Chapter 81: Delving Deeper, Uncovering the Conspiracy

At first light, Zhao Jianguo crouched at the electrical room doorway, turning screws. The wrench spun rapidly in his hand, flattening the metal sheet on the door frame bit by bit, as if he were hammering last night's stale air into the wall cracks.

The lights inside were still on, and several sheets lay on the Desk; the top one bore the words "Investigate to the End," the ink so deep it nearly tore the paper.

He stopped looking at that sheet, tried the door lock, turned it two turns, nodded in satisfaction. Just as he rose, Footsteps sounded, growing nearer.

"Jianguo, this early?"

It was Jia Dongxu, carrying a Meal Ticket box, his brows furrowed as if he hadn't slept well.

"You're treating me to breakfast?" Zhao Jianguo stood, brushing dust from his hands.

"Don't joke, you were lingering at my Courtyard Gate at three a. m. last night—pretend I didn't see?" Jia Dongxu set the Meal Ticket box on the Desk, "You've got business."

Zhao Jianguo smiled, didn't deny it. He closed the door, pulled a battered Mechanical Maintenance Manual from under the Toolbox, opened its inner pocket, and took out several sheets.

"December 24, year 62, the shift your father covered—do you know about that?"

Jia Dongxu's complexion changed: "Who told you to look into this?"

"Jia Wu's log, blood letter, duty roster." Zhao Jianguo laid them out one by one, "Three items together isn't a coincidence."

Jia Dongxu stared at the Photocopy of the duty roster, his fingers tightening. He recognized the handwriting—it was his father's signature, but the line beside it reading "Yi Zhonghai on sick leave" was crooked, clearly added later.

"What do you mean?"

"It means your father shouldn't have died that night." Zhao Jianguo's voice was low, "He was covering Yi Zhonghai's shift; seventeen minutes before the boiler room explosion the power went out, and someone made a connection at the Wall Base on the west side in the dark. Jia Wu ran into it, so he was killed."

Jia Dongxu snapped his head up: "Do you have evidence?"

"I do." Zhao Jianguo pushed over a scanned copy of the blood letter, "The author is now in a labor reform farm, barely holding on. He says he was forced, signed the substitute shift form just to get out."

Jia Dongxu's hand trembled.

His father had said before he left, "Jia Wu shouldn't have gone to the boiler room that night."

He didn't understand then; now he does.

"What are you planning?" he whispered, voice very low.

"Investigate." Zhao Jianguo looked at him, "Not for revenge, but to let the dead rest and the living be at ease. If you're scared, you can still leave now."

Jia Dongxu stayed still. He stared at the blood letter for a full half‑minute, then suddenly lifted the Meal Ticket lid, pulling out a small slip from beneath— a fragment of his father's notes, reading: "December 24, night shift, Yi said someone 'from above' came, asked me to cover for him. I refused; he slipped me twenty yuan. I mentioned reporting to the plant; he said 'internal matter, keep quiet.'"

The two exchanged a glance and fell silent.

"You've suspected this for a long time?" Zhao Jianguo asked.

"It was three years after my father's death that I found this paper in an old drawer." Jia Dongxu's voice was hoarse, "I always thought it was nonsense… but it wasn't."

Zhao Jianguo nodded, "It isn't now. This can't be shouldered alone; we need help."

"Who are you pulling in?"

"Sha Zhu, He Yushui."

Jia Dongxu was startled: "Can you trust them?"

"Sha Zhu talks a lot but his heart is upright. He Yushui is shrewd and doesn't meddle blindly. This matter needs them to blaze a clear path."

Just then, a humming tune came from outside—it was unmistakably Sha Zhu.

He carried an aluminum Meal Ticket box, swaying as he approached, flour still on his face: "Yo, meeting? Take me along, I just steamed buns, still hot."

Zhao Jianguo didn't stop him, pushing the sheets onto the Desk: "Read them first, then eat."

Sha Zhu froze, set down the Meal Ticket, leaned over to read. The more he read, the darker his face grew; after finishing he slammed the Desk: "Damn! Yi Zhonghai, that bastard! No wonder Jia Daniu clutched forty yuan on her way out, now we see where the money came from!"

"It's more than money," Zhao Jianguo said, "It's lives."

Sha Zhu gasped twice, then stared: "Then what are you waiting for? Let's go to the plant now and dig through the files!"

"The archive room isn't open to just anyone." He Yushui's voice came from the doorway. She carried a bamboo basket with several large cabbages, "The 62‑year files have been sealed; without a Security Department approval slip, you can't even get through the door."

"I have a way." Zhao Jianguo fished a paper from the drawer, "Technical Department Temporary Investigation Order, proper title, proper reason—inspect equipment aging hazards."

He Yushui took it, looked, and laughed, "You still have that thing? Fine, I know Lao Zhou from the archive; his wife works in my workshop, and recently asked me to find a match for her daughter. I'll tell him to turn a blind eye."

"You handle the contacts." Zhao Jianguo nodded, "Jia Dongxu handles the paperwork and signatures, Sha Zhu watches the perimeter, and if anyone questions you, you must be able to deflect."

Sha Zhu puffed his chest, "Count me in! At worst I'll say I came to fix your radio, and accuse you of hiding half a box of my tea leaves."

Zhao Jianguo smiled, "Alright, that's the plan."

The four gathered around the Desk, reviewing the plan again—time, route, excuses, backup plans, nothing omitted.

"Remember," Zhao Jianguo concluded, "We must not mention 'Jia Wu', not mention 'Yi Zhonghai', and never say 'murder'. We're investigating the boiler room wiring, understand?"

"Understood." The three replied in unison.

Daylight was bright, and the Courtyard echoed with sweeping sounds, children calling for their mothers, and a "bang" as a pot lid lifted somewhere. The Siheyuan returned to its ordinary appearance.

But they knew some things could never be undone.

"Then… when do we act?" Sha Zhu asked.

"The day after tomorrow." Zhao Jianguo folded the investigation order, slipped it into his undershirt pocket, "The archive changes shifts every Wednesday afternoon, a ten‑minute handover; Lao Zhou goes to the restroom to smoke. That's the window."

He Yushui nodded, "I'll invite Lao Zhou's wife to dinner a day early, casually mention 'Zhao Jianguo has been obsessing over the old equipment, fearing an accident.'"

Jia Dongxu added, "I'll issue a notice in the name of the Safety Department, saying we'll conduct a comprehensive inspection soon, and ask all divisions to cooperate."

Zhao Jianguo looked at them, each nodding.

These people usually bicker over trivialities for ages, but when it comes to the crucial moment, none backs down.

"Alright." He stood, collected the papers into the metal box, locked it, "Then it's the day after tomorrow."

Sha Zhu, before leaving, turned back suddenly: "Jianguo, if we actually uncover something, what then?"

Zhao Jianguo didn't answer immediately. He walked to the window, looking toward the bulletin board. The slip that read "Who wants to be Sha Zhu's second? I'll go" was still there, rustling loudly as the wind blew.

"If we find it, we'll put it out in the open." He turned back, looking at Sha Zhu, "No one can hide it."

Sha Zhu grinned, "Then I'm definitely the second."

He Yushui also laughed, "I don't want to be third, but I'll make sure Lao Zhou gets drunk."

Jia Dongxu was the last to leave; at the doorway he paused, "Jianguo, what if someone blocks us?"

"Intercept?" Zhao Jianguo rubbed the cooperation order in his pants pocket, "That shows we've found the right place."

After the three left, the room fell silent.

Zhao Jianguo sat at the table, took out the cooperation order again and looked it over once. The paper was smooth, the handwriting clear, bearing the red seal of the Technical Section.

He lightly stroked that seal, as if confirming whether it was genuine.

Then he stood up, walked to the bookshelf in the corner, and slipped the Mechanical Manual back into place. He then bent over, pulled out the black‑wrapped factory record from under the bed planks, and pressed it flat again.

After doing that, he returned to the window.

In the courtyard, Er Lengzi was wiping the notice board with a rag, humming an off‑key tune. Aunt Li was hanging clothes, Uncle Wang was squatting under the eaves repairing a pot, and cooking smoke drifted upward in wisps.

Everything was as usual.

But he knew the wind had not yet risen, the blade was already drawn.

He slipped his hand into his pants pocket, his fingertips touching the edge of the cooperation order.

Tomorrow, the archive room's door will crack open a slit.

The day after tomorrow, the truth will leak in a shaft of light.

He was about to turn around when suddenly he heard a sound outside.

It was from the notice board.

He looked over and saw a new slip of paper lifted at a corner by the wind, not yet firmly pasted.

It read: "**You may investigate, but don't blame anyone for not warning you. **"