After work, I went with him to a restaurant. We ate until 8 p.m., then he packed some extra dishes, stopped by a store to buy two cases of beer and a bag of snacks, and directed me to drive. In the car, he told me about the man we were going to see: Wang Changping.
Back when I was in construction cost management, he worked as a project manager on the same site. He was strict with his work, and the projects he oversaw were always top-quality. A few years ago, though, a worker failed to secure the steel pipes properly, and a falling object crushed his leg. He was rushed to the hospital and had to have it amputated. The company covered his medical bills as work-related injury compensation and gave him a settlement. They said the money was enough to live on, to get him through the years ahead.
He has a seven-year-old daughter, but she's been sick—one of those illnesses where if she stops taking her medicine, she'll die. The medicine costs over 20,000 yuan a bottle, barely enough for a month. That's 280,000 yuan a year just for her meds. When he was a project manager, his salary, living allowances, and project bonuses added up to 300,000 to 400,000 yuan a year. He could afford the medicine then, and life was decent. But after the amputation, he lost his job. That work injury payout didn't last long. As things got desperate, his wife divorced him. Now he wears a prosthetic leg, working two jobs a day just to scrape together money for her medicine.
"He fits the criteria perfectly," Zhou Quan said. "Over a decade in the industry, clean record, no ties to the group. And most importantly—his daughter's medicine. That's our leverage."
Hearing this, I felt sorry for Wang Changping. But I couldn't deny he was exactly who Mr. Huang was looking for.
We parked outside his building—an old red-brick tenement. We carried the gifts up to the third floor and stopped at the door on the right. A稚嫩 girl's voice came from inside: "Dad's not home…"
"It's Uncle Zhou," Zhou Quan called out. "Open the door, let Uncle give you some snacks."
"Dad said I can't open the door when he's not here," she replied.
"I'm not a stranger, kiddo. It's Uncle Zhou," he said.
"I won't. Wait a bit—Dad'll be back soon," she insisted.
Zhou Quan chuckled. "See? He's raised her well." I nodded, silently agreeing.
We waited in the hallway until 9 p.m. Then footsteps echoed from below. Zhou Quan looked up and called down, "Old Wang!"
A voice answered from the stairwell: "Old Zhou?"
Zhou Quan set the gifts down, went downstairs, and met Wang Changping. We heard their voices drift up:
"What brings you here?"
"Came to see the kid. And… I got an opportunity for you. Could be life-changing."
By the time they reached the landing between the second and third floors, I saw him. His right leg was amputated, his eyes were puffy, and his stubble was unkempt. At first glance, he fit the image of someone struggling to survive.
Wang Changping pointed at me and asked Zhou Quan, "Who's this?"
"Zhou Chengda. He's a shareholder of our group. We're here specifically for you," Zhou Quan replied.
Wang Changping quickened his steps up the stairs, fumbling in his pocket for keys. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Come in for a drink," he said, unlocking the door and heading straight for the kitchen.
Zhou Quan carried the gifts in next, and I followed. While they fetched water in the kitchen, I glanced around the house. It was utterly barren. No sofa or TV in the living room—just a folding table and two chairs. Everything sellable was gone. On the table sat a bowl with leftover soup, presumably the girl's dinner. By the kitchen stove, a small stool—likely where she'd stood to cook for herself.
The largest wall in the room was covered with kindergarten notices, and one photo frame: a family portrait. In it, Wang Changping looked sunny and handsome, nothing like he did now. His daughter, innocent and smiling, held a magic wand. My gaze shifted right, and I saw her—hiding behind a door, a head shorter than the frame, staring at me with eyes like a puppy's. She didn't speak, just rocked slightly, watching where I looked. She was much thinner than in the photo. In that moment, I felt a lump in my throat, like I couldn't breathe.
I stood there for seconds, then opened my bag, pulled out a stack of hundred-yuan bills, thought for a second, and took another bundle. I carried the two stacks toward the kitchen. Wang Changping was still boiling water. I thrust the money into his hand, grabbed Zhou Quan, and headed for the door. "This won't work. Let's find someone else," I said.
Zhou Quan wrenched his hand free when we reached the hallway. "Brother Feng, why not? He's perfect. His leg's the only issue, but he can do it."
I shook my head. "It's not his leg. I can't pick him. After this is done, Mr. Huang'll have him sent overseas. How's a disabled man with a kid supposed to survive there?" I started down the stairs.
Zhou Quan shouted after me, "His daughter's dying! That medicine's over 20,000 a bottle—how's a disabled man earn that? What else is he supposed to do?"
His words stopped me. Zhou Quan pressed on: "This is the only way he can make that kind of money. He needs this. Let's go with him."
I hesitated, took a deep breath, and relented.
When we went back in, Wang Changping was still holding the money, looking stunned. I met his gaze. "It's a dirty job. You willing?"
Wang Changping glanced at his daughter, then told her to go to her room and close the door. Once she'd gone, he asked, "What kind of job?"
Before we talked, we laid out the restaurant food on the table, but left the beer unopened. I told him what Mr. Huang needed, making it clear: after the job, he'd be wanted by the police and could never return to China.
Wang Changping looked torn. I figured he'd probably refuse, so I said, "It's fine if you say no. Just keep this to yourself, and the 20,000 you're holding is hush money."
As soon as I finished, he asked, "How much will I get if I do it?"
"A million," I replied.
Wang Changping took a deep breath. He stared at the family portrait, then at his daughter's closed door. His eyes reddened visibly. He blinked hard, wiping away tears, and nodded. "Okay. I'll do it. If it makes money… I'll do anything."