Chapter 151: Faint Traces

The black smoke from Furnace No. 3 hadn't cleared yet, Li Ping'an stood at the front of the ruins, his gaze sharp as a knife. The workers were in a panic, their shouts and footsteps a chaotic clamor.

The workshop heads hurriedly took attendance! Li Ping'an's shout silenced the din.

Wang Dahu ran over, panting: "Section Chief, as you ordered, all exits have been sealed."

Where's Worker Zhang?

Workshop One said he took leave, claiming a headache.

Li Ping'an sneered: "What a convenient headache." Come, let's check his dorm.

Worker Zhang's dorm was on the second floor of the barracks building. He pushed the door open; the room was startlingly tidy. The blankets were stacked like blocks of tofu, the desk polished to a shine, even the toothbrushes were aligned in one direction.

"Good fellow, this is even more meticulous than when we inspected barracks back in the army," Wang Dahu clicked his tongue.

Li Ping'an opened a drawer, flipped through the technical manual, and retrieved a photo from the *Mechanical Principles* insert—Worker Zhang dressed in Japanese uniform, standing in front of a factory.

Turns out he was a Japanese soldier. Wang Dahu's teeth ached with anger.

Under the bedboard they found a hidden compartment containing a Mini Transmitter and half a charred notebook.

Now we've caught a big fish.

Back at the Security Section, Yang Changzhang's face was as black as a pot bottom: "Li Ping'an, this can't be let out."

"Understood. But security must be tightened immediately."

"What do you suggest?"

All after‑work shifts will be inspected. Li Ping'an presented a plan, attaching a magnet to a wooden stick as a detector to check for anyone smuggling parts.

Good idea, inconspicuous.

We also need to investigate the backgrounds of new employees.

Could it alert the snake?

Just say it's for standardizing and organizing files.

Yang Changzhang finally nodded: "We'll do as you say."

The next afternoon after work, a long queue formed at the factory gate. Ten inspection stations opened simultaneously, and the Security Section staff checked each person in turn.

Do they distrust our workers? One veteran was displeased.

Li Ping'an stood at the front of the line: "Lately parts keep disappearing. For everyone's integrity and the factory's assets, please cooperate."

At that moment, Zhang Aiguo shuffled over, grinning: "Section Chief Li, don't you know me? I'm the most honest, so no need to check me, right?"

Treat everyone equally.

When they reached Sha Zhu, the magnet stuck to his tool bag. Zhang Aiguo's face turned pale: "This… this is something I picked up…"

"Picked up?" Li Ping'an held up the special part, "This belongs on precision equipment; where did you pick it up?"

"Just… just outside the workshop…"

"Take it away."

After a lengthy interrogation, Zhang Aiguo admitted someone gave him three yuan to smuggle the item out of the factory. When asked who it was, he couldn't say, only that he met the person at a small restaurant outside the factory.

"There are spies and informants," Wang Dahu said.

Li Ping'an thought for a moment: "Tonight focus on Workshop One."

After dark, the Steel Rolling Mill was eerily quiet. Li Ping'an, with two teammates, crouched outside the workshop.

"Section Chief, we've been crouched for two hours," the young teammate muttered.

Stay calm. A fox always shows its tail.

Just then, a dark figure slipped into Workshop One. The person moved with familiarity, exploiting a gap in the patrol and heading straight for the Precision Machine Tool.

Move!

Three beams of light swept across at once. The man rolled and ducked behind the machine tool.

"Zhang Gong, so it's you."

Zhang Gong stood up, grinning wildly: "Section Chief Li, you came fast."

"Why do this?"

"Why?" Zhang Gong sneered, "You took everything from us, and you still ask why?"

"You?"

"Yes, us!" Zhang Gong shouted, his voice hoarse, "The Empire won't fall! We'll kill our way back!"

While saying that, he yanked the control lever. Alarms blared in the workshop, and several machines spat sparks.

"Pull the circuit breaker!" Li Ping'an shouted while lunging at Zhang Gong.

The two grappled in the workshop. Zhang Gong aimed for vital points, but Li Ping'an's Baji Quan was superior; after a few moves he pinned him down.

"You can't escape." Zhang Gong snarled, "I've planted explosives throughout the plant; as soon as I press—"

Before he could finish, Wang Dahu swung a hand‑knife from behind, knocking him out.

"Section Chief, is what he said true?"

Li Ping'an picked up the remote on the floor, his face ashen: "Evacuate the whole plant immediately, call the bomb‑disposal team!"

The next three hours were the hardest. Workers gathered on the open ground outside, eyes fixed on the interior. The bomb‑disposal experts located seven caches of explosives inside the plant and secured them in critical spots.

"That was close," Yang Changzhang wiped sweat from his brow; "If we hadn't found it early, the plant would have been lost."

Li Ping'an furrowed his brows: "Director, I think this isn't over yet."

"What does that mean?"

"Zhang Gong is just a worker; there must be someone behind him."

Back at the Security Section, Li Ping'an stared at Zhang Gong's photo, bewildered. The factory in the picture seemed familiar.

"Section Chief, there's a letter for you," a teammate delivered an envelope.

The envelope bore no name; inside was a yellowed old photograph. It showed a chemical plant, with several Japanese officers at the gate. One officer looked exactly like Worker Zhang.

On the back of the photo was written a line of small characters: Father's debt, son's repayment.

Li Ping'an jumped to his feet: I understand now!

He rushed into the detention room and slapped the photo in front of Worker Zhang: "This chemical plant, was it run by your father back then?"

Worker Zhang's face changed: You… how do you know?

In 1943, toxic gas leaked from this plant, causing countless casualties in the three surrounding villages. Your father was the main person in charge and was executed after the war.

That's a false accusation! Worker Zhang shouted excitedly, My father was framed!

So you want revenge? To take the lives of innocent workers as retribution?

They all deserve to die! Worker Zhang's face twisted, those villagers back then are now at the Steel Rolling Mill! I will make them pay blood for blood.

Li Ping'an looked at him calmly: Your father wasn't framed. I checked the files—he knew the equipment was aging but refused to halt production for the sake of output, which caused the accident.

You're talking nonsense!

I'm not making it up. Li Ping'an produced another document—a list of the villagers who survived back then. Look, these people are now at the Steel Rolling Mill; they're here to atone. They donate money to the victims' families every year…

Worker Zhang froze, his hand trembling as he took the list. When he saw a familiar name, his whole body went stiff.

Li… Li Zhengguo? He was my father's most proud disciple…

That's right. He sent money to your mother every year until she passed away last year.

Worker Zhang plopped down on the ground, tears streaming.

The next day, Worker Zhang confessed everything. He had studied in Japan and was duped by a group of militarist diehards, which led him down the wrong path.

The case was closed, and the Steel Rolling Mill returned to its former calm. But Li Ping'an knew deep down that this smokeless war was far from over.

After work he walked home alone to the Siheyuan. The setting sun stretched his shadow long, just like it had on the Korean battlefield.

At the courtyard gate, Yan Bu Gui was watering flowers; seeing him, he hurried over: Ping'an, did you hear something big happened at the plant?

It's been resolved.

I told you, with you around there's no problem. Yan Bu Gui rubbed his hands, um… my niece's job…

According to the rules, and our relationship isn't that close either, Third Elder—you used to think of taking advantage of me, asking for snacks, and now you want a free work position; that's wishful thinking. Li Ping'an entered the courtyard without looking back.

Only Yan Bu Gui remained where he stood, muttering: This kid is utterly arrogant, giving no face at all.

In the central courtyard, Jia Zhangshi was scolding her son: Look at Ping'an—same age as you, already a section chief, while you're still an apprentice worker…

Li Ping'an shook his head and pushed open the door of the West Wing. His sister Ping Le was embroidering under the lamp; seeing him return, she quickly set aside her work.

Brother, the food is warming in the pot.

Looking at his sister's peaceful profile, Li Ping'an suddenly felt that all the hardship was worth it.

Late at night, he took out the address Lin Xueqing had left, stared at it under the lamp for a long while, then picked up his pen and began to write a letter:

Xueqing: Seeing your letter is like seeing you. Recent events at the plant have reminded me of my time in Korea. Sometimes I think, the struggles of this peaceful era might be even harder than fighting with real swords and guns…

Outside the window, the Siheyuan was quiet. Lin Xueqing, far away in Korea, might also be tending to the wounded under this same moonlight.

The war has ended, but the struggle continues. Only this time, his battlefield is this seemingly tranquil Siheyuan, in a country that is getting better day by day.