Chapter 53: Conspiracy Emerges, Hidden Currents Surge

The next day, just as dawn was breaking, Zhao Jianguo was standing by the back wall of the new house, running his finger slowly around the window frame. The wood was still unpainted, a bit splintery to the touch, but he was satisfied. The window was deliberately left for Su Qing—she had said she wanted to see whether the light in his room was on, so he actually made the window larger than anyone else's. He looked up and guessed, thinking he would need to replace it with a brighter bulb tonight, and point the kettle spout outward so she could see the curling white steam from afar.

He went back inside, lifted two hot water kettles, and as usual planned to deliver some hot water to a few elders in the courtyard. As soon as he stepped out, he saw a deaf old woman at the Courtyard Gate collecting laundry lines; her back looked as if something had stung her, and unlike usual she didn't wait for him to approach and chat, but buried her head and hurried back inside, the door slamming shut with a crisp "clack".

Zhao Jianguo paused, then headed toward Qin Huairu's house. The door was ajar; he knocked twice, and someone inside answered. When Qin Huairu took the kettle, her hand trembled slightly, and the spout nearly struck the threshold.

"Jianguo, can your bricks really withstand rain soaking?" she whispered, as if afraid the walls might hear.

"What, did someone outside say something?" Zhao Jianguo said, still smiling.

"Nothing much… just yesterday Jia Zhangshi was muttering by the well platform, saying that cement mixed with coal ash is a sham, it crumbles when soaked. She also said… if your house collapses, it won't just be your family's problem."

Zhao Jianguo's smile remained, but his heart sank. He nodded, "Her words aren't entirely wrong. The coal ash was indeed added, but the ratio was measured precisely and the pressing was solid. The technical department will issue a report tomorrow; if you're uneasy, we can look together then."

Qin Huairu moved her lips, then softly said, "Then you… take care of yourself."

He carried the empty kettle back, and as he passed the well platform, Jia Zhangshi was standing there, her voice raised to a shrill pitch, as if she wanted the whole courtyard to hear:

"My maternal nephew has worked at a building materials factory for twenty years! He can spot at a glance which bricks fear water and which are sturdy! This kind of ash‑mixed material lasts at most a year; a strong wind cracks it, heavy rain makes it collapse! Tell me, who would still dare live in this?"

A few idle bystanders nearby nodded in agreement. Jia Dongxu squatted beside them, silently smoking. Zhao Jianguo didn't hurry to leave; he leaned against the opposite Wall Base, took out a toothbrush and toothpaste, and began brushing his teeth at a leisurely pace.

"Not to mention that girl Su Qing, of upright lineage, the factory even grooms as a reserve cadre," Jia Zhangshi glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her tone rising again, "don't be tempted by a fleeting novelty, marrying into a dangerous house and risking her life as well!"

Zhao Jianguo paused his brushing for a moment, didn't look up, and pretended not to hear.

After rinsing his mouth, he spoke slowly, "Aunt Jia, your information is truly sharp. Since your nephew knows the trade so well, why hasn't he been invited to be a consultant for the factory's technical department?"

Jia Zhangshi choked slightly, her voice rising further, "I'm doing this for everyone's good, aren't I? Public supervision is a moral imperative!"

"Indeed," Zhao Jianguo nodded, "supervision is a good thing. But if someone uses supervision as a pretext to spit into another's pot, it becomes tainted."

He finished speaking, turned and walked away, his steps unhurried. Yet as he rounded the corner, he saw Yi Zhonghai sitting on a small stool at Jia Zhangshi's doorway, holding a file and repairing a three‑legged wooden bench.

Their eyes met; Yi Zhonghai didn't stop his work, but a half‑smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, Jianguo, back with the water?" he asked leisurely.

"Yes, I thought I'd see how busy you are," Zhao Jianguo took two steps closer, "the bench is being repaired quite meticulously."

"It's an old piece; a bit of repair and it's still usable," Yi Zhonghai said, lowering his head to file the wood, "much less hassle than your new house."

"Indeed," Zhao Jianguo replied, "that's why I wanted to ask a favor—later I'll have you repair the chairs in my new house; the payment can be negotiated."

Yi Zhonghai's file paused, and he looked up at him, "Your house? I wouldn't dare touch it. If it collapses one day, this old skeleton of mine couldn't bear the responsibility."

Zhao Jianguo laughed, "Master Yi, you say it well. Whether a house collapses depends on the solidity of the bricks, not who touched them. If you put it that way, who would dare sit on a bench you repaired? Aren't you afraid the three legs won't support a person?"

Yi Zhonghai's smile froze for a moment, then he waved his hand, "You kid are quick‑tongued. But words are words, matters are matters. If the public is discussing it, that shows there's a problem. If you truly have no issue, why fear an investigation?"

"I'm not afraid of an investigation," Zhao Jianguo's smile faded, "I'm only afraid someone will use the name of the 'public' to pour sand into someone else's shoes."

Having said that, he turned and left. When he reached his own doorway, he glanced back—Yi Zhonghai was still hunched over the bench, but Jia Zhangshi had already moved to the doorframe, and the two exchanged a glance, swift as a gust of wind.

Zhao Jianguo entered, set the kettle down, and sat on the edge of the bed, dazed for a moment. He recalled how Su Qing had looked yesterday when she said, "I can see whether your light is on," her voice soft, her eyes seeming to shine. Yet today, she hadn't appeared at all, not even at the usual meeting spot in the factory.

Just as he was thinking, Sha Zhu pushed the door open, clutching an oil-paper packet in his hand.

"Jianguo, something's happened," Sha Zhu shut the door behind him, his voice low, "Su Qing didn't go into the workshop today; she went to the security department first. I heard it was… she received a note."

"What note?"

"Anonymous," Sha Zhu leaned in, "it said, 'Lightweight bricks are poisonous; after marriage the husband will die.' It also claimed you were using workers' lives to test new material, urging her to get out quickly."

Zhao Jianguo's fingers clenched hard, the pressure making his palm ache.

"She believed it?" he asked.

"She didn't say much, but her expression was off. I saw her fold the note over and over, slip it into her pocket, and she didn't smile all day."

Zhao Jianguo stayed silent, got up, fetched an Oil Lamp from the cabinet, and refilled the kettle with water.

"What are you doing?" Sha Zhu asked.

"Lighting a lamp," he said, "to boil water."

"What lamp are you lighting in broad daylight?"

"Someone doesn't want her to see the light," Zhao Jianguo twisted the lamp wick, struck a match, "but I insist she sees clearly."

At night, a dim yellow glow seeped from the new house's rear window. The kettle spout emitted white steam, drifting strand by strand into the cold air, rising upward. Zhao Jianguo sat at the table, awake, waiting to see whether a figure would stop outside that window.

Early the next morning, he deliberately left early, bought two baskets of buns at the Courtyard Gate, and headed toward the factory. Sure enough, he ran into Su Qing halfway.

She kept her head down, her steps faster than usual, as if deliberately avoiding him.

"Morning," Zhao Jianguo stopped her, handed over the buns, "bought them on the way, cabbage filling, the same taste as your mother makes."

Su Qing didn't take them, nor did she look up.

"Jianguo, those bricks… really have no problem?" she finally spoke, her voice a bit hoarse.

"The technical department releases its report today," he said, "you can investigate, ask around, even break it open to see. But one thing—" he paused, "I never lied to you, nor have I ever joked with lives at stake."

Su Qing bit her lip, fished a neatly folded note from her pocket, and slipped it into his hand.

"This," she said, "I don't believe it. But someone does."

Zhao Jianguo squeezed the note without opening it. He knew who wrote it and who passed it on—Yi Zhonghai, staying behind the scenes, using Jia Zhangshi's mouth and the name of the 'public' to achieve a double blow: destroying his house and tearing apart his marriage.

He slowly tightened his grip on the note and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

"The light is on, the tea is hot," he said, looking at Su Qing, "rumors claim my house will collapse, but I've been waiting for you every day. If you don't believe it, come to the back window and see the white steam; I've kept it burning all night without stopping."

Su Qing's eyes were slightly reddened; she said nothing, turned and walked away. After a few steps, she stopped, took a box of matches from her bag, and gently placed it on the stone platform by the road.

Zhao Jianguo walked over, picked up the matchbox—it was the same kind he used to light the lamp yesterday, and his household was the only one in the courtyard that stocked that batch.

He stared at the matchbox for two seconds, then turned and headed toward Yi Zhonghai's house. At the doorway, he saw the half‑repaired wooden bench still there, a "Yi" carved on the leg, the cut still fresh.

He didn't knock or call out; he simply stood quietly at the doorway and gently placed the matchbox on the bench.