Director Zhang strode toward the lakeside villa, his step light, a tuneless hum escaping his lips. The image of that infuriating woman in handcuffs was a balm to his pride. By the time he knocked on the reinforced door, his face was a mask of smug, bureaucratic authority.
The door swung open to reveal Jing An. The old man's eyes narrowed.
"You?" Jing An moved to slam the door shut immediately.
"Wait, wait!" Director Zhang wedged a polished leather shoe in the gap. "Your daughter's in very big trouble. Already arrested and processed."
He laid out a condensed, self-serving version of events, the assault, the defiance, the inevitable labor reform sentence. Then, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a greasy, confidential whisper. "This is a serious charge. A year, maybe more. You know what those reform brigades are like. Men and women, packed into shared bunks, your delicate little daughter, surrounded by hungry wolves day and night…" He let the horrific image hang, then offered a theatrical sigh. "Of course, where there's a will, there's a way. After all, the allocation was under my authority. Misunderstandings can be… corrected."
Jing An eyed him with deep suspicion. His daughter, arrested? With her temper? Honestly, with the terrifying strength she now possessed, if she had truly lost her temper, there wouldn't be a building left standing.
Seeing his doubt, Director Zhang played his trump card. He produced the three confiscated phones from his pocket, holding them up like trophies. "Their communications were all seized. Surely you recognize one of these as your daughter's?"
The sight of the familiar, battered case on one of the devices made Jing An's posture finally stiffen. A flicker of genuine concern crossed his face. "So… you have a solution?"
A slow, triumphant smile spread across Director Zhang's lips. The hook was set. For the next several minutes, he wove a tapestry of hints and implications, a dance around the unspoken price. All about smoothing things over, managing expectations, the delicate art of bureaucratic mediation, all of which, of course, required certain… resources to lubricate the gears.
"You might not know," he added, lowering his voice further, "the power balance in the Second Squad has shifted. Li Yuetian is finished. Captain Hu is in charge now. And that man… let's just say he's known for plucking every last feather from a passing goose. Tsk, tsk. So, you'd better extract her before she's formally entered into the system."
Jing An, now looking properly anxious, wrung his hands. "Then I'll have to trouble you, Director Zhang, to help us navigate this."
"Easily done," Director Zhang replied, rubbing his palms together with uncontainable satisfaction.
"Thank you so much," Jing An said, bowing his head slightly in apparent gratitude.
Director Zhang: "…"
'Wait. I haven't actually agreed yet.'
"No, no, you misunderstand. These things require… smoothing first." He rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture, his meaning as heavy as a sack of rice.
"Then, thank you for doing the smoothing," Jing An said, his gratitude seemingly boundless.
Director Zhang ground his molars. Was this old fool genuinely this dense, or was he playing a game? "Why should I go to such trouble for you, for nothing?" he finally snapped, his patience fraying. "Haven't I made myself clear enough?"
"Director Zhang, you just said you'd help me," Jing An replied, his face a picture of bewildered astonishment. "How can you change your words so suddenly?"
"Fine! Let's cut the nonsense!" Director Zhang barked, his facade of civility crumbling. "One thousand virtual coins. Hand them over, and I guarantee your daughter walks out unscathed. Otherwise, she becomes a casualty in the power struggle between Li Yuetian and Captain Hu, a statistic. Do you understand?"
At last, he had said it outright. Thankfully, he had eavesdropped enough earlier to make the threat sound chillingly credible.
Suddenly, a long, loud beep sounded from the living room behind Jing An.
Jing An let out a sigh of relief, the anxious wrinkles on his face smoothing instantly. "Perfect timing. The recording just finished."
The blood drained from Director Zhang's face, then rushed back in a hot, mortified flush. "You, you dare play me?" he sputtered, false bravado cracking his voice. "So what if you recorded? Who do you think will believe you? Who do you think they'll listen to?" He had spent years in his petty kingdom, where everyone came to him with heads bowed and palms greased. Even the dumbest eventually learned the rules. He had never encountered someone who not only refused to play but had the audacity to record the game.
"So what?" Jing An answered not with words, but with motion.
What followed was not a fight. It was a brief, brutal lesson in physics. Director Zhang, a man whose most strenuous activity was lifting a bribe-filled envelope, found himself on the receiving end of strikes that felt like piledrivers. A fist to the gut stole his breath; a kick to the back of the knee folded him to the floor. Before he could even cry out, he was trussed up with a length of sturdy cord from the hallway closet, gagged with his own silk pocket square.
Only then did Jing An pull out his own phone and make a call. Of the three confiscated devices, one had been Jing Shu's old, long-retired spare. Her actual phone, as he had expected, was still safe with her.
…
Online, minutes later:
"SHOCKING! Is the police station his family's backyard or what?!"
The audio recording, cleaned, trimmed, and uploaded anonymously, ignited a second, even fiercer firestorm. Netizens felt they were binge-watching a real-life political thriller. Corruption exposed via live, first-person audio always hit the hardest, stripping away all pretense.
The comments section became a roaring river of fury. People demanded to know what happened next, cursing the Wu City government for its sloth, for letting citizens be chewed up by its own corrupt machinery.
Elsewhere, in the warehouse…
Jing Shu had been mentally cataloging a stash of surprisingly high-quality canvas tarps when the heavy door groaned open. A small crowd of people rushed in, led by a man in a sharply pressed uniform she didn't recognize, his face a careful blend of apology and authority.
"So fast?" Jing Shu murmured, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. Their efficiency, once properly motivated, wasn't entirely laughable.
Sure enough, the three of them were not just freed from their handcuffs, but the metal was removed with an almost reverential care. They were then ushered, not dragged, into a freshly cleaned office on the mall's second floor. On a desk sat three cups of steaming powdered milk and a small plate of precious hard-boiled eggs, offered as "refreshments." An official with a sympathetic expression personally handed them towels soaked in warm water.
"A terrible injustice! A shameful failure of our oversight, making our heroes suffer!" the man declaimed, his voice pitched for the cameras that had suddenly materialized in the doorway. "Rest assured, the relevant parties will be strictly punished according to the law!"
Click, click, whir.
Jing Shu spotted an old acquaintance in the press scrum, the same earnest young reporter who had interviewed her after the submarine rescue. He gave her a barely perceptible nod.
She had to admit, once the spotlight from above switched on, the bureaucratic machine could move with dizzying speed. In under ten minutes, Unit 407 had been completely cleared. The squatters were gone, not just evicted but seemingly erased. The unit had not only been emptied but scrubbed, and a few basic, serviceable household items had even appeared inside. It was neat, sterile, and ready for inspection.
Not only that, but the "corrupt housing allocation director," one Zhang, had been delivered to the station entrance, neatly tied up, by a "concerned citizen" named Mr. Jing. The bribed senior officer had been publicly stripped of his insignia and marched out of the building.
Half an hour later, a new, polished video appeared on the viral social media account. It showed grateful citizens shaking hands with earnest officials, a cleaned apartment, and a voiceover praising the swift, fair hand of justice. The final shot was of Shi Jiuyou, smiling wanly but gamely into the camera.
"Thank you, Wu City government! Thank you to the leaders whose concern ensured a perfect resolution! And thank you, everyone, for your support for Shi Jiuyou!"
From that moment on, Jing Shu's face vanished from the narrative. She retreated into the background, a ghost in the machine.
But Shi Jiuyou knew the truth. The architect of this public opinion tsunami wasn't her, the streamer, but the woman now sitting silently, sipping lukewarm powdered milk. A seed of fierce, desperate ambition sprouted in Shi Jiuyou's heart: "What if… what if I could really work for her? Help her steer the story, shape the truth?"
In a separate office, Captain Hu, freshly minted and already drafting plans to consolidate his new power, received a terse, cold call: "Your promotion review has been halted. Remain at your current post and await further instructions."
Captain Hu: "…What?" The blueprint for his new empire crumpled in his fist.
Meanwhile, Li Yuetian, sitting in a spartan audit room, was handed a simple sheet of paper. "Gross negligence in oversight. Your annual bonus is forfeit. You are reinstated to your position, effective immediately. Dismissed."
Li Yuetian stared at the paper, then at the retreating back of the auditor. "What in the world just happened?"
…
Back at the Villa:
Zhou Bapi had been staring at the two potted plants on the porch for what felt like an eternity. He had even pinched a bit of soil and tasted it, his face a comical mask of profound confusion. "Strange. No unusual nutrient signatures. The ambient radiation is off the charts for growth… How is this possible? How could astragalus thrive under these conditions?"
"Uncle," Su Mali said around a mouthful of bland strawberry, "when are you starting your live stream? The 'eating shit'"
"You child, a momentous occasion like that requires all your other uncles to be present as witnesses!" Zhou Bapi coughed, a flush creeping up his neck. He cursed his own big mouth. The boast was coming home to roost, and it was landing with brutal force.
"Great! Tomorrow I'll call them all over to watch your broadcast. It'll be a party! They'll definitely make time," Su Mali said, her eyes gleaming with unholy delight.
"Ah! Jing Shu! You're back!" Zhou Bapi practically launched himself toward the gate, latching onto the new arrival with the desperation of a drowning man. "Look, Jing Shu's here! Where have you been? We've been worried sick! I waited for ages!"
Jing Shu shouldered past him, her raincoat slick with an evening mist that hadn't been there before. She looked at Zhou Bapi's frantic, relieved face with mild curiosity.
"You might not believe it," she said dryly, "but I was just arrested. Wait… who are you again?"