a logistics officer of the Northwest Army. "Boss Chen, our army is in urgent need of a batch of saddle parts. The foreigners are asking too much. Can you do it?" After checking the drawings, Chen Feng found that the metal buckle on the saddle was not complicated, but it required wear resistance. Recalling modern quenching technology, he assured them, "No problem! The price is half that of foreign suppliers, and the quality will only be better!" To meet the delivery deadline, Chen Feng and his workers worked for three days and three nights. He refined the quenching process, significantly increasing the hardness of the components. When the logistics officer inspected the goods, he scratched them with a knife for a long time without leaving a mark, and immediately ordered another sets.