At the gates of the Zhanan District Sanitation Bureau, the so-called protest looked more like a street market than a political statement.
Managers and shareholders from the four companies—Su, Liu, Bai, and Kong—stood in loose clusters, smoking, chatting, killing time. Some lounged in their vans eating boxed lunches; others spread the protest banners on the ground and played cards.
From a distance, it might've looked like a passionate movement for justice.
Up close, it was just a crowd chasing profit.
Most of those here had shown up either because they were deeply tied to the companies or because they were being paid handsome "strike bonuses." Nobody came for ideals. Nobody came for reform.
Almost no one actually read the slogans or cared about what "illegal monopoly" meant for the working class.
That was the tragedy—and the irony—of it all.
The people were too tired, too broken, too worn down to fight for anything bigger than today's meal.
Lu Feng's black business van idled at the corner, engine humming. He sat inside, smoking silently, watching the restless crowd through the tinted window.
A few minutes later, three uniformed officers from the Zhanan Police Department strolled up. The lead man, wearing sunglasses, gave a small wave toward the van.
The window slid down.
"Ermao," Lu Feng greeted with a lazy grin, "come on—hop in."
The officer smirked, hands behind his back. "Changqing's such a big company, huh? How'd you let four small fries pin you down? What's going on, Feng?"
Lu Feng gave a derisive snort. "A bunch of mud-legged nobodies. Someone whispers in their ear, they start barking. You know how it is. Sorry for the trouble, brother."
"No trouble," the cop shrugged. "If we weren't here, we'd be stuck in the station anyway."
"Then don't stand there—get in." Lu Feng pulled the door open himself.
The officer waved his two subordinates back. "You two head off. I'll talk with Feng for a bit." Then he ducked into the van.
Lu Feng crossed his legs, still calm. "Brother, it's wrong to make you come out here just to babysit. Tell you what—dinner's on me tonight. Jufu Restaurant, eight o'clock. Bring the guys. I'll set a good table."
The officer smiled faintly. "You know I didn't come just for that."
"Ah, friends are friends, rules are rules. I dragged you out here; least I can do is thank you properly."
The cop chuckled. "Fine. But I'll give you a heads-up—if the management council can't handle this soon, the Bureau and our department will have to step in. The higher-ups won't tolerate this mess outside their offices every morning. You know what I mean."
Lu Feng nodded once. "Understood. We'll handle it fast. Won't trouble you long."
"Good."
Just then, noise erupted outside. Several shareholders were shouting at a sanitation official who'd tried to slip out the door.
"Changqing Company's monopolizing the sanitation contracts!"
"They're crushing the small firms!"
"Give us justice!"
The chants grew louder, the crowd angrier.
Lu Feng looked up and smirked. "You think these fools even understand what they're yelling?"
"They don't know shit," the cop said dryly. "Most of them would shut up for thirty yuan a day."
At that moment, one of Lu Feng's men slid into the passenger seat. "Feng, I got their faces. The loud ones."
Lu Feng nodded. "Good. Let them scream. Their time's about up."
He watched the crowd a while longer, smoke curling from his lips. His contempt was obvious. What made it strange was that Lu Feng himself had once been one of them—a street laborer, a nobody with nothing. He should've understood them. But now, from his leather seat, he despised them like dirt under his shoe.
Changqing would rather spend a fortune smoothing things with officials than pay its workers a single extra coin. It was the same old story: better to grease palms than pay wages.
And maybe that was the saddest thing of all—the cruelty of the same class against its own.
Back in the Su family courtyard, Su Tianyu found his eldest brother just as he was heading out.
"Big Brother, got a minute?"
Tiannan turned. "What's up?"
"You remember that cop you talked to—Wang Daolin from the City Police Bureau?"
"Yeah. When I was trying to pull strings for Second Uncle's case. I gave him fifty grand to make introductions."
"He's a division chief in the Criminal Investigation branch, right?"
Tiannan frowned. "How'd you know that?"
"You mentioned it once. I asked Third Sister, looked him up online." Tianyu's tone was calm, deliberate. "If you've got free time these days, invite him for tea. Dinners, drinks, whatever. Just—don't bring up Second Uncle's case."
"Why not?"
"Because Changqing backing down won't be enough," Tianyu said evenly. "To really get Uncle out, the Bureau has to nod. Build the bridge now. We'll need it soon."
Tiannan nodded slowly, the logic sinking in.
"Lay the groundwork early. It'll make things easier later."
"Got it." He paused. "Where are you headed?"
"The freight yard."
"Be careful," Tiannan warned. "Lu Feng's still pissed. He won't let that ear go easily."
"I'll be fine."
They parted ways.
By evening, the Su family's freight yard was alive with noise again.
Workers bustled around the open-air kitchen, the smell of fried garlic and oil filling the air. Tianyu wandered through the site, studying the machinery, the workflow, the faces.
It didn't take him long to realize: there was no barrier to entry here. The entire trade was muscle and manpower. Eighty percent of the job was human labor—sorting, hauling, processing. No technology, no innovation. Just sweat. No wonder the competition was brutal. The pie was small, and everyone wanted a slice.
Around five, Su Tianbei came back with a crew of tired, hungry workers.
"Come on, food's ready!"
At the small office, Tianyu was about to step out when the door burst open.
"Move, move—hot food!"
A huge man—at least six foot three, built like a tank—barreled through carrying a basin of vegetables. Tianyu stumbled back two steps, almost falling.
The man blinked, voice thick and stuttering. "Wh-who… who just hit me in the crotch?"
"Sorry, brother," Tianyu said quickly.
"You… you watch where you're going! I almost dumped the dish on your head."
"The light's bad in here. My fault. Go ahead."
"I'm takin' food out," the big man said, lumbering past with his load.
From the kitchen, a cheerful voice called out, "Xiong! Come eat at the small table later. We made extra dishes!"
"Okay, Sister Miao!" The big guy grinned, showing clean white teeth in his dark face.
Tianyu watched him go, puzzled. "Who's that?"
"Wu Shixiong," Tianbei said. "Our worker."
"He seems a little…?"
"Yeah. A bit slow in the head. Born that way."
Tianyu frowned. "And you're letting him work here?"
"What's he gonna break? He's strong as an ox. You think we're hiring college grads to haul garbage?"
Tianyu chuckled softly. "Fair point."
After dinner, when the workers dispersed, Tianbei raised his voice. "Anyone up for night watch duty? Thirty yuan a night!"
The first hand to shoot up was the big man. "Me! I'll do it!"
Wu Shixiong—the Iron Tower—grinned from ear to ear.
Two more days passed. The strike still held firm.
Neither Changqing Company nor the management council had produced a solution.
At the Kong residence, a thirty-something man sat across from Kong Zhenghui. "You really think this'll work?"
"It will," Kong said, hands clasped behind his back. "Keep the pressure up. Reach out to the city press. Make noise."
"You sound more confident than the Sus."
Kong smiled faintly. "That kid from the Su family—Su Tianyu. He's sharp. One punch of 'self-defense,' and suddenly the four of us are bound together. Clever move."
"I was at the bureau yesterday. The Sus are taking good care of their workers—meals, rides, stipends. Should we do the same?"
Kong frowned. "No need."
"Got it."
Saturday, around dusk.
As the protest crowd thinned, Lu Feng's black van rolled quietly into a narrow alley.
He turned to five men in loud floral shirts sitting in the back.
"Go handle it," he said coldly. "When you're done, drink and girls at New Lisboa. My treat."