Chapter 365: Returning to Life

The joint investigation team arrived without a sound or a trace.

Yet it made the atmosphere in the Security Department's annex as heavy as lead.

The conference room doors and windows were shut tight, and the curtains were drawn shut with absolute firmness.

The lighting was blindingly white.

Along one side of the long table sat three comrades from the department.

Their faces were solemn, their gazes sharp as hawks.

In front of them lay the top‑secret report submitted by Li Ping'an.

Along with photocopies of testimonies and physical evidence obtained from Lao Dao, Su Xiulan, Lao Sun Tou and others.

Li Ping'an sat on the opposite side.

His back was straight, his hands resting flat on his knees.

He reported for a full hour.

He went from Xu Damao's exploitation of the cafeteria incident to Wang Youfu's theft of special parts, which led to Lao Dao.

He covered the encounter with a Xingyi master at the ghost market and the cracking of an old magazine's code that pinpointed Su Xiulan.

He detailed Geng Fugui's suspicious death and Xu Damao's discovery that a photo of an Iron Box had been attacked.

He recounted the bloody clash with Lao Sun Tou in the bathhouse and that crucial copper button.

And finally, the vague imprint that Lao Sun Tou supplied, pointing toward the City Bureau.

The logic was clear, the chain of evidence linked perfectly.

No embellishment, no speculation, only facts.

The three investigation team members occasionally whispered to exchange opinions, or used pens to note on paper.

In the air there was only Li's steady reporting voice and the rustle of pen tips across the paper.

Finally, Li Ping'an finished his report.

The conference room fell into a brief silence.

Leading them was the Group Leader, surname Zheng, about fifty years old, with slightly frosted temples, his eyes steady and unfathomably deep.

He flipped through the report and spoke slowly.

Comrade Li Ping'an, your report is very detailed.

The logic is essentially sound.

But there is one crucial issue.

He lifted his head, his gaze fixed on Li Ping'an.

All your inferences point to a possible 'Shopkeeper' inside the City Bureau.

The basis comes mainly from the one‑sided testimony of the bathhouse gatekeeper Sun Fugui.

And a button of doubtful origin, and a vague imprint speculation.

He paused, his tone even, yet as heavy as a thousand pounds.

Do these suffice to support such a serious accusation?

One must know that doubting one's own comrade, especially in a critical department, requires ironclad evidence.

Otherwise, the consequences could be the erosion of unity, disruption of work, or even a backlash.

Li Ping'an met Zheng's gaze without flinching.

He had known this question would come.

Group Leader Zheng, I understand the seriousness of the accusation.

Sun Fugui's testimony is indeed one‑sided, but its details align with many already‑verified events.

For example, Su Xiulan being approached, Lao Dao's familiarity with the plant, and the choice of the explosive placement point.

These are not things a lone bathhouse gatekeeper could fabricate out of thin air.

As for the button and the imprint.

The button's craftsmanship is unique; I have asked a reliable channel for a preliminary appraisal—it is not a locally common style, bearing characteristics of a privately‑made workshop.

The source is being traced.

Although the imprint is vague, the paper type points clearly.

We have not publicly questioned any specific comrade.

We merely reported the clues faithfully, requesting the organization at a higher level to conduct a cautious, secret vetting.

This is both our duty and our responsibility to truly loyal comrades.

Li Ping'an's reply was neither servile nor arrogant, reasoned and well‑founded.

Group Leader Zheng looked at him for a moment, then gave a slight nod.

Your caution is correct.

This matter is of great significance; the department places high importance on it.

The clues you provided will undergo the most rigorous verification.

He closed the report.

Until higher‑ups issue a clear directive, all investigative actions at the Steel Rolling Mill are frozen.

Everything returns to normal.

Especially you, Comrade Li Ping'an.

His gaze was profound.

You are at the center of the vortex and also the gathering point of crucial clues.

Any of your unconventional actions could alert the 'Shopkeeper' or its associated personnel.

So, from today on, work normally, live normally.

Just pretend the investigation team never came, and pretend the shopkeeper's clue doesn't exist.

Can you do that?

Li Ping'an understood implicitly.

This is to make him bait, and also to protect him.

Paralyzing the opponent, to buy time and space for the superiors' secret investigation.

He replied in a low voice.

Yes.

Zheng Group Leader's face showed a faint, almost imperceptible sign of approval.

Good.

Remember, return to normal.

Even, you can appropriately show a bit of frustration, or dissatisfaction with the investigation direction being thwarted.

Li Ping'an nodded.

Understood.

The meeting ended.

The investigation team members left quickly, as if they had never appeared.

Li Ping'an sat alone in the empty meeting room, rubbing his forehead.

Return to normal.

Easier said than done.

Knowing a poisonous snake might be hiding by the pillow, can you still sleep soundly?

But this is an order, and also a strategy.

He stood up and pulled open the curtains.

The afterglow of the setting sun streamed in, giving the cold room a warm hue.

He gazed at the familiar factory scenery outside the window.

The roar of machines, the silhouettes of workers, rising steam.

All this must be protected.

Even if it means contending with the shadows hidden within the high walls.

He walked out of the Security Department and got on his bicycle.

He pushed his bicycle, going with the flow of people, slowly pedaling toward the way home.

The wheels rolled over autumn's fallen leaves, making a faint rustling sound.

·

Passing through several familiar alleys, he turned into Nanluoguxiang.

The dusk cast a warm, amber-red hue on the blue-gray brick walls.

The gate tower of Courtyard No. 95 looked somewhat mottled in the dimming light.

Upon entering the front courtyard, a strong smell of dry tobacco hit him, mixed with the bitterness of poor-quality tea.

Third Elder Yan Bu Gui held the chipped enamel jar, squatting beside his few half-dead chrysanthemums, squinting, carefully picking insects off the leaves with a thin wire.

Hearing footsteps, he lifted his head and pushed his glasses up from the tip of his nose.

"Hey, Ping'an's back. Anything happen at the factory today?" He asked with a hint of deliberation, his eyes flashing with the intent to gather information.

"The factory's been cracking down lately, a major safety inspection." Li Ping'an answered offhand, stopped, and said to Third Elder, "Your flowers need some fertilizer."

Yan Bu Gui immediately perked up, waving his hand. "Eh, what fertilizer? These days, people can barely feed themselves, who has extra grain to feed flowers? I'm just keeping an eye on them, making sure the bugs don't eat them all. By the way, I heard... Xu Damao in the back courtyard is hospitalized? Badly hurt?"

The news spread fast.

Li Ping'an nodded slightly. "Yeah, had a little accident, got hurt at the factory."

Yan Bu Gui clicked his tongue, shook his head, wearing an inscrutable expression.

"I've been saying, this guy can't be too flighty. Xu Damao usually likes to crack jokes, and now look... He suddenly lowered his voice, leaning in, I heard it's also related to his wife Wang Cuihua? That Wang Cuihua is no easy lamp..."

Li Ping'an didn't want to get into that topic, pushing his bike toward the back courtyard.

Yan Bu Gui muttered behind him, with a hint of world-weary smugness.

Passing through the moon gate, he arrived at the central courtyard.

Jia Zhangshi sat on her own doorstep, endlessly stitching shoe soles.

Her eyes were cloudy, mouth turned down, looking unpleasant to deal with.

Qin Huairu washed vegetables at the faucet by the door, her fingers frozen red, her movements swift.

Seeing Li Ping'an, Qin Huairu lifted her head and forced a smile. "Chief Li is back."

Li Ping'an nodded slightly, not saying much.

Jia Zhangshi snorted from her nose and turned her face away.

Since Jia Dongxu died from a work injury, the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law have been living tightly, and Jia Zhangshi feels everyone owes her family.

Especially toward those whose household conditions are a bit better, she's even more full of backhanded remarks.

The back courtyard was even livelier.

Liu Haizhong, belly protruding, hands behind his back, paced back and forth at the entrance of his two main rooms.

His eldest son, Liu Guangqi, had said a couple years ago that he was responding to the call, taking his wife to support the Third Front construction.

He took all the family's money, Liu Haizhong fell into rage and despair, suffered a serious illness, his proud eldest son gone, he became a laughingstock, and thereafter rarely showed his face.

Li Ping'an pushed his cart into his own home in the west wing courtyard.

The courtyard is quiet, and a few cold‑hardy holly trees are planted in the corner, still fairly tidy.

His wife Lin Xueqing has already finished work and is cooking in the kitchen.

His son Li Yaozong sits at the small square table in the house, writing something in his notebook stroke by stroke, his little face serious.

Hearing the sound, he lifts his head, his eyes brightening.

Dad!

Li Ping'an puts down his bicycle and walks over to pat his son's head.

What are you writing?

It's a school assignment, a learning reflection. Li Yaozong looks up, "Dad, did the factory really catch the spy? The classmates are all spreading it."

Li Ping'an pauses, then says gently but sternly, "Don't discuss the factory matters outside. Study well, practice your fist, it's stronger than anything."

Li Yaozong nods as if half‑understanding, and lowers his head again to write.

Li Ping'an walks into the inner room and changes into a plain old set of everyday clothes.

A kettle sits on the stove, emitting thin white steam.

He pours himself a cup of hot water, sits on the main‑hall chair, and drinks slowly.

The fatigue in his body gradually rises.

But his mind won't stop.

In the conference room, Group Leader Zheng's sharp gaze, the City Bureau leaders' subtle expressions, Yan Bu Gui's flicker when gathering information, Liu Haizhong's ashen face over a family scandal, Xu Damao's hopping up and down, and Jia Zhangshi's perpetually resentful profile…

The factory is a power arena roiled by hidden currents.

The courtyard is mundane, chaotic human fireworks.

He is within it and must face both at once.

The Shopkeeper's shadow flickers behind the City Bureau's high wall.

And the Siheyuan's daily life has never truly been calm.

Yan Bu Gui's habit of gathering information, Jia Zhangshi's unvented resentment…

To the schemers, perhaps they are all exploitable gaps.

Li Ping'an puts down the cup and walks to the window.

The sky has become completely dark.

In the Siheyuan, each household lights dim yellow lamps.

Faint sounds of stir‑frying, children's cries, and adults' scoldings drift in.

These sounds are ordinary, trivial, even a bit noisy.

But this is life.

It is the other world he must guard after shedding the Head of the Security Department's uniform.

He cannot allow the Shopkeeper's shadow to infiltrate here.

Nor can he let anyone in the Siheyuan be drawn into that dangerous vortex because of greed, ignorance, or resentment.

The stove fire casts a warm glow throughout the room.

The kettle emits a faint hiss.

Li Ping'an's gaze, under the warm yellow light, gradually becomes firm and clear.

He knows.

When the sun rises tomorrow.

He will have to face the more complex games in the conference room and chase the ghost‑like shadow behind the City Bureau's high wall.

But at this moment.

In this little courtyard that belongs to him.

He is just an ordinary man protecting his wife and child, watching his son write.

This ordinaryness is the source of his strength.

It is also the final bottom line he must defend.

Night settles.

The Siheyuan drifts into sleep.

Only the wind whistles through the eaves, bringing distant chill.

And a faint, almost imperceptible scent of an impending mountain rain.