Chapter 38

Hey, look at the life in this Siheyuan, it's really livelier than an opera! Just now, Sha Zhu's front foot had just stepped out of the Courtyard, while Zhao Jianguo was still squatting inside, intently fiddling with that radio. Imagine, the welding torch was sizzling as it just sparked the solder, and he was busy, when suddenly a low cough came from the next house, sounding like a cat's meow, oddly unsettling.

Zhao Jianguo glanced up, and lo, Yi Zhonghai was leaning on his cane, strolling leisurely out of the house. Look at his bearing—hands behind his back, his steps as steady as a walk in the park. Yet his gaze, like a hooked hook, swept twice toward the direction Sha Zhu had just taken.

Zhao Jianguo stayed silent, continuing to tinker with his radio. Yet his heart gave a sudden thump, as if he'd stepped into a void. He thought, that old man's nose is keener than a police dog! When Sha Zhu showed any sign of progress, Yi Zhonghai immediately sniffed it out, like a hound catching a scent.

Sure enough, less than half an hour later Yi Zhonghai turned back. This time he carried an enamel jar; up close, a few tea leaves floated inside, steam rising like freshly boiled dumplings. He swaggered over to Sha Zhu's doorway, and in a voice neither loud nor soft said, "Sha Zhu, you look in good spirits today—any happy news?"

Sha Zhu grinned, about to speak, when Yi Zhonghai waved his hand and began, "People can't just rush forward; they must also look back at the road they came from. The year your father left the Siheyuan, he held my hand and said, 'Old Yi, Sha Zhu and He Yushui are entrusted to you'—I've remembered that words for a lifetime."

Zhao Jianguo's welding torch hesitated, the solder wire nearly fell onto the circuit board as if it might slip off a cliff. He peered through the window crack and saw Yi Zhonghai, his eyes reddened like ripe tomatoes, speaking with genuine emotion. He placed one hand on Sha Zhu's shoulder and swept the other through the air, like a conductor leading an orchestra.

"You're about to start a family, and I'm truly happy for you. But one must not forget their roots; the house next to mine, the Dong'erfang, will eventually be yours. This old bone of mine asks for nothing, just peace of mind." Sha Zhu listened, stunned, his mouth opening like a goldfish blowing bubbles, but no words came out.

Zhao Jianguo frowned. The words sounded heartfelt, but on closer look they were all scheming, like an old fox plotting a chick. The Dong'erfang? That place has been piled with coal for eight years, not even a decent door—just a dilapidated warehouse, and now it's being called 'yours sooner or later'? Moreover, Yi Zhonghai already has a house; what right does he have to allocate property? The title deed bears Sha Zhu's father's name—does he have the authority to spin such fantasies here?

Not to mention the claim 'Your father entrusted me'—when Sha Zhu's father left Sijiucheng, Yi Zhonghai wasn't even present; that line is a fabricated story, like a made‑up tale.

Zhao Jianguo set the welding torch down, his mind as clear as a mirror. He reasoned that the old man wasn't giving up; he was intensifying his tactics. When Sha Zhu broke his enamel jar last time, Yi Zhonghai didn't lose his temper on the spot—showing he understood 'retreat to advance', like a chess move, stepping back then seeking a checkmate. Now that Sha Zhu is about to marry, knowing a hard block won't work, Yi Zhonghai switches to a different method, binding him with 'gratitude' and 'future'. It's a classic three‑step scheme: first play the emotional card, like coaxing a child; then paint a big picture, like drawing a moon to lull someone to sleep; finally sow discord among outsiders. He used the same pattern on Dong Xu before, and now on Sha Zhu, it's the same play.

He stood up, brushed the dust off his trousers, and thought, there's no time to wait any longer.

That evening, Zhao Jianguo lugged a bag of roasted peanuts and shuffled into Sha Zhu's house. Sha Zhu was staring blankly at the marriage documents; seeing him arrive, he quickly offered a seat: "Jianguo, you're just in time. I've been meaning to ask—how should the names be written properly on the marriage certificate?"

Zhao Jianguo didn't answer; instead he asked, "Your father in Baoding sends ten yuan each month back, right?"

Sha Zhu was startled: "Ah, yes, he's been sending for almost ten years."

"Have you ever seen the money?"

"…No." Sha Zhu scratched his head, as if scratching an itch, "He said he'd send it to Master Yi, to have him forward it."

"Then have you ever received a letter?"

"Letter?" Sha Zhu was even more confused, "No… I don't think so. He just said times were tight, don't worry about it."

Zhao Jianguo nodded, pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, spread it on the table: "Go to the Youju and check the receipt records. In the past ten years, ten yuan each month, quarterly family letters—who was the signatory?"

Sha Zhu stared at the paper, his hand trembling like sifting chaff: "You… how do you know this?"

"How I know isn't important." Zhao Jianguo stared at him, "What matters is whose pocket your sister's money ended up in, and whether her letters ever reached you."

Sha Zhu's lips moved without sound, like a mute swallowing bitter herbs.

Zhao Jianguo added, "Think about it—Master Yi's salary is 66.5 yuan, yours 37.5; he never pads money for the Jia family, yet every year he 'collects' your father's remittance? What's his aim? Your gratitude? Yet after all these years, have you ever received a single yuan?"

Sha Zhu jerked his head up, his gaze a little vacant, as if his soul had been lost.

Zhao Jianguo said no more, stood and left. Reaching the doorway, he turned back and dropped, "The Youju opens at eight tomorrow. If you want the truth, don't sleep too soundly."

He stepped out of the Courtyard, the night wind clearing his mind further. He mulled over how something was off. Yi Zhonghai's words today weren't spontaneous; they were pre‑planned. To show up the day after Sha Zhu obtained the marriage paperwork to 'have a talk' shows he'd been watching, like a tail‑end. And using the Dong'erfang as bait proves he knows Sha Zhu's greatest lack—a sense of belonging.

That old man never treats anyone as family, only as pieces on a board. Dong Xu is his technical heir, Sha Zhu his unpaid labor, and even He Yushui is merely a decorative element of his 'good‑person' persona. He trades 'care' for 'obedience', 'promises' for 'loyalty', and blocks information to maintain control. It's the classic three‑pronged power play: bestow favors, paint fantasies, cut communication—like a magician making people spin in circles.

The more Zhao Jianguo thought, the colder his back became. He had previously helped Dong Xu replace a master, awakening Sha Zhu, thinking he'd only removed two pieces. Now he sees Yi Zhonghai is moving the entire board. Yi Zhonghai won't settle peacefully; a counter‑strike is sure to follow.

Moreover, the target is very likely himself.

He returned to his room, sat down, pulled out a small notebook, and began taking notes. The first page read: 'Yi Zhonghai Control Mode Analysis.' Below were three points:

1. Material charity: he doesn't actually spend money, but makes people think he does. For example, 'collecting remittances' or 'helping watch over things'; in reality he pockets the profit, like a thief slipping cash into his own pocket.

2. Spiritual dependence: repeatedly stressing 'I'm doing this for you' and 'you can't leave me,' creating emotional hostage‑taking, like binding someone tightly with a rope.

3. Information blockade: severing external contacts so people can only get information through him. For instance, withholding letters, falsifying remittance reports, distorting facts—like covering a pot, preventing the truth from emerging.

Each of these three is lethal. Worse, this pattern has been operating in the Siheyuan for over a decade, rooted like an old tree—impossible to uproot. As an outsider, Zhao Jianguo suddenly stepping in to disrupt—can Yi Zhonghai tolerate that?

Impossible.

He closed the notebook, leaned against the Chair, and his mind was already plotting the next move. How will Yi Zhonghai counter? Spread rumors? Win allies? Or just go hard? Like a battle, he must study the opponent's tactics.

Just as he was thinking, a burst of Footsteps came from outside. He looked up to see Sha Zhu at the doorway, clutching the paper, his face as white as a sheet.

"Jianguo…" his voice trembled, "I just asked my father. He said that in these ten years he sent sixty letters and sixty payments. But I haven't seen a single letter, nor received a single yuan."

Zhao Jianguo said nothing, only nodded.

Sha Zhu gritted his teeth: "Tomorrow… I'll go to the Youju."

"Go." Zhao Jianguo stood, "Copy the receipt records, preferably bring a witness."

Sha Zhu turned to leave, then halted: "Jianguo, if… if he really intercepted them, what should I do?"

Zhao Jianguo looked at him, his tone calm: "What do you think?"

Sha Zhu clenched his fist, knuckles white like winter branches: "I… I can't be a fool forever."

Having said that, he turned and left.

Zhao Jianguo stood in the doorway, watching his back, yet felt no ease at all. He knew that a check at the Youju tomorrow would expose the truth. He also knew Yi Zhonghai wouldn't sit idly by.

That old man, to have become a 'big boss' in the Siheyuan, relied not on virtue but on tactics. If he can spin a fantasy for Sha Zhu today, he can frame someone else tomorrow. And he, now, has become a thorn in his eye.

He returned to his room, fished an old biscuit box from under the bed, opened it, and inside lay neatly stacked several sheets: one was the Steel Rolling Factory Schedule Board, another the Siheyuan households' water‑electricity payment records, and a third a summary of Yi Zhonghai's outings over the past six months.

These were all things he had quietly recorded over the past months. He doesn't trust the system, only the evidence, like a judge weighing a case—he must present proof.

He added today's new finding: "March 18, Yi Zhonghai mentioned to Sha Zhu that the Dong'erfang would belong to him, apparently attempting to re‑establish control. The same day, he reminded Sha Zhu to check the remittance records, and the other party agreed to act tomorrow."

After writing, he closed the box and placed it back under the bed.

Outside, moonlight fell on the courtyard wall like a thin frost, cold and crisp. He stood at the desk and suddenly felt the battle had only just begun.

He isn't here to be a hero; he's here to dismantle the scheme.

And Yi Zhonghai, evidently, has already sensed it.

Early the next morning, Zhao Jianguo just got up when he heard someone shouting outside, "Jianguo! Jianguo!"

He opened the door and saw Sha Zhu standing in the Courtyard, clutching a sheet of paper, his face as iron‑blue as a pot's bottom.

"Found it." his voice trembled, "Ten years, sixty remittances, signatory—Yi Zhonghai. Not a single letter was forwarded."

Zhao Jianguo stared at the paper in his hand, saying nothing.

Sha Zhu lifted his head, eyes blood‑shot like a rabbit's, "I… I'm going to find him right now."

Zhao Jianguo blocked him: "Wait."

"You still make me wait?!" Sha Zhu roared like thunder, "He deceived me for ten years! He withheld my sister's money! He withheld my father's letter! I..."

"If you go, you also need to be prepared." Zhao Jianguo lowered his voice, "He won't admit it; he'll say 'I'm just keeping it for you,' he'll say 'I'm afraid you'll waste it,' he'll rally others to say you're ungrateful. Do you have evidence? Do you have witnesses? Do you have a countermove?"

Sha Zhu froze.

Zhao Jianguo patted his shoulder: "Go back, copy a copy of your father's correspondence addresses, and find someone to accompany you. Don't go alone; we need an open confrontation."

Sha Zhu gritted his teeth, nodded, and turned to leave.

Zhao Jianguo stood at the doorway, watching his back, and suddenly felt that he too ought to act.

He went back inside, pulled out a form from the cabinet—the Steel Rolling Factory temporary worker application. On it, the name "Ma Dongmei" was conspicuously written.

He stared at that name and suddenly laughed.

Yi Zhonghai wanted to use Dong'erfang to tie down Sha Zhu?

Sure.

Then he would use a formal position to firmly nail Ma Dongmei in the Siheyuan.

You draw pies, I'll give substance.

You play fake, I'll come for real.

He folded the form, slipped it into his pocket, was about to go out, when he suddenly heard a low murmur from next door.

It was Yi Zhonghai's voice, kept extremely low: "... We can't wait any longer; he's already started checking the accounts. We need to find a way to turn the tide back."

Zhao Jianguo's hand slowly clenched the form in his pocket.