Chapter 952

Although Wang Yan told Xiong Qingchun he was asking around everywhere, he still had certain criteria.

For example, small shops with recruitment posters on the street—whether barbershops, stores, restaurants, or nail salons—all shared one trait: they were chronically short one or two staff members, and this shortage didn’t significantly disrupt daily operations; most were family-run businesses, or run solely by the owner.

Moreover, they were unlikely to spend extra money hiring someone else to recruit for them; they preferred referrals from relatives or friends, or chance passersby who walked in and asked directly—yes or no, decided on the spot.

Small companies, meanwhile, also tended to post job openings online themselves. After all, there were so many job seekers; once they posted on recruitment platforms, countless young people would submit resumes, allowing them to pick and choose with ease.

So relatively speaking, Wang Yan’s target was clear: hotels, event venues, and related event companies, as well as logistics firms needing short-term labor.

As he’d told Xiong Qingchun, roles like conference fillers or logistics movers required temporary manpower; start with small jobs, stabilize them, and thus stabilize income, then gradually expand upward and develop new business—collaborating with legitimate companies, whether in recruitment or labor services, naturally evolving from there.

In short, continuously broaden and extend operations to form a virtuous cycle. This wasn’t a hard concept to grasp; since Western sanctions against China, even elementary school students knew everything must be self-reliant. Similarly, a company must build a complete business chain; its revenue sources mustn’t be overly singular—that’s inevitable.

Of course, Wang Yan’s Dali Pill wasn’t included here, nor were tobacco, electricity, or the “Two Big Oils”—all monopolies where singularity posed no problem. Wang Yan’s Dali Pill was even more advanced, since unlike tobacco companies relying on state monopolies, he genuinely controlled the core technology—no one could crack his formula.

After wandering outside all morning, Wang Yan drove back to the employment agency at lunchtime.

Seeing the shuttered Xiong Employment Agency at noon, Wang Yan seemed to realize something and raised an eyebrow.

He stepped forward, pulled up the shutter, and unsurprisingly found Xiong Qingchun carefully soothing a man inside.

“I’m telling you, don’t push it—I’ve got a boyfriend here. I already told you, that money was borrowed, and when I’m rich I’ll pay you back. How dare you show up here and beat on my door?”

Seeing Wang Yan lift the shutter, Xiong Qingchun instantly straightened up, speaking with firm confidence, while quietly stepping closer to Wang Yan.

Wang Yan smiled warmly, naturally wrapping an arm around Xiong Qingchun, and addressed the stunned man: “What’s this? Haven’t seen you in two months and you don’t recognize me?”

“Brother Yan? Is that really you? What are you doing here? And why are you with this blackmailing woman?” Zheng Qiudong’s expression was complex—surprise, slight fear, and deep confusion.

Ignoring being called a “blackmailing woman,” Xiong Qingchun glanced between the two, then elbowed Wang Yan in the ribs and whispered: “Hey, what’s going on? You two know each other?”

“Prison buddy.” Wang Yan replied with a smile.

“So you two are in cahoots?” Xiong Qingchun yanked her hand away and stepped aside.

“What are you talking about? I don’t even understand what’s happening. Qiudong, have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Perfect, let’s grab something quick, then we’ll go out for dinner tonight. What are you standing there for? Get the food moving! I’ve been busy all morning—I’m starving, hurry up.”

Seeing that Xiong Qingchun was still motionless, Wang Yan waved his hand: “Fine, we’ll go together. I won’t collude with him.”

Saying that, Wang Yan walked toward the back.

Xiong Qingchun shot a confused glare at Zheng Qiudong, then a fiercer one at Wang Yan’s back, but still followed him to fetch the food. The three sat down to eat.

“Tell me, what’s your grudge?” Wang Yan ate heartily, addressing Zheng Qiudong, who had no appetite.

“This woman is a venomous serpent. Seriously.”

“Hey, you faked someone’s identity and I caught you red-handed. Besides, how many times have I said it? That 200,000 was borrowed—I gave you a promissory note. I’m straightforward: debts are debts.”

“Bullshit! Why was I exposed and fired from Valley just days after I paid you?”

“Oh, I get it now.”

Wang Yan interrupted their bickering: “You used a fake identity to join Valley. You didn’t know how, but she discovered your fraud and extorted 200,000 from you. You paid to protect your cover. But days later, you were still exposed and humiliatingly fired. You think she broke her word, so you came here to demand answers?”

“Pretty much. Your girlfriend’s got guts—she even extorts people fresh out of prison.” Zheng Qiudong nodded, furious.

“I’m a person of integrity. It wasn’t me. What benefit would I get? If I’d known you’d been to prison, I wouldn’t even speak to you—I’d stay far away.”

Wang Yan nodded: “It wasn’t her.”

“Impossible. I was exposed right after meeting her.” Zheng Qiudong spoke with certainty.

“I never reported you. To be blunt, I hoped you’d stay there—higher up, the better. I’ve got leverage on you; if I borrowed 200,000 once, why not 500,000 next time?”

“Then how was I exposed?”

Wang Yan smiled: “Didn’t you mention someone named Luo Yiren?”

“I only said it once, and you remembered?”

“Yiren? Such a memorable name. Besides, your story’s unforgettable—you got caught, studied, and ruined. Did you meet her again when you returned to Beijing?”

“I did. It was at a party. She was the one tailing me that day.” Zheng Qiudong pointed at Xiong Qingchun, teeth clenched.

“Hand me that laptop.” Wang Yan pointed to Zheng Qiudong’s side.

Zheng Qiudong, confused, obediently fetched the laptop and passed it over.

Wang Yan took it, fiddled with it briefly, then handed it back: “Take a look.”

“What’s this?” Xiong Qingchun leaned in curiously, glancing at a photo on the screen.

It showed Zheng Qiudong in college, posing with Luo Yiren, Bai Liqin, and two other classmates.

Zheng Qiudong stared at the photo, eyes filled with nostalgia and regret for Luo Yiren. After a silence, he looked up: “Brother Yan, how do you have this photo?”

“Public online search.”

“Public search?”

“Luo Yiren is chairwoman and CEO of Zhongbao Media—a powerful cultural enterprise backed by the XX Department’s Xia Jiguo. We’re all adults; their relationship isn’t hard to guess, is it? Luo Yiren is Xia Jiguo’s mistress.

I know Valley Group has extensive cultural media operations and is preparing for an IPO. Xia Jiguo’s influence is critical, making his public agent, Luo Yiren, equally vital.

Valley likely investigated Luo Yiren, catering to her tastes, hoping she’d whisper favorable words to Xia Jiguo. Do you think your relationship with her was a secret? Investigate Luo Yiren, and you’re inevitably dragged in.

And this reunion—you both suppressed your emotions, but others noticed. Didn’t you find a chance to speak privately?”

Zheng Qiudong lowered his head and sighed.

He believed Wang Yan’s analysis—it was logical and correct. He’d once confronted a female colleague in the parking garage; she’d said, “Who did you see recently?” He’d assumed it meant Xiong Qingchun, never considering Luo Yiren.

He couldn’t blame himself: Luo Yiren gave him strong security, while Xiong Qingchun had extorted him—he was furious, didn’t think clearly, and rushed straight to Nanning to confront her.

His sigh carried complex layers: Luo Yiren as a high official’s mistress, his own exposure and humiliating firing, regret over past actions—truly a contradiction in himself.

Xiong Qingchun, meanwhile, looked like she’d just found a juicy gossip, frantically scrolling on her phone, occasionally glancing at the shattered Zheng Qiudong. Clearly, she was researching public info on Xia Jiguo and Luo Yiren, linking these towering figures to Zheng Qiudong—this man just out of prison, impersonating someone, now exposed and humiliated.

She stared at the big scoop, eyes gleaming like a wild boar spotting a feast…

Wang Yan asked: “How did you think of impersonating someone?”

“Brother Yan, it’s too hard. Really too hard.” Zheng Qiudong looked up, eyes red. “After I got out, everyone looked down on me. The hotel I stayed in? The same one where I was arrested. The staff recognized me—they called the police. What did I do? Why treat me like this? After one mistake, must I be completely rejected? Why? It’s unfair!

I had no choice. I used an identity arranged by my master’s friend while doing errands for him. I posed as a journalist, investigating his social connections, memorizing everything about him. His identity was perfect—he had a Ph.D., and I had an MBA and attended CEO training… and then it all collapsed. I was blacklisted by HR; with my real identity, no one would hire me.”

“Your words are shameless.”

Wang Yan spoke bluntly: “You ran a pyramid scheme—nobody forced you. Didn’t you know how many families were ruined? How some women became tools? How some were beaten to death?”

“I did it for…”

“Everyone has excuses. But those don’t excuse your crimes. The law clearly forbids what you did—you broke it, so you were punished. You think punishment erases your past? That’s wrong. Your true punishment should’ve been death.

What was my true punishment? Half-paralyzed, waiting to die in bed. Then you should’ve given your life to atone for those ruined families—that’s true justice.

We live in a moral society, though everyone’s secretly corrupt. Yet the ones arrested and reformed? You and me. A dog can’t stop eating shit; no one believes anyone truly reforms. In fact, they don’t. People just fear—fear of the law, or some vague karmic retribution.

Are you truly repentant? Obviously not. You repent only for getting caught, for those five unbearable years. If you’d never been arrested, you’d now have a 100-square-meter apartment in Beijing, a respectable job, maybe even a child with Luo Yiren, living happily. Would you then think your money was ill-gotten?

No. You’d think it was hard-won risk, earned through your silver tongue. What hurts now? You lost so much: five years of youth, a bright future, Luo Yiren. If you’d stayed, wouldn’t you and Bai Liqin have been together after his death? Instead, you’re just someone’s mistress.

Qiudong, stop pretending you’re noble, acting like a victim. There’s a line in those triad movies: ‘In this world, if you make a mistake, admit it. If you get beaten, stand straight.’ You’re just pathetic now.”

Hearing Wang Yan’s brutal, piercing words, Zheng Qiudong was furious—his eyes red, fists clenched—but he wasn’t foolish enough to deny it—he knew Wang Yan was right.

He deflated like a punctured balloon and buried his face, weeping.

Xiong Qingchun looked disgusted, winking at Wang Yan.

Wang Yan raised an eyebrow at her, eating heartily, ignoring Zheng Qiudong’s tears, and asked her: “So where’s the 200,000? Did you send your boyfriend abroad to study?”

Xiong Qingchun glared at Wang Yan, pretending not to hear, and ate silently.

“Wow, I really respect you now. You’d rather blackmail someone just to fund your boyfriend’s overseas studies? Your boyfriend’s pathetic—he must’ve known your financial situation. He must’ve seriously asked where all that money came from.

You made up some excuse, he believed you, took your money, and left. He probably swore he’d pay you back someday. Ah, what a noble love.”

“Are you done?” Xiong Qingchun snapped, banging the table. “Enough! Big man, get a little resilience. Cry like this? What’s the point?”

Zheng Qiudong, eyes swollen, looked up at Xiong Qingchun… ???

He’d heard every word.

“Crying’s good—it releases stress, helps mental health.” Wang Yan smiled. “I understand. Don’t blame me for being blunt—I’m just direct.”

Zheng Qiudong shook his head, wiped tears, blew his nose, then asked: “Brother Yan, what are you doing here? And why are you with her?”

“I’ve got nowhere else to go. I told you in prison—I’m too old to keep running. I just want peace. I’ve been out a week and already feel bored. I got tired of the coast, so I came to the capital.

Then I thought: I can’t just sit around. So I came to see if I could find work. And guess what? I ran into her. Look how pretty she is? I was smitten—I begged to stay and work for her.”

“I heard she has a boyfriend?”

“Yeah. You even funded his overseas studies. I’m just waiting for them to break up.”

Xiong Qingchun rolled her eyes, but had no recourse—she changed the subject: “Hey, forget the sad stuff. Tell me about prison. And this thug—was he the boss there?”

“What are you thinking? Watching Hong Kong movies? Prison Fengyun ? Everyone worked and reformed quietly—nothing exaggerated. But there were conflicts—many were lawless, violent inside. Sometimes tensions flared.

Brother Yan… was good. He never ruled the prison, but no one dared mess with him, and he never provoked anyone. He always worked hard, studied hard, earned many certificates—even a CMA, which is…”

“American Certified Public Accountant. I know—he showed me the certificate yesterday.”

“Right. Brother Yan got sentence reductions because of these. We were the same, but I wasn’t as good—he got two reductions, six months each, released a year early.”

“You shared a cell?”

“Why so curious? Why don’t you call the cops and send her in for three or five years?”

“You’re ridiculous! I borrowed it—I still have the backup IOU. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back. I’m just curious—is that so wrong?” Xiong Qingchun recoiled.

Zheng Qiudong wiped his eyes again, lost in memory: “We had the same sentence—five and a half years. Brother Yan was arrested after me. But my case was complex, took longer to resolve—I spent six months in detention. Brother Yan got out faster, so we were basically transferred together from detention to Beihai Prison.

There were bullies inside. When we first arrived, things were rough. Normal—newcomers get picked on everywhere, even in prison. But Brother Yan was something else—he…”