Chapter 211: Continuous Autumn Rain

The autumn deepened, several continuous drizzles brought a bit of coolness to the siheyuan, as if washing away the summer's restlessness and clamor. The blue-brick ground was damp, reflecting the sky, and the air was filled with the moist scent of earth and fallen leaves.

In the west wing courtyard, the crabapple tree's leaf edges had turned slightly yellow, standing still in the drizzle, appearing especially tranquil.

Li Ping'an's investigation of the 'Lao Mao' was like this autumn rain—fine and persistent, yet so far yielded no clear results. The factory's internal sweep continued, but that mysterious shadow seemed to have completely blended into the background noise, leaving no trace to follow. Wang Dahu's side progressed slowly; the clues from Old Liu Tou were limited, and the Dead Letter Box's contact line had been cut.

This stalemate only made Li Ping'an more vigilant. He knew that the more patient the opponent, the greater their scheme likely was.

He focused more attention on the siheyuan's interior. That subtle observation of Yan Bu Gui's abnormal smile upon receiving a letter was like a stone dropped into the heart's lake—though it caused no ripple, it made him keep an extra eye on this calculating Third Elder.

Yan Bu Gui remained as usual, punctually going to and from work, tending his few half-dead plants in his spare time, fiddling with a small abacus, calculating firewood, rice, oil, and salt. Yet under Li Ping'an's deliberate observation, a slight anomaly emerged: Yan Bu Gui had recently been paying special attention to the front courtyard's comings and goings, especially the mailman's timing, and when chatting with others, he would intentionally or unintentionally steer the topic toward the steel rolling mill, toward the work and lives of those technical experts there.

"Old Yi is now an eighth-level worker—impressive! The work he handles must all be precision parts, right?"

"I heard the factory is recently doing another technical breakthrough? Those old masters are real treasures..."

Such remarks, in ordinary times, could be seen as mere neighborly curiosity or flattery. But given Li Ping'an's knowledge that the enemy spy's target might be technical personnel, these seemingly casual inquiries carried a different implication.

Li Ping'an did not startle the snake; he simply had Wang Dahu discreetly learn about Yan Bu Gui's recent social contacts, especially correspondence, without alerting anyone. He needed more evidence, not just a suspicion.

Life in the siheyuan continued on the surface, each following its own track.

Sha Zhu's wedding preparations were nearing completion; the new house was fully furnished, awaiting an auspicious day. His and Ma Dongmei's feelings deepened amid the trivial preparations. Ma Dongmei's straightforwardness and sincerity not only steadied Sha Zhu but also made He Yushui gradually lower her guard, beginning to sincerely call her 'Dongmei sister'.

After the previous lesson, Xu Damao had indeed restrained himself somewhat, but old habits die hard; his petty thoughts were wholly spent on how to quickly find a beautiful city wife to outshine Sha Zhu. His father Xu Fugui had already moved out, and the back house room officially belonged to him, giving him more confidence—yet he suffered from lacking a suitable target.

The Jia family remained as ever. Qin Huairu's belly had swollen like a blown-up balloon, her movements increasingly clumsy. Jia Zhangshi's stinginess only grew, as if the daughter-in-law carried not the Jia clan's seed but a debt-collecting adversary. Jia Dongxu remained a mute gourd, oblivious to the chickens flying and dogs jumping in the house, lost in his own discontent. Only Yi Zhonghai occasionally couldn't stand it, uttering a couple of rebukes at Jia Zhangshi, but to little effect.

That evening, the rain threads grew denser. Li Ping'an returned from the factory, water droplets hanging on his raincoat. Upon entering the front courtyard, he saw Yan Bu Gui holding an old oil-paper umbrella, talking with Xu Damao, who was pushing his bicycle and about to go out.

"Damao, you've been confirmed, you have a house now—your personal matters need urgent attention." Yan Bu Gui's voice carried his usual calculation: "I heard our school has a newly assigned female teacher with decent conditions; would you like me, Third Elder, to pull some strings for you?"

Xu Damao's eyes lit up, then he grew wary: "Third Elder, when did you start caring so much about me? Are you scheming to collect matchmaker fees again?"

"What are you saying! Neighbors help each other!" Yan Bu Gui gave a dry laugh, then shifted: "But speaking of which, your steel rolling mill has many fine youngsters—like Master Yi, an eighth-level worker, surely his family wants for nothing? I heard his apprentice Jia Dongxu hasn't even passed second level; as his teacher, he should pay more attention..."

Li Ping'an's steps did not pause, as if merely passing by, but Yan Bu Gui's tone—seeming concerned yet actually probing—clearly reached his ears. The string in his mind tightened another notch.

Returning to the west wing courtyard, Lin Xueqing had already prepared dinner. A simple hot noodle soup dispelled the chill of the autumn rain.

"Yan Bu Gui lately seems unusually concerned about factory affairs," Li Ping'an remarked casually while eating noodles.

Lin Xueqing lifted her eyes to him: "You suspect him?"

"Just feels a bit abnormal," Li Ping'an said calmly. "He's a primary school teacher who used to care most about firewood, rice, oil, salt, and how to squeeze out small gains. Now he keeps inquiring about the factory technicians' situations—quite unreasonable."

"What should I do?" Lin Xueqing asked. She works at the hospital, meeting all sorts of people, perhaps able to hear different news.

"Pay attention—see if anyone, especially from the cultural or educational sectors, shows unusual interest in the steel rolling mill's technical situation privately." Li Ping'an said, "Especially through informal channels."

Lin Xueqing nodded, noting it in her heart.

At night, the rain pattered. Li Ping'an sat at his desk, again sorting the clues. Old Liu Tou's scrap station—'Lao Mao'—technical core intelligence—Yan Bu Gui's abnormal concern… These threads seemed to point vaguely toward a direction, yet lacked the crucial link to bind them together.

Could that 'Lao Mao' be using someone like Yan Bu Gui—seemingly insignificant yet possessing some information-gathering ability—as an outer eye? Is Yan Bu Gui a willing participant or unwittingly used?

He needed more solid evidence.

Just then, a faint sound like stray cats fighting came from outside the window, quickly disappearing into the rainy night.

Li Ping'an walked to the window, looking at the courtyard blurred by rain. Light from each household's windows spread into hazy yellow patches on the wet ground.

Beneath this seemingly peaceful silence, he felt as if a pair or several hidden eyes were also peering through the rain curtain at this courtyard, at the targets they were interested in.

The enemy lurks in the dark while we are in the light; the situation remains far from optimistic.

But he was not impatient. Hunting is essentially a game of patience; what he needs to do now is set the trap, waiting for the opponent to reveal a fatal flaw in their anxiety or false sense of security.

The autumn rain continued unabated, beating on the eaves and window lattice. Meanwhile, that crabapple tree silently spread its branches and leaves in the rain, as if gathering strength, awaiting the next clear day—or… a fiercer storm.