Chapter 389: Hidden Dragon Lies in Wait

The mildew of the South of City's large courtyard permeated the cramped inner room.

The Shopkeeper sat on the only wooden plank bed, twirling a crumpled newspaper between his fingertips.

The front page carried an editorial titled "Severely Crack Down on Enemy and Terrorist Elements, Safeguard Social Stability," and the lead‑type ink gave off a pungent smell.

The lean man squatted at the doorway, idly fiddling with the ashes in the coal stove using a piece of wire.

Sparks occasionally flared, illuminating the agitation in his eyes.

"The pressure is too high," the lean man finally broke the silence, "Last night Lao Qi went out to buy grain, and came back saying Hu Tong Kou had two new faces, eyes like hooks, always scraping at people's faces."

The Shopkeeper didn't look up, his gaze landing on an inconspicuous message tucked between the newspaper's folds.

"The West City Police Substation busted a theft gang, arresting five suspects…"

A cold smile tugged at his mouth corner.

His knuckles hammered heavily on the words "five suspects."

"Lao Wu and his men are finished."

His voice was calm, as if speaking about today's breakfast.

The wire in the lean man's hand clanged onto the floor.

"Impossible! Lao Wu has followed you for twenty years…"

"Precisely because he's followed me for twenty years." The Shopkeeper slowly folded the newspaper, the crease as sharp as a blade, "That's why they'd look for him first. Wheel‑battle, eagle‑enduring, psychological tactics… Lao Wu can hold out three days, not ten."

He tossed the folded newspaper into the coal stove.

The flame whooshed up, greedily devouring the paper.

Black smoke twisted upward, casting his face in flickering light.

"Pass the message on." The Shopkeeper's voice came from behind the haze, a bit muffled, "Everyone, go into hiding at once. Cut all contacts, like a hibernating snake, bury yourselves in the earth."

The lean man's Adam's apple rolled.

"Hide… how long?"

"Until they think we really fled, until the street sentries withdraw, until…" The Shopkeeper paused, a dark glint flashing in his eyes, "Until Li Ping'an lets his guard down."

He stood and walked to the window.

Through the curtain's slit, he watched the children playing in the yard.

Those dirty little faces beamed with an unpretentious smile.

"What we need to learn now is a life like this." The Shopkeeper's voice was low, "Buy groceries, cook, go to work and home, curse the leaders, complain about prices. Live as the most ordinary among them."

The lean man gave a wry smile.

"Easy to say. We, who have blood on our hands, knives hidden in our eyes, can pretend?"

"If we can't pretend, we die." The Shopkeeper turned, his gaze icy, "Choose one."

The room fell into dead silence.

Only the crackling of the coal stove broke the quiet.

After a long while, the lean man slowly nodded.

"I understand."

"Go then." The Shopkeeper waved his hand, "Remember, before the wind passes, whoever shows up dies."

In the unremarkable house in West City, the lights burned through the night.

A pile of ash in the ashtray before Zhou Zhengwei rose into a small hill again.

Lao Zhao stood at the desk, holding a thick stack of interrogation records.

"Deputy Director Zhao is completely done." His voice was weary yet excited, "Following his trail, we uncovered nine more people: from the Supplies Bureau, the Transport Team, even an elementary school deputy principal."

He placed the records on the desk.

The pages rustled, producing a soft swish.

Each page held a name, a piece of evidence.

Zhou Zhengwei picked up the top one.

It was Deputy Director Zhao's confession, scrawled in messy handwriting, stamped with a fresh red palm print.

"He said the Shopkeeper's real name is Zheng Bingkun, who went underground in the thirty‑sixth year of the Republic, codename 'Zhu Long.' He first worked as a clerk for the puppet government, then infiltrated our ranks, climbing step by step with his pen and his knack for reading people."

Lao Zhao added, "He also disclosed several secret Contact Points; we've checked them all. The place is empty, but traces remain. The Technical Section found half a burnt list in the floor seam of one point."

Zhou Zhengwei's gaze tightened.

"The list?"

"Right." Lao Zhao took a photograph from the file bag.

The photo showed a charred paper fragment, its edges curled black, yet a few fragmented characters were still legible in the center.

"Zheng… contact… north…"

Just those three words, plus half a blurry seal.

Zhou Zhengwei stared at the photo, his brows knit.

"North… meaning the north side, or…"

"The Technical Section analyses it could refer to a contact method, or the next hideout," Lao Zhao said, "But the information is too scant to confirm."

Zhou Zhengwei set the photo down and rubbed his temples.

Several days of intense work had sunk Zhou Zhengwei's eye sockets, yet his gaze remained sharp.

"The Shopkeeper has run, but the network is cut, the henchmen are broken. They are now a bereaved dog, hiding in some dark corner, licking their wounds."

He paused.

"But a bereaved dog bites the hardest. Tell the subordinates not to slack off. Especially on Li Ping'an's side, strengthen protection."

Lao Zhao nodded.

"We've already arranged two people, rotating shifts to keep watch around the Steel Rolling Mill. Li Chief is also vigilant; the Security Department has been handling things like a steel bucket lately."

"That's good," Zhou Zhengwei stood up and walked to the window.

The night was deep, with scattered lights in the distance.

"This battle, up to now, has at least torn a hole. But the truly hard bone to gnaw is still ahead."

He turned around and looked at Zhao.

"Deputy Director Zhao and his men, judge them as appropriate, follow procedure. But we must dig deep and squeeze out every bit of what they know, leaving nothing."

"Yes!"

Deputy Factory Director's office at the Steel Rolling Mill.

Li Huaide sat behind the spacious desk, idly twirling a fountain pen in his hand.

The pen was a Shanghai-made "Hero" brand, with a gold tip, heavy to the touch.

Xu Damao stood at the desk, his back bent low, a flattering smile plastered on his face.

"Li, thanks to your cultivation and support this time. Without you, I, Xu Damao, wouldn't be where I am today."

He spoke earnestly, his eyes already a bit reddened.

Li Huaide glanced at him, saying nothing.

The pen cap tapped lightly on the desk.

Tap, tap, tap.

Each sound struck Xu Damao's heart.

"Damao," Li Huaide finally spoke, his voice leisurely, "You have achieved this today because you earned merit yourself and risked your life. What does that have to do with me?"

The words were said lightly.

Yet Xu Damao sensed the hidden meaning.

He bent his back even lower.

"Li, your words crush me. Who doesn't know that in this factory you call the shots. If you nod, I'm a model. If you don't, I'm nothing at all."

Crude, but straightforward.

Li Huaide smiled.

"You only know how to say these flowery words."

He set the pen down and leaned his body back into the chair.

"Since you've become a model, you must look the part. The head of the screening group in the Logistics Department, though a sinecure, still oversees people numbered seven and eight. He must manage them well, no mistakes allowed."

"Rest assured!" Xu Damao pounded his chest, "I'll manage the screening group meticulously! Whoever disobeys, I'll be the first to deal with them!"

His words were harsh, but lacked confidence.

Li Huaide could naturally tell.

He waved his hand.

"Alright, go. Remember, many are watching you now. Act low‑key, don't be flamboyant."

"Yes, yes, yes, I'll definitely stay low‑key, definitely low‑key."

Xu Damao nodded repeatedly and stepped back out of the office.

The door closed.

Li Huaide's smile gradually faded.

He picked up the pen again, unscrewed the cap, revealing a sharp tip.

For someone like Xu Damao, used well he's a knife; used poorly, he'll cut himself.

But now, this knife still has some use.

At least, it can restrain certain people.

For example... Li Ping'an and Yang Weiguo.

He recalled the look Li Ping'an gave at the last Party Committee meeting when insisting on awarding Xu Damao.

In that gaze, there was no personal grudge, only public spirit.

Such a person is the hardest to deal with.

Because he has no flaw.

The pen tip made a light dot on the paper.

The ink spread, like a drop of uncoagulated blood.

The night in the Siheyuan was much quieter than usual.

The gunshots from earlier had left everyone with lingering fear.

Even the ever‑nagging Jia Zhangshi had shut the door early, hiding inside, not daring to make a sound.

Li Ping'an stood under the jujube tree in Xi Kua Yuan, looking up at the night sky.

The stars were sparse, the moon hidden behind clouds.

Divine Perception spread like an invisible net, silently unfolding.

It enveloped the whole courtyard, extending into the Alley, then outward…

He could "hear" Yan Bu Gui in the Front Courtyard moving an abacus, muttering under his breath.

He could "hear" Yi Zhonghai in the Central Courtyard sighing, the scent of economic smoke drifting on the wind.

He could "hear" Liu Haizhong in the Rear Courtyard training his son, his voice low but full of anger.

Everything was as usual.

Yet somehow, something was different.

Lin Xueqing stepped out of the house, holding a coat in her hand.

"It's cool at night; put it on."

She draped the coat over her husband's shoulders.

Li Ping'an grasped her hand.

The palm was warm.

"Is the child asleep?"

"He's asleep," Lin Xueqing said softly, "Yaozong was praised again at school today; his essay got a perfect score."

Li Ping'an's mouth twitched upward slightly.

"Like you, good at writing."

"Like you, you have righteousness," Lin Xueqing leaned on his shoulder, "He wrote 'My Father', saying you taught him to box, saying the bad guys will all be caught by you."

Li Ping'an felt a warmth in his heart.

But immediately, it sank again.

Did the bad guys really all get caught?

The Shopkeeper ran away.

There are still four on the run.

These people are like Poison Snakes hidden in the shadows, you never know when they'll slither out to bite.

He must stay vigilant at all times.

For his family, and also for the responsibility on his shoulders.

A faint bell rang from afar.

The night grew deeper.

Li Ping'an wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders.

"Let's go back to the room."

The two turned and walked into the warm light.

The courtyard gate closed gently.

The jujube tree's shadow swayed in the moonlight, rustling.

It seemed to tell, in this seemingly tranquil night, of the hidden currents and schemes unknown to others.

And in the deeper night.

In the South of City Great Mixed Courtyard, the Shopkeeper blew out the oil lamp.

A lean man curled in the corner, emitting even snores.

The Shopkeeper, however, kept his eyes open, staring at the pitch‑black ceiling.

He is waiting.

Waiting for the uproar to pass.

Waiting for the opportunity to arrive.

Waiting for that chance that can kill with a single strike.

This game of chess hasn't finished yet.

He only temporarily hid the piece in his sleeve.