Chapter 69: Don

Songkou District Detention Center.

“I’ve reviewed the information you provided,” Yu Dazhang asked, sitting across from Zhou Zizhe, his expression grave.

“You were kidnapped to a mountain village, held there for half a year, then escaped on your own—but you were only five years old at the time. Isn’t that too improbable?”

Zhou Zizhe didn’t answer his question; instead, he stared at him with confusion.

“Why are you here this time? Where are the two officers from last time?”

“They had other duties, so I was assigned instead,” Yu Dazhang replied with a casual excuse.

He could never reveal the real situation to Zhou Zizhe.

Who knew if this kid had set a trap in this matter?

One must be cautious.

“Did something happen to them?” Zhou Zizhe seemed to guess something, his eyes locked onto Yu Dazhang’s.

“I already warned them: never treat those beasts like humans—you’ll suffer dearly for it!”

Yu Dazhang’s heart jolted, but his face remained calm; he asked softly:

“You warned them?”

“I warned them repeatedly—at least twice,” Zhou Zizhe affirmed.

“Also, they must have altered the details I gave them. I told them I was kept in captivity for half a year.”

“Kept in captivity?” Yu Dazhang also found the phrase odd; he asked:

“Like an animal?”

This clue was indeed unexpected—the documents sent to Yu Dazhang made no mention of it.

Probably they assumed Zhou Zizhe’s account was exaggerated and revised it.

If he was telling the truth, raising a five-year-old child like an animal… that was beyond human cruelty.

“I was worse than an animal back then,” Zhou Zizhe chuckled bitterly.

“I had an iron collar around my neck, chained to a stone enclosure outdoors, with only a sheet of asbestos roofing overhead for rain protection.”

“Have you ever seen the trough pigs eat from?”

“There were two other children with me—we three crouched before the trough like pigs, sticking our heads in to eat.”

Yu Dazhang’s mind already conjured the image.

To do this meant those people’s minds had twisted beyond normal human comprehension.

Human emotions are interconnected; there’s a word for it: empathy.

For example, you laugh at comedies, cry at tragedies—even emotionally sensitive people weep uncontrollably over love stories.

That’s empathy.

Chaining a child with an iron collar, locking him in a stone enclosure, feeding him from a pig trough.

Just imagining it feels cruel—let alone doing it.

Treating human life as worthless, cold to the extreme… Yu Dazhang silently labeled those people in his mind.

It seemed Zhou Zizhe hadn’t exaggerated at all—those beasts truly couldn’t be treated as humans.

“You glossed over the part where you faked illness to escape,” Yu Dazhang continued.

“Was it because you forgot the details, or thought it unnecessary to explain thoroughly?”

Zhou Zizhe thought for a moment, then said:

“The officer who took my statement didn’t ask for details, so I just brushed it off with one sentence.”

“Tell me more,” Yu Dazhang said, adopting an attitude of attentive listening.

“I really did feel unwell back then,” Zhou Zizhe recalled.

“Looking back, it was due to chronic malnutrition—not an actual illness.”

“I looked nothing like a human then—half a year without a bath, living in that environment, so no outward signs were obvious.”

“They came to check on me several times, saw I wasn’t eating, and took me to a place like a clinic.”

“They probably injected me with something like glucose—I felt much better, my limbs regained strength.”

“So I slipped out in the middle of the night.”

Yu Dazhang already knew what happened after that.

Zhou Zizhe descended the mountain overnight, walked another full day and night, then collapsed at the gate of a construction site.

At that time, Zhou Hongfu was still a carpenter; seeing the child’s plight, he took him home. Those people may have been inhuman, but they weren’t very smart… Yu Dazhang picked up on something from Zhou Zizhe’s words.

Their method of confinement was crude and simple—and they were fooled by a five-year-old faking illness.

That kind of intelligence doesn’t match someone capable of elaborate deception.

So no detail, however trivial, could be overlooked—even an ordinary phrase might reveal useful information.

“Didn’t you and your adoptive father report this to the police?” Yu Dazhang felt the question was redundant.

But he still wanted to know what happened.

Sixteen years had passed, yet Zhou Zizhe still fixated on those traffickers.

That meant he’d tried getting the police involved—but the outcome was unsatisfactory.

Indeed, as soon as Yu Dazhang asked, Zhou Zizhe’s expression turned helpless:

“My adoptive father and I didn’t just report it—we went to the police nearly every year since 1998.”

What followed needed no elaboration; Yu Dazhang understood perfectly.

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Cases like this were far too common, concentrated mostly in the first two decades after reform and opening, peaking in the 1990s.

Zhou Zizhe was lucky—he escaped and was adopted by a good family.

Those who vanished without a trace suffered worse; some even had their limbs cut off and were sent to beg on the streets.

But such cases declined after 2000—hardly anyone sees street beggars anymore.

When investigating, priority must go to those still missing; someone like Zhou Zizhe… just being willing to respond is enough.

This time, the branch sent officers specifically to investigate because Zhou Zizhe paid with his life.

As long as they investigated trafficking cases, he wouldn’t resist—he confessed everything.

How to put it?

It’s not too much to ask.

After leaving the detention center, Yu Dazhang returned to the unit.

He’d come to meet Zhou Zizhe face-to-face to clarify some details.

After all, they’d interacted before, so communication flowed more smoothly.

With this advantage, Yu Dazhang naturally made use of it.

On the way back, Lu Zhongxin called him twice, urging him to hurry back for the meeting.

When he arrived, the meeting had already begun.

Almost all officers from the three battalions were present, except those on duty—clearly the bureau’s high priority.

This meeting was simple: immediate team assignments.

Wei Qian first selected ten officers from the First Battalion; each would pair with one officer from the Second or Third Battalion.

In addition to these ten teams, Team Leader Liu Zhe of the Second Battalion and Team Leader Zhang Dong of the Third Battalion would each lead a reserve team for immediate support.

Among the ten selected by Wei Qian were Yu Dazhang and Lu Zhongxin.

This master-apprentice duo had just solved the impersonation case; their reputation and favor within the bureau were at their peak—perfect candidates for this mission.

Next came team formation.

Due to time pressure, Wei Qian let the selected officers choose their own partners from among familiar colleagues.

Now Yu Dazhang couldn’t team up with his master—he had to pick one from the other two battalions.

As for familiar faces…

He quickly scanned the officers of the other two battalions.

His gaze finally settled on a short officer from the Second Battalion.

“Brother Sen,” Yu Dazhang smiled and strode over to him.

“You’re with me. We’re a team.”

The moment he said “Brother Sen,” Zhang Sen’s heart skipped half a beat.

Seeing Yu Dazhang approach, he forced a smile worse than crying:

“Can’t you pick someone else?”

(End of Chapter)