Chapter 43: The People of Jiangcun

Because Wei Yin was coming, Wang Zhong specially chose a high-end restaurant.

One with private rooms. And he ordered plenty of beer.

Hanging out with the bureau’s beauty and her best friend had once existed only in Wang Zhong’s fantasies—now it was real, and his imagination ran wild.

Soon, Wei Yin arrived with her friend, gracefully stepping in, greeting Jiang Yuan, chatting briefly with those already there, open and brisk in manner. She worked in internal affairs, was beautiful, knew many people, and could strike up a conversation with anyone.

She chatted with one group, laughed with another, and soon made Wang Zhong feel miserable.

“Hey, I think it’s not going to work,” Wang Zhong slipped back into his role as an invisible nobody, sat beside Jiang Yuan, and grew listless.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Yuan asked.

This was his first colleague gathering since joining the office—he naturally wanted to fit in.

Wang Zhong sighed: “We’ve got so many wolves and so little meat… I’m probably never going to get ahead. Sigh…”

Jiang Yuan, following his lead, said casually: “Don’t be so pessimistic.”

“How can I not be pessimistic?” Wang Zhong drank some beer, his emotions rising: “Look at Old Huang—he practically wears tight clothes all winter just to show off his abs. And you, Jiang Yuan—tall, handsome, and skilled… Then there’s Guo Haitao—wait and see, the restaurant manager’s gonna come over and kiss his ass any minute…”

As he spoke, the private room door was knocked on.

“An unexpected guest! Commander Guo, what an honor…” The manager entered with a smile, pulled out a pack of Zhonghua, and began handing out cigarettes to everyone.

Most cops were heavy smokers—even Wei Yin and her friend lit up, blowing smoke rings.

“Don’t call me commander—I’m just a errand boy. If anyone hears, they’ll laugh. We’re just having a private get-together, no need to fuss.” Guo Haitao took a cigarette and lit one for each of them.

“How can I not fuss? If word gets out, people’ll say I’m rude.” The manager bent to light the cigarette, said a few more polite words, then the waiters brought in fruit platters and beer—he hurriedly directed them to place them on the table: “Just a little fruit and beer, a token of our appreciation, a token of our appreciation…”

Guo Haitao pushed back, like a relative refusing red envelopes during the New Year.

“Keep the fruit platter, but no beer—we won’t finish it,” Wei Yin said, ending their back-and-forth.

Guo Haitao insisted more firmly, seeing the manager and the beer out of the room, then turned back with a smile: “Restaurant owners are too sharp—I didn’t expect to be recognized… Alright, formalities done, let’s enjoy ourselves.”

“Commander Guo has wide connections.”

“Commander Guo’s got it going on.”

Everyone ate small watermelons and cherry tomatoes, teasing Guo Haitao along the way.

Wang Zhong chimed in with a couple of compliments, then turned back to Jiang Yuan and sighed: “We tech guys have zero room to shine in settings like this.”

“Just scan the manager’s fingerprint—maybe he’s got a criminal record, and you can arrest him,” Jiang Yuan offered a reasonable suggestion.

Wang Zhong’s mood had just been set—pfft—he burst out laughing.

Jiang Yuan also picked up a bottle of beer. After all, he’d only recently graduated, and eating and chatting with classmates was very different from eating and networking with colleagues.

After drinking more, Wang Zhong became lively.

Wei Yin and her friend remained effortlessly sociable; the several male colleagues of similar age, even when playing off each other, were merely pulled this way and that by her energy—like raw recruits entering an interrogation room for the first time.

The group finished dinner laughing and chatting, stepped out of the restaurant, and the wind made them all a little unsteady.

“Let’s take cabs. I’ll call one for everyone,” Guo Haitao, having stolen the spotlight, knew how to end things properly.

Someone politely declined: “No need—I’ll take the bus, same thing.”

“You’re wearing pants,” Guo Haitao said, referring to the police trousers.

Nowadays, unless on duty, cops avoided wearing uniforms entirely—some even changed out of their uniforms to buy a pack of cigarettes, adding a jacket over top.

But most uniformed cops were used to wearing police trousers all day long—on duty, in interrogation, on patrol, even after work, they wore them home, as if they’d wear them in the shower too—so much so that police dogs wandering the station often got blinded by the glare off the trousers, colloquially called “blinded by the pants.”

Still, drinking and wearing police trousers raised concern, so everyone tried to avoid it.

A colleague in police trousers waved it off: “No problem—the light’s dim at night. If someone’s staring at your pants, they’d better recognize them as police pants.”

Several laughed aloud; someone seized the moment: “Then Wei Yin’s the one who should be wearing police pants.”

“I’ve got everyone protecting me,” Wei Yin cheerfully pulled everyone onto the same side, adding: “And don’t stare too hard—white shirts are the real danger.”

Guo Haitao laughed loudly: “The white shirts we see here are probably all salespeople.”

In the police force, only officers of rank three or higher could wear white shirts. Below that, all shirts were sky blue. Rank three was typically held only by directors of prefecture-level bureaus—in Ningtai County’s bureau, even the director wore blue shirts.

But police academies and higher-level departments had more white shirts. For county police, seeing a white shirt was like seeing an imperial envoy.

Though the chance was minuscule, Wei Yin had successfully created an atmosphere of dread—several people grew quiet, lowering their heads as they prepared to hail cabs.

Jiang Yuan cleared his throat: “I’ll have a friend drive you all home.”

“We’re a big group,” Wang Zhong reminded him.

“No problem—our village has a car in the county,” Jiang Yuan said, then made a call.

Ningtai County was small, and this area was bustling—within the time it took to order a Didi, four Toyota Alphards pulled up before them.

“Far-ge,” the man stepping out of the lead car was Jiang Yongxin. He was one of the village’s ambitious youths—ran a repair shop, also did car rentals, and provided transport for villagers. Since Jiang Yuan solved the electric scooter case—even though he got no stolen property back—Jiang Yongxin had been calling him “Far-ge” ever since.

“From front to back, take the car heading east, south, west, or north—get in whichever one goes where you need to go,” Jiang Yuan said. He was the type who never drove himself—always had village cars pick him up or drop him off.

Wang Zhong and the others stared at the Alphards in awe; as Jiang Yuan moved to get in, Wang Zhong grabbed his arm: “You calling this car? That’s way too extravagant.”

“It’s our village’s own vehicle—I always book it on account. No problem,” Jiang Yuan said, waved to Jiang Yongxin again, and got in.

Wang Zhong muttered under his breath: “This is what a Jiangcun person is like.”

“Jiangcun has its poor and rich,” Jiang Yongxin walked over to greet the guests, smiling: “There are families in Jiangcun who’ve squandered everything down to two or three houses. But Far-ge’s family is extra wealthy—his father’s name is Fujian, so it was decided at birth.”

“Get in, get in,” Wang Zhong stopped fussing, climbed into the lead car, and the others muttered a few more words about “Jiangcun” before boarding one after another.

The four cars glided off, carrying everyone home, and deeply imprinted the concept of “Jiangcun person” into everyone’s minds.