Xiang Cheng was thirty-five years old that year.
The rain was pouring, and Tang Zhuhai followed Xiang Cheng silently with a pistol tucked into his waist. The two disguised themselves and left the city in the early morning, and finally arrived in Incheon at night. Xiang Cheng took off his raincoat and handed it to the sailors on the oncoming Pingyuan ship. He wiped his face and looked a little unnaturally excited:
"Shaochuan, I'm leaving first."
Zhuhai nodded.
"Xi Zaiming promised to arrange a boat for you to return home, and you should leave as soon as the Yamen matter is over." Xiang Cheng warned again.
Zhuhai was speechless and could only hold his hand.
