Chapter 82: Cleverly Outwitting Agents, Danger Everywhere

Zhao Jianguo stared at the new note on the bulletin board, the wind making the words "Check is allowed, don't blame anyone for not reminding you" flutter. He didn't move, didn't speak, just reached out and pressed the corner of the note down, as if afraid it would fly away, and also as if counting how many strokes the characters had.

The dimwit was still cleaning the glass frame, humming and running farther than a donkey. Zhao Jianguo gave him a glance, turned and headed toward the electrical workshop.

When the door opened, Sha Zhu was squatting by the stove boiling water, an aluminum lunchbox on the table, steam leaping upward. "Take it easy," he looked up, "I almost thought the coal cart had flattened you into a pancake."

"Almost," Zhao Jianguo placed the reference book on the table, casually unfastened his coat buttons, "the brake line broke precisely, right at the hilltop."

He Yushui stuck her head out from the doorway: "Did you really get your hands dirty?"

"It's not that I got my hands dirty; I've been watching for a while." Zhao Jianguo opened the book, pulled out a torn page from the log, "Someone ripped this page in the archive room; the back has the words 'Moon Sets over West Warehouse' — matching the cipher in the blood letter."

Jia Dongxu stood by the window, his finger drawing a line on the windowsill: "Something happened at my place too; a section of the Electric Wire outside the wall broke, and there's a mud stain under the windowsill."

"Labor protection boots," Zhao Jianguo nodded, "the ones the crew at West City Freight Station wear."

Sha Zhu slapped his thigh: "Isn't that Old Ma's team? They asked me for a Wrench to fix a forklift a couple of days ago!"

"Don't rush to name names," Zhao Jianguo spread the torn page on the table, "the problem now is they know we're investigating, but we don't know how many informants they have or where they're hidden."

He Yushui twisted a towel to dry her hands: "Is Old Zhou's side still usable?"

"It can be used, but he won't voluntarily hand anything over," Zhao Jianguo said, "Today I noted several timestamps: December 24th, 23:17, seventeen minutes before the boiler room lost power. At that moment the duty log didn't list a name, but the shift‑change slip bears Yi Zhonghai's signature."

Jia Dongxu gritted his teeth: "It's him again."

"He's just a catalyst," Zhao Jianguo folded the paper and slipped it into his inner pocket, "the people behind don't want us touching West Warehouse, which means there's something wrong there. So we have to go there."

"Are you crazy?" Sha Zhu stared, "They just cut your brake!"

"So he's afraid we'll go," Zhao Jianguo smiled, "Fear indicates there's something there."

He Yushui lowered her head, thinking: "I can have my sister‑in‑law invite Old Zhou for drinks again, coax some words out. He mentioned a couple of days ago that in the 1962 sealed files there's an 'external investigation record bag'; no one can see it, even the security department needs a slip to access it."

"Then we'll watch that bag," Zhao Jianguo stood up, "Tomorrow afternoon, during the ten‑minute window when Old Zhou changes shift to smoke, we'll go in again."

"You want me to go smash the lunchbox?" Sha Zhu grinned.

"Not this time," Zhao Jianguo shook his head, "Tomorrow at noon you go, say you lost a plum‑shaped Wrench and are looking for it urgently. Old Zhou knows you, won't stop you. Go in, walk around, note the filing‑cabinet numbers, especially those with iron clamps."

"Got it," Sha Zhu slapped his forehead, "pretend to look for something, actually scouting the spot."

"Right." Zhao Jianguo looked at Jia Dongxu, "Copy that note from your dad, place a copy on the drawer's surface. If anyone rummages through your house, let them take it."

"You want them to steal?" Jia Dongxu was startled.

"Make them think we're unguarded," Zhao Jianguo's gaze darkened, "the more panicked we are, the bolder they act. The calmer we stay, the more likely they reveal themselves."

Sha Zhu chewed on a candy, "Zhao Jianguo, you're fishing."

"It's not fishing." Zhao Jianguo picked up a fountain pen, drew a circle in his notebook, "it's opening a window. They like to operate in the dark; we open the window and let them fly in themselves."

He Yushui suddenly laughed out loud, "You're pretty good at setting the table."

"I don't set tables, but I remember who once treated me to baozi." Zhao Jianguo looked at Sha Zhu, "That day you hid a note under your lunchbox, very tidy."

Sha Zhu chuckled, "I learned that from you, after all."

The four were talking when Footsteps came from outside; Uncle Wang was passing by with a Toolbox, saw the crowd inside, leaned in and asked, "What are you fixing? So lively?"

"Fixing the radio," Zhao Jianguo replied offhand, "Sha Zhu's Old Phoenix has gone mute again."

Uncle Wang nodded, "A couple of days ago I heard him play 'Sand Family Beach'; he sang louder than the broadcast."

"It's just too loud, keeps me from sleeping," Sha Zhu quickly added, "It has to be repaired."

Uncle Wang waved his hand and left. When the door closed, everyone inside laughed.

"It's performed quite realistically," He Yushui lowered her voice.

"From now on, that's what we'll tell anyone we meet," Zhao Jianguo tucked away his notebook, "If anyone asks, we're fixing the radio, checking equipment aging, inspecting circuit hazards. Nothing else, not a single word."

As dusk approached, Zhao Jianguo went alone to the coal basket in the courtyard corner, slipped the reference book beneath the coal pile, then covered it with a torn burlap sack. He squatted there, lit a cigarette, the flame flickering.

Before he finished, Sha Zhu brought over a cup of hot tea: "Here, warm up."

"Thanks."

"I'll sleep in the Kitchen," Sha Zhu said, "the door stays open, anyone who comes in can be heard."

"No need for a night watch," Zhao Jianguo exhaled a puff of smoke, "they won't come tonight."

"Why?"

"Because they want us to think they'll come." Zhao Jianguo stubbed out the cigarette, "Those who truly act never take an obvious path."

Sha Zhu scratched his head, "Your words give me a headache."

"What it means is they prefer us to scare ourselves," Zhao Jianguo stood up, "You go sleep; tomorrow morning we'll have to act out losing the Wrench again."

After Sha Zhu left, Zhao Jianguo returned to the room and wrote several lines in his notebook:

- West Warehouse Freight Station, night entry‑exit log

- Old Zhou's mentioned "external investigation bag", cabinet number?

- Brake‑line cut, fine steel wire, professional tools

- Shoe‑print mud pattern, with coal slag, from Coal Platform No. 3

After writing, he closed the notebook and slipped it under the bedboard.

Early the next morning, Sha Zhu indeed ran to the archive room carrying an empty lunchbox, shouting, "Where's my Wrench? Who saw it?"

Zhao Jianguo and Jia Dongxu arrived twenty minutes later, handed over the investigation order, Old Zhou frowned, flipped through the register, a cigarette holder perched on his ear.

"Just ten minutes," Old Zhou said, "Don't rummage around."

"Just look at that boiler‑room book," Zhao Jianguo handed over the hot tea, "Have a warm sip."

Old Zhou didn't push it away, took it.

He opened the log, Zhao Jianguo quickly located that torn fragment, penciled "23:17" on the edge. He pretended to turn the page, but actually used his fingernail to lift the fragment gently, making the back line "Moon Sets over West Warehouse" clearer.

At that moment, a shout came from outside: "Ah, my memory! The Wrench is in my trouser pocket!"

Old Zhou frowned, stood up and went out to scold someone.

Zhao Jianguo immediately pulled out the torn page and slipped it into the Mechanical Handbook's pocket.

Ten minutes later, the two left the file room.

Reaching the South Gate ramp, Zhao Jianguo slowed the cart and tested the brake. Normal. He rode up, slid halfway, then suddenly squeezed—

It wouldn't brake.

The cart's speed surged, and a coal transport cart ahead was slowly entering the station, the tracks clanking.

He didn't shout or panic; he kicked the ground, rolled off the cart, tucked his head and flipped twice, landing by the side of the track. The cart hit the guardrail and tipped.

He got up, and the first thing he did was feel for the book in his chest—still there.

Looking back, the brake line's break was clean, as if cut.

He crouched, scraped the cut with his fingernail, and whispered, "This time, they didn't even bother to disguise it."

Back at the Siheyuan, Jia Dongxu was waiting in the courtyard; seeing his clothes torn, he immediately asked, "Is it again…"

"Broken," Zhao Jianguo said, leaning the cart against the wall. "Just like yesterday, same spot, same method."

"They're only missing a signature," Jia Dongxu gritted his teeth.

"Not missing," Zhao Jianguo sneered, "They want us to think they're arrogant."

"What does that mean?"

"A truly arrogant person wouldn't keep using the same method to kill," Zhao Jianguo said, pulling out the book. "They want us panicked, shouting, and to go to the Security Department."

"Then what do we do?"

"We go to the West Warehouse," Zhao Jianguo handed him the book, "Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Right," Zhao Jianguo said, looking at the sky. "During Old Zhou's ten‑minute smoking break, we didn't get the external dispatch bag. But they're afraid we'll go to the West Warehouse, implying there's a record there. If we don't investigate, they won't believe it."

"You mean, pretend to go?"

"Not pretending," Zhao Jianguo shook his head. "We really go, but not to look for records—to look for a person."

"Who?"

"The one wearing safety boots," Zhao Jianguo stood up. "He came to your house last night, mud on his soles. Today I circled the coal platform; under Platform No. 3 there's a fresh footprint that matches the one on your windowsill."

Jia Dongxu's eyes lit up: "Does he patrol every night?"

"Probably," Zhao Jianguo nodded. "Tonight at eight, he'll enter through the East Gate on time, loop to Platform No. 3, stay ten minutes, then leave. I've been watching for two days."

"Then we ambush?"

"No ambush," Zhao Jianguo smiled, "We let him see us."

"Huh?"

"If he sees us, he'll go back to report," Zhao Jianguo tucked the steel pen into his pocket. "When they move, we'll know where the nest is."

Sha Zhu peeked out of the Kitchen, "Want me to bring a stick?"

"Bring a teapot," Zhao Jianguo said, "We're going to have tea and, while we're at it, check the coal pile."

He Yushui hung a red cloth on the windowsill, fluttering in the wind.

As dusk approached, Zhao Jianguo sat by the coal basket, notebook in hand, writing.

He finished a line, looked up toward the west wing.

Then he lowered his head and kept writing.

The pen tip scratched the paper, a rustling sound.

He wrote:

"8:03, East Gate opens, a dark shadow enters.

8:14, Platform No. 3, stops.

8:15, spots me.

8:16, withdraws.

—He didn't run; he walked away slowly."