Chapter 412: The Wind Rises

In November 1965, Beiping, the wind already carried knives.

In front of the Steel Rolling Mill's bulletin board, the newly posted red‑headed document rustled in the cold wind. The workers gathered to look; this time no one dared speak loudly, only exchanging deeply evasive glances.

"Comrade Li Huaide appointed as Director of the Revolutionary Committee…"

"Comrade former Factory Director Yang Weiguo… transferred from his leadership post…"

The characters are block script, the words are official language, yet the chill that seeps between the lines is more biting than the north‑west wind.

Someone caught sight of a street‑sweeper in the distance—hunched over, sweeping fallen leaves back and forth, the broom's scrape against the ground sounding monotonous and heavy.

It was Yang Weiguo.

Just days ago he was the Factory Director above ten thousand people; today he has become a mere street cleaner.

"What are you looking at?" someone whispered, "Be careful not to invite trouble upon yourself."

The crowd silently dispersed, each returning to their post, their steps a few paces lighter than usual.

Xu Damao stood in the Logistics Department's warehouse, clutching a rag, polishing a scrapped machine.

He had been doing this work for half a month.

Since being removed from his post and demoted, he had been assigned here, dealing all day with broken copper and scrap iron. Calluses had formed on his hands, and the scar on his face that Wang Cuihua had torn out hadn't healed cleanly; a deep purple scab lay on his cheekbone like a centipede.

The warehouse door creaked open.

Li Huaide entered with his hands behind his back, followed by two young cadres, all wearing brand‑new Zhongshan suits, with Chairman Statue insignia pinned to their chests.

Xu Damao's hand trembled, and the rag fell to the floor.

"Li… Director Li!" he hurriedly bent down to pick up the rag, limping forward, "Why did you come in person? This warehouse is dirty; don't soil your shoes…"

Li Huaide didn't look at him, surveying the machines in the warehouse.

"These are all scrapped?"

"Yes, yes, they're all junk waiting to be dealt with." Xu Damao hunched his back, his scar twisting with a flattery smile, "Director Li, what are your orders? Though my legs are unsteady, I have a red heart for the revolutionary work; point where you want me to go, and I'll go there!"

Li Huaide finally gave him a glance.

The look was as if he were examining a tool.

"Xu Damao, I heard you know Lou Bancheng?"

Xu Damao's heart lurched.

Lou Bancheng, the former owner of the Steel Rolling Mill, had been a famous capitalist in Beiping City before the public‑private merger. After the merger in '56‑'57, he retired, living in a villa in East City, keeping a low profile.

"I know him! I know him!" Xu Damao's eyes darted, "My father once helped with work at the Lou household, and my mother was a maid there as well."

As he spoke, he suddenly understood something.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest.

"Director Li," he leaned in closer, his voice pressed down to a whisper, "That old man Lou hides a lot of valuables at home—gold, antiques, calligraphy and paintings… all the blood and sweat of the working people!"

Li Huaide's face showed little expression.

"Do you have evidence?"

"I…" Xu Damao gritted his teeth, "I can find the evidence! If you give me this chance, I guarantee to ransack his house completely! Those items should belong to the public, to the Revolutionary Committee!"

The warehouse was so quiet you could hear dust settling to the floor.

The two cadres behind Li Huaide exchanged a glance, saying nothing.

After a while, Li Huaide slowly spoke.

"Tomorrow, report to the Revolutionary Committee office."

Having said that, he turned and left.

Xu Damao stood stunned in place; only when the warehouse door shut again did he snap back to reality.

His leg went weak, nearly dropping to his knees.

He braced himself against the machine, and the pent‑up malice in his chest finally found an outlet.

"Ha— ha… ha‑ha‑ha…"

The laughter echoed through the empty warehouse, like the cry of a Night Owl.

In the Siheyuan, Yan Bu Gui was squatting at his own doorway, moving his Chrysanthemum Stamp pot by pot.

The weather grew cold, so he had to bring them inside.

He moved them carefully, each pot handled gingerly as if cradling a child.

San Dama emerged from the house, her complexion not looking good.

"Lao Yan, I heard… the factory's Revolutionary Committee has been established?"

"Hmm." Yan Bu Gui didn't even lift his head.

"And Li Huaide…"

"Don't pry." Yan Bu Gui cut her off, his voice a little tense, "Focus on your own work."

As soon as the words fell, a clamor rose from the Front Courtyard.

Xu Damao returned.

Not alone.

Two young men in Zhongshan suits followed behind, both in their early twenties, faces as stiff as iron plates.

Xu Damao led the way, his back straight as a ruler—though his limp still made him hobble, his bearing now was a world apart from half a month ago.

He wore a brand‑new blue work uniform, a red armband on his left arm bearing three yellow characters: Revolutionary Committee.

People in the courtyard, hearing the movement, stuck their heads out to look.

Jia Zhangshi was washing vegetables at the sink, a radish in his hand slipping into the basin, splashing water everywhere.

Sha Zhu came from the Central Courtyard, carrying an empty lunch box; seeing Xu Damao's attire, his eyebrows knit into a knot.

"Yo, Xu Damao, this is…"

"Call Deputy Director Xu." Xu Damao stopped his steps, chin slightly raised, "Director Li Huaide personally appointed him as deputy director of the Steel Rolling Mill's Revolutionary Committee."

He spoke very slowly, each word pronounced clearly.

Sha Zhu grinned, wanting to say something, but seeing the two people behind Xu Damao, he swallowed his words again.

The two young men's eyes were too cold, like knives.

Xu Damao was very satisfied with this effect.

His gaze swept over the courtyard, finally landing on Yan Bu Gui.

"Third Elder," he walked over, his tone very polite, but there was something else in that politeness, "Moving the flowers?"

Yan Bu Gui stood up, patting the dirt off his hands.

"Ah, it's cold, move inside."

"That's right, it's time to move inside." Xu Damao nodded, then suddenly changed the subject, "But Third Elder, I heard you have quite a collection of books at home? Some... antiquarian items?"

Yan Bu Gui's face changed.

"Xu Damao, what do you mean by that?"

"Deputy Director Xu." Xu Damao corrected him, smiling on his face but without laughter in his eyes, "Third Elder, now it's a new society; some old ideas, old culture, old customs, old habits need to be broken. Don't you agree?"

One of the young men behind him spoke up, his voice ice-cold.

"Yan Bu Gui, report to the street office tomorrow morning to attend the study class."

"Study class?" San Dama rushed out of the house, "What study class? My old Yan is an elementary school teacher, spending his life educating people..."

"Precisely because he has taught all his life, he needs to study even more." The young man interrupted her, "Remold thoughts, be reborn."

Yan Bu Gui stood rooted to the spot, motionless.

The flowerpot in his hand trembled slightly, the chrysanthemums inside quivered in the cold wind, shedding a few petals.

In the West Courtyard, Li Ping'an was tidying up.

On the bookshelf, those copies of How the Steel Was Tempered and Red Crag were still there, but some old thread-bound volumes had disappeared. The pair of blue-and-white porcelain vases in the corner were gone, replaced by two ordinary earthen jars.

Lin Xueqing held Nuanqing, standing at the doorway watching.

"Ping'an, really going to do this?"

"Just in case." Li Ping'an tied up the last stack of books, stuffed them into the box under the bed, "People like Xu Damao, once they gain power, they'll bite."

"But what does he have to rely on..."

"Just because of that red armband on his sleeve." Li Ping'an stood up, brushed off the dust on his hands, "Nowadays, sometimes it's not about what you rely on, but who holds 'reason' in their hands."

He meant that "reason," and Lin Xueqing understood.

It was that red reason.

Li Yaozong ran in from outside, his little face frozen red.

"Dad, Xu Shu became an official again! Wearing a red armband, he's so full of himself!"

Li Ping'an rubbed his son's head.

"Yaozong, remember Dad's words: stay away from people wearing red armbands, especially Xu Shu."

"Why?"

"Because..." Li Ping'an paused, "Some people wear the red armband not for the revolution, but to settle personal scores."

Just then, Chen Jianghe pushed the door open and came in.

He wore the Security Section uniform but without a hat, his face showing the traces of rushing.

"Brother, the factory has set up an inspection squad, and Xu Damao is the deputy captain."

Li Ping'an nodded, not surprised.

"Is everything packed up at home?"

"Packed." Chen Jianghe lowered his voice, "My father's old account books, plus my mother's dowry jewelry, are all hidden in the cellar. On the surface we left only some mixed flour, cabbage and potatoes—enough for three to five days."

"How about your sister's side?"

"Also taken care of; I told her to gather up the old books and furniture, keep them out of sight."

Only then did Li Ping'an relax a little.

He walked to the window and looked outside through the glass.

In the courtyard, Xu Damao was still talking to those two young men, gesturing, as if arranging something.

Wang Cuihua came out of the house, wearing a newly made red cotton-padded jacket, her hair slicked smooth, her face full of smiles.

She walked up to Xu Damao, linked her arm with his, her voice loud enough for the whole courtyard to hear.

"Damao, what do you want to eat tonight? I'll go buy meat right now!"

Xu Damao patted her hand, deliberately raising his volume.

"What meat to buy? Now we must practice thrift and austerity! Just buy some cabbage and tofu; we are the families of revolutionary cadres, we must lead by example!"

Wang Cuihua quickly nodded.

"Exactly, exactly, you're right! Cabbage and tofu are good, healthy!"

The couple sang in harmony, putting on a show for the whole courtyard.

Sha Zhu spat at his own doorstep, turned and went inside, slamming the door shut with a bang.

Jia Zhangshi pursed her lips, muttering softly: "Putting on what act..."

But the sound was so low, only she herself could hear it.

Early the next morning, Yan Bu Gui went out.

He wasn't wearing his usual dark blue Zhongshan suit; instead he had on a washed‑white old cotton jacket.

San Dama saw him to the door, her eyes red.

"Come back early..."

"Hmm." Yan Bu Gui replied, without turning around.

He carried a broom and followed the street procession. The procession consisted of people much like him: old teachers, former staff, actors who had performed in operas, and gentlemen who had painted.

In the Steel Rolling Mill Revolutionary Committee office, Xu Damao was leafing through a list.

The list contained the factory's "key personnel."

It included former Factory Director Yang Weiguo, the chief engineer, the accounting section chief… and Li Ping'an.

Xu Damao's finger lingered on Li Ping'an's name.

"Li Ping'an, Head of the Security Department, a transferred soldier, of pure lineage…" he murmured, his brows furrowing.

A clerk beside him leaned in.

"Xu Deputy Director, this person must not be moved. He is a combat hero, has earned merits, and his file is spotless."

"I understand." Xu Damao closed the list, tapped his finger on the desk, "but this man is too clean—clean in a way that feels off."

"So your meaning is…"

"Don't act on him for now." Xu Damao stood, walked to the window, "but we must let him know who is in charge now."

He looked out the window.

On the plant avenue, workers queued for the canteen. Li Ping'an emerged from the Security Department, in uniform, back straight, stride steady.

Xu Damao stared at the figure, his gaze gradually cooling.

Half a month earlier, it was this man who was publicly told to "close the door and settle family matters."

The tone, the look—like looking at a dog.

Now, he is the Revolutionary Committee's deputy director.

Although still a deputy, and although Li Huaide may not truly take him seriously, at least he now has authority again.

With authority, revenge becomes possible.

"Not urgent." Xu Damao muttered to himself, "Take it slow."

In the afternoon, Li Ping'an was reviewing documents in the Security Department when the door was pushed open.

Xu Damao entered, followed by two young men wearing red armbands.

"Li Chief, busy?" Xu Damao beamed.

Li Ping'an set down the documents and stood.

"Xu Deputy Director, something?"

"Nothing major." Xu Damao paced the room, glancing around, "the Revolutionary Committee has just been formed, and some tasks need coordination. Your Security Department must cooperate with our inspection team's operations."

"That's natural." Li Ping'an said calmly, "the Security Department will certainly cooperate with the Revolutionary Committee's work."

"That's good." Xu Damao walked to Li Ping'an's desk, picked up the Enamel Jar on the desk, examined it, then set it down, "By the way, Li Chief's family… all right?"

The question came abruptly.

Li Ping'an's expression remained unchanged.

"All fine, thank you Xu Deputy Director for your concern."

"That's good, that's good." Xu Damao nodded, "The situation has changed; some old things, old ideas need to be cleared out. Li Chief is a wise man, surely he understands this."

He paused briefly, as if recalling something.

"By the way, I heard Li Chief likes reading? Doesn't he have a sizable personal library at home?"

Here.

Li Ping'an sneered inwardly, though his face remained composed.

"Just a few revolutionary works, the ones I usually study."

"That's fine." Xu Damao stared into his eyes, as if trying to read something, "Li Chief, we're all revolutionary comrades, so I'll speak plainly. Now that the Revolutionary Committee is established, we need to rectify factory conduct and discipline, and also cleanse the class ranks. As Head of the Security Department, your responsibility is huge."

"I understand."

"Understanding is enough." Xu Damao patted his shoulder, a little hard, "Li Chief, do your work well. As long as you are wholeheartedly for the revolution, the organization won't shortchange you."

Having said that, he left with his men.

The door closed, and the Security Department fell silent.

Li Ping'an sat back down, stared at the Enamel Jar on the desk that Xu Damao had touched, and remained silent for a long while.

Finally, he picked up the jar, went to the sink, and scalded it with hot water three times.

At dusk after work, Li Ping'an pushed his bicycle out of the factory gate.

Xu Damao stood at the Revolutionary Committee office window, watching his departing figure, his face grim.

A clerk asked cautiously, "Xu Deputy Director, this Li Ping'an… truly must not be moved?"

"Now he cannot be moved." Xu Damao turned, "But he always has a leverage. Every person has a leverage."

He walked to the desk, opened a drawer, and found several documents inside.

The topmost document was the address and brief profile of the Lou Banchen family.

"First, clean up this old thing." Xu Damao pulled out the document, "Once we raid his home and get the gold antiques, Li Chief will be easy to talk to. When I have a foothold in the Revolutionary Committee…"

He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.

The clerk hurriedly nodded.

"Yes, I'll arrange personnel right away."

"Wait." Xu Damao called him back, "Find a few reliable, tight‑lipped people. This matter must be handled cleanly and efficiently."

"Rest assured."

The clerk left.

Xu Damao returned to the window; darkness had fallen, and the plant's streetlights lit up one by one.

His face reflected in the glass, the scar standing out especially fierce in the dim yellow light.

"Li Ping'an," he whispered, "we'll settle our account slowly."

Outside the window, the north wind howled past, stirring up a carpet of dead leaves.

This winter has only just begun.

And the storm is already gathering on the horizon.

Those things that seem solid are swaying slightly in the wind—like the street Yan Bu Gui swept across, like Yang Weiguo's hunched silhouette, like every tightly shut door in this Siheyuan.

Behind the doors, some toss and turn unable to sleep, some silently tidy up the delicate items, some recite Chairman Mao quotations before the Chairman Statue over and over.

Everyone smelled that unusual scent in the air.

It was the smell of iron rust, the smell of dust, the smell of moldy old paper, and also… the scent of churned earth before the storm arrives.

Li Ping'an pedaled his bicycle through the gradually dimming street.

He recalled Chen Jianghe's quiet words that afternoon: Xu Damao is investigating Lou Ban Cheng.

Lou Ban Cheng…

Li Ping'an's brows twitched slightly.

He had met that old man once; he was slender, refined, spoke slowly and softly, not like a capitalist, but more like a teacher.

But in these times, it's not that something is unimportant; it's what truly matters.

Whatever it is, can be lethal.

He pedaled faster.

He must go back and check again; the house absolutely cannot retain anything that could be used against him.

An old postage stamp, an old photograph, a thread‑bound book… could all become the source of disaster.

The wind grew stronger, making the bicycle handlebars sway slightly.

Li Ping'an gripped the handlebars tightly, straightened his back, and rode forward into the wind.

The road ahead is vague, but he knows he cannot retreat from this battle.

If he retreats, behind him is home, his wife and children, the life built piece by piece over these years.