Chapter 208: Spiderweb Quivers

Wang Dahu's covert investigation of the transport team was like sifting sand with a fine sieve—slow progress but never halted. After a few days, Zhao Er Gou's cousin—the transport team driver Lao Chen—apart from his habit of sipping a little wine and occasionally bragging about his "wide connections," showed no obvious irregularities. His driving routes were fixed, his social circle simple; he seemed an ordinary, utterly unremarkable old slickster.

However, Li Ping'an did not let his guard down. He believed that even the craftiest fox, as long as it remains active, will always carry a hint of gamey scent.

That afternoon, Wang Dahu, covered in dust and excitement, knocked again on Li Ping'an's office door.

"Chief, I have a lead!" he lowered his voice, eyes flashing, "That guy Lao Chen, after finishing work a few nights ago, didn't go straight home but detoured to Nan Cheng's 'Old Liu Tou Waste Station'! He stayed there less than ten minutes, went in empty‑handed, and left empty‑handed."

"A waste station?" Li Ping'an furrowed his brow. The Nan Cheng district was a chaotic mix of all sorts, and the waste station was a gathering place for every fringe group—a perfect cover for passing messages and exchanging items.

"Right! Our people didn't dare get too close, fearing they'd spook him," Wang Dahu continued. "Also, when cross‑checking the transport logs from recent months, we found that Lao Chen had two 'off‑plan' short trips last month, claimed as 'vehicle temporary maintenance.' Yet the maintenance records are vague, the handler's signature sloppy, and the details don't quite match."

The two seemingly trivial clues, like isolated beads, were keenly linked together by Li Ping'an. Off‑plan trips, the purposeless waste‑station visit… Could a hidden route for the missing 'contact book' be lurking behind them?

"Keep the Old Liu Tou Waste Station under a tight watch," Li Ping'an decided on the spot. "Find the exact times and routes of Lao Chen's two off‑plan trips, and everyone he contacted. Remember, be loose on the outside, tight on the inside."

"Understood!" Wang Dahu took the order, like a hound that has caught a scent, marching off with high spirits.

Li Ping'an walked to the window, his gaze sweeping over the factory grounds as if it could pierce time and space, seeing that squalid waste station. The enemy uses such seemingly inconspicuous low‑level networks for communication, truly covert. Yet since the spiderweb already trembles, tracing the silk to the spider is only a matter of time.

He returned to his desk, spread the map again, and drew a new, solemn mark on the Nan Cheng area.

In the courtyard, life continued to churn amid firewood, rice, oil, salt, and the trivialities of daily chores.

Sha Zhu's wedding preparations entered the substantive stage. He and Ma Dongmei went together to purchase bedding and a thermos, returning with smiles on their faces. Ma Dongmei is decisive, picking items that are economical and durable, and Sha Zhu gladly follows her arrangements.

"Dongmei said the quilt cover should be cotton—sweat‑absorbent and breathable; the thermos needs a metal shell, sturdy!" Sha Zhu bragged to his sister He Yushui, his tone full of pride.

Yushui watched her brother's happiness, her lingering unease fading a bit, and whispered, "Sister Dongmei… really knows how to make a living."

Xu Damao, seeing Sha Zhu's sugary atmosphere, felt a cat‑like itch and couldn't help to chime in with a sarcastic tone: "Yo, is this the start of 'wives sing, husbands follow'? Sha Zhu, your family standing looks precarious! From now on, will you have to rename yourself 'wife‑controlled'?"

Sha Zhu, now confident, glanced at him disdainfully: "You don't know a thing! That's called respect! If you're jealous or resentful, just say so! I'm happy, buddy!"

In the Jia household, the atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive. Qin Huairu's morning sickness had finally eased a bit, but her body grew heavier, and Jia Zhangshi's demands for her labor intensified. That evening, Qin Huairu carried a basin full of freshly washed clothes, staggered, nearly fell, and the basin smashed onto the floor, emitting a harsh clang.

"Useless thing! Can't even hold a basin! You trying to scare me to death? If you frighten my grandson, can you afford the price?" Jia Zhangshi's curses rained down like hail.

Qin Huairu clutched her waist, her face pale, staring at the wet clothes scattered on the floor and her mother‑in‑law's snarling face, a wave of despair nearly drowning her. She bit her lip, forcing back tears, and silently crouched, gathering the mess piece by piece.

Yi Zhonghai stood at his doorway, watching the scene, his brows furrowing deeper. He thought Jia Zhangshi was becoming increasingly overbearing, yet regarded it as a family matter he shouldn't meddle in, sighing before crossing his arms and retreating indoors.

In the West Over Courtyard, Lin Xueqing was preparing dinner when she heard the commotion from the Central Courtyard. She paused, a flash of pity in her eyes, but said nothing and kept chopping vegetables. She knew some pits one must climb out of alone.

Li Ping'an returned very late, a barely perceptible fatigue on his face. Lin Xueqing took his coat, hung it, and asked softly, "Any progress?"

"Hmm, found a possible Contact Point," Li Ping'an said while washing his hands, concise, "In Nan Cheng, a waste station."

Lin Xueqing didn't ask further, just said, "Let's eat."

At the dinner table, the two ate quietly. Li Ping'an appeared calm, but his mind raced, sorting the logical links among Lao Chen, the waste station, and the off‑plan trips. He felt he stood at the edge of a massive, hidden spiderweb, his fingertips already touching the trembling thread.

After the meal, Li Ping'an didn't read or rest as usual; instead, he took out his notebook, under the lamp, and redrew the clue map. Transport team, waste station, missing contact book, new Code Book, internal liaison… these scattered points seemed to be slowly converging.

Lin Xueqing poured him a cup of hot tea, set it on the table, and without disturbing him, picked up a medical book to read quietly beside him. Under the lamp, each attended to their own tasks, yet the air carried an unspoken rapport and support.

The night deepened, and the courtyard fell completely into slumber. Only the window of the West Over Courtyard still emitted a faint glow.

Li Ping'an set down his pen, rubbed his throbbing temples. He walked to the window, cracked it open a sliver, and the crisp night wind brushed his face, reviving his spirit.

The crabapple tree in the courtyard, under the hazy moonlight, reduced to a vague silhouette, like a silent sentinel.

Suddenly, an extremely faint rustle, unlike the wind, drifted faintly from the direction of the Front Courtyard, half‑heard.

Li Ping'an's gaze sharpened like a hawk's, his muscles tensing slightly. He listened closely, but the sound vanished again, as if merely an illusion.

A stray cat? Or…?

He didn't move, just stood silently by the window, his eyes like torches piercing the darkness toward the source of the sound. The fatigue on his face vanished, replaced by a focused vigilance.

The spiderweb seemed to quiver even more noticeably. Was it the wind, or… a prey finally touching the web?

The night was thick as ink, the courtyard fell into utter silence, like the suffocating calm before a storm.