Chapter 943: The Case Has Grown Complicated

“Mmm~ Call~ Call!”

Li Xuewu saw him about to cry and teased him: “Shout louder, then you won’t be wronged~”

“I’m truly innocent!”

Sheng Shaowei now couldn’t tell whether Li Xuewu was teasing him or speaking seriously.

Zheng Fuhua glanced at him, nodded to Li Xuewu, and asked: “Your acquaintance?”

“Heh, half-acquainted.”

Li Xuewu glanced at Sheng Shaowei and explained to Zheng Fuhua: “Back in summer, when I bought goldfish for my daughter, I got them from him.”

“Director Zheng.”

Lai Shanchuan had already walked over from the water’s edge the moment he saw Li Xuewu approaching.

The body had been recovered some time ago and was still stored at Bingkou, with a forensic examiner conducting the inspection.

He walked up to the two, first greeted Zheng Fuhua, then hesitated slightly as he looked at Li Xuewu, finally extending his hand and saying: “Li Tuan.”

“Just call me by my name—it sounds awkward hearing you say it like that.”

Li Xuewu shook his hand, then joked by pointing at it: “You didn’t touch the body, did you?”

“Ahh~”

Seeing Li Xuewu was so open-minded and didn’t hold past matters against him, Lai Shanchuan stopped holding back.

He let out a long sigh, his face worn with exhaustion: “Li Tuan, I can’t joke anymore—this case has drained me completely, left me sleepless.”

“Thank goodness you’re here.”

He glanced anxiously at Zheng Fuhua: “Director Zheng, let’s go to the scene.”

“Mm.”

Zheng Fuhua nodded, walking as he gestured toward Sheng Shaowei, who stood nearby with a gloomy face, and asked: “Did he find it?”

“Yes.”

Lai Shanchuan glanced at Sheng Shaowei, then walked with Zheng Fuhua toward the pond, saying: “We’ve questioned him—he’s a park maintenance worker.”

Li Xuewu naturally knew Sheng Shaowei’s identity, but now that Lai Shanchuan was speaking, he naturally couldn’t interject.

He’d come here today only because Zheng Fuhua invited him to “take a look”—this wasn’t his case, and he wasn’t with the branch anymore; he had to keep his mouth shut.

Even if he knew Sheng Shaowei, even if Sheng Shaowei was innocent, there was no need for him to rush in and blurt things out.

True is true, false is false—Sheng Shaowei is just an ordinary citizen; as long as he’s not tied to politics, and this case isn’t tied to politics, there’s no way it’ll go off track.

The Dragon Beard Ditch? That was back in the fifties. Now, half the Goldfish Pond has been filled in; what remains looks more like a park.

The surrounding housing no longer shows the old, dilapidated chaos—anyone with a bit of money knows how to tidy up.

Of course, this area now falls under Nancheng; back then, it was outside the city walls, a place for peddlers, laborers, and the poor.

Over these past ten years, the courtyard houses remain the same, just with denser populations and smoother roads.

Don’t think the population of Sijiu City was huge back then—the seven million figure refers to the entire city.

Far fewer people actually lived inside Sijiu City, which is why housing was scarce and jobs hard to assign—those problems were within the city proper.

So this old district of Nancheng looks just like a rural village from the future, yet it’s far better than rural areas of this era.

At least there are brick-and-tile houses.

Most residents here have generations of ancestry rooted in the city, working urban jobs; and the woman whose body Sheng Shaowei found today was one of them.

“The time of death must be long—though decomposition is mild, the physical damage is severe.”

Lai Shanchuan stood outside the forensic isolation zone and explained: “Before death, she suffered blunt-force trauma to the skull, then was stuffed into a sack, tied with rope, weighted with stones, and sunk in the pond.”

“Has her identity been confirmed?”

Zheng Fuhua, shielding his eyes from the ice’s glare, peered at the body and asked: “Is the victim Zhang Shuqin?”

“Yes—we’ve compared it with the wanted photo.”

Lai Shanchuan nodded and took a photo from his secretary’s hands, handing it to Zheng Fuhua.

Zheng Fuhua didn’t take it, waved his hand, and signaled for it to go to Li Xuewu.

Li Xuewu raised an eyebrow as Lai Shanchuan handed him the photo—he didn’t want to take it.

Looking at the photo, then at the corpse, is a deeply jarring experience.

But right now, only the three of them were here; refusing would be awkward.

“Looking won’t help—I don’t know her.”

Though he said that, Li Xuewu still took the photo and glanced at it.

“Mm, she was pretty. Back in middle school, I liked girls like this.”

“...”

Zheng Fuhua glanced back at Li Xuewu, speechless, barely holding back.

Lai Shanchuan couldn’t hold it in—he grinned and said: “Your taste is... hard to describe.”

“I’m just quoting the photo!”

Li Xuewu shrugged, flicking the photo toward the two: “Back in school, I always liked this type of older sister.”

“Cut it out~ We know you’re great!”

Zheng Fuhua gave Lai Shanchuan a sidelong glance, his lips twitching: “Tell him the case basics—we need psychology now. He’s the expert; maybe he’ll crack it.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

Lai Shanchuan smiled bitterly: “My mental capacity is exhausted—I should’ve called Li Tuan long ago.”

“Hey! Are you insulting me?”

Li Xuewu glanced again at the photo, handed it back to Lai Shanchuan’s secretary, and joked: “What do you mean ‘play’? We call it research—high-tech, we’ve published books!”

Zheng Fuhua stood with his hands behind his back, observing the scene, too lazy to respond—he knew Li Xuewu was just loosening his nerves.

People in this line of work need thick skin—you’ve seen whole rooms full of corpses, open chests, severed limbs.

Over time, psychological pressure builds—you learn to relax and regulate yourself.

Doctors face similar situations: during surgery, they talk about anything—even what they’ll eat for dinner while cutting open a patient.

They were all old hands—they understood Li Xuewu’s intent, so no one found his joking out of place.

Lai Shanchuan was under immense pressure—his face was swollen, his forehead creases deep enough to form mountain ranges.

After Zheng Fuhua’s instruction, seeing Li Xuewu willingly help ease his stress, Lai Shanchuan knew he’d agreed to assist.

“Talking about this case—our branch’s face is completely lost.”

Lai Shanchuan pointed to his cheek for Li Xuewu to see: “All swollen from fire—heat boils.”

Since the case broke on October 29th and was officially filed on the 30th, we’ve been completely misled and run in circles!

He took a heavy breath, then shook his head: “At first, it was handled by the substation, then gradually escalated—now Director Zheng leads, I handle it. What do you say?”

“Mm, pretty unlucky.”

Li Xuewu tilted his head slightly, glancing at the corpse—the fish in the water had eaten his eyes, leaving only scraps of skin clinging to the face, utterly devoid of the photo’s beauty.

Now he finally understood what people meant when they said beauty is just a pink skeleton.

“It’s not just unlucky!”

Lai Shanchuan was a full director—if he failed to solve this, the entire branch would be punished.

“This isn’t just bad luck—it’s bad luck’s mother opening the door to bad luck!”

“Ahh, enough—tell me the case. I’m counting on you—I’m done.”

He waved his hand, signaling his criminal investigation officer to brief Li Xuewu, then pulled out a cigarette and lit one for him.

“Director Li, hello.”

The officer saluted, then, seeing Li Xuewu nod, began his report: “Zhang Shuqin, female, 26, cashier at the Dongcheng District Jiaodaokou Supply and Marketing Cooperative, residence: Qian’er Hutong...”

“Hss~”

Li Xuewu recognized the workplace name—it was Ma Director’s unit.

Hearing Li Xuewu’s reaction, the officer looked up, puzzled.

Li Xuewu tilted his head slightly and said: “Nothing—keep going.”

“Yes.”

The officer glanced at the two smoking leaders and continued: “On October 29th, Zhang Shuqin went with a colleague to the Dongsi Shitiao Credit Union to collect 5,000 yuan in payment, and vanished that day.”

“There were three complainants: Zhang Shuqin’s husband, Yu Lanfang; her employer, Jiaodaokou Supply and Marketing Cooperative; and the Dongsi Shitiao Credit Union.”

The officer glanced at Lai Shanchuan and asked: “Chief, should I detail all three complainants?”

“I’ll explain.”

Lai Shanchuan took a deep drag and told Li Xuewu: “Yu Lanfang reported his wife missing—that’s the case our substation took.”

“The Supply and Marketing Cooperative reported their cashier stole the funds—that’s the case Jiaodaokou Substation took.”

“The Credit Union reported receiving a forged withdrawal voucher, a fraud case involving 50,000 yuan—that’s the case handled by the Dongsi Shitiao substation.”

He finished, slapped his hand in frustration: “So one disappearance tied three substations together, and finally escalated to our branch.”

Li Xuewu understood this escalation—it was based on the primary location of the crime, not the victim’s residential jurisdiction.

Now that the body was found here, looking back, he was just unlucky.

Had the body been found earlier, the investigation would’ve started here—after all, the person is the core of any case.

“Tell Li Tuan how the case unfolded.”

Lai Shanchuan waved his hand impatiently, signaling the officer to continue.

On October 30th, the Supply and Marketing Cooperative didn’t see Zhang Shuqin show up for work, nor did they receive the payment—they sent someone to her home.

But when they arrived, she was gone—and so was the money.

Zhang Shuqin’s husband, Yu Lanfang, said the woman had not returned home all night—he had been waiting for his wife to come back for dinner the previous evening.

He was certain his wife had not returned from work since early yesterday morning, assuming she had been assigned to temporary duty.

Upon learning his wife had vanished with a large sum of money, Yu Lanfang chose to report the case by phone immediately.

After the case was escalated for management, the branch sent personnel to investigate all along-the-way clues and withdrawal records from the credit cooperative.

After eliminating other possibilities, attention turned once more to Yu Lanfang, Zhang Shuqin’s husband.

The Criminal Unit concluded that Yu Lanfang’s behavior was highly unusual: though his wife had been gone all night, he had not called home to inquire, despite having a telephone.

Moreover, upon discovering his wife’s disappearance the next day, he chose to report it immediately rather than go out searching.

According to ordinary logic, people have an instinct to shield relatives; this pattern of abnormal conduct deeply aroused the Criminal Unit’s suspicions.

Thus, after the case was escalated and reviewed, Yu Lanfang was detained and interrogated by the branch.

Don’t think this is overreacting—in the eyes of the investigators at the time, the complexity of this case was overwhelming.

First came a fraud case, then a large-sum embezzlement and flight case; interrogating the suspect was entirely justified.

Just as they were interrogating Yu Lanfang and believed they could crack open a breakthrough through him, new developments emerged.

On November 3, Zhang Shuqin mailed a letter from the Zhili Zhi Li Hotel to a colleague who had withdrawn money with her on the 29th.

In the letter, she apologized to her colleague for causing trouble, but insisted she desperately needed the money and was fleeing far away, changing her name and identity.

After receiving the letter, the employee did not open or read it, but handed it directly to the investigative team, who immediately contacted Zhili authorities for support.

However, when Zhili’s powerful personnel arrived to inspect the scene, they found no trace of Zhang Shuqin—there was no record of her staying at the hotel.

This development directly disrupted the Criminal Unit’s investigation rhythm and direction.

Just as the Criminal Unit organized members to travel to Zhili for further investigation, another development occurred.

On November 16, Zhang Shuqin mailed a letter from the Jinling Friendship Hotel to her husband, Yu Lanfang.

Unlike the staff at the supply and marketing cooperative, Yu Lanfang—who had been released and returned home—opened the letter immediately upon receiving it.

As a result, he was once again taken back to the bureau by the surveillance team.

This handling was not only due to his reaction to the letter, but also because of its contents.

In the letter from Jinling, Zhang Shuqin mentioned she had arrived in Jinling the day before, failed to meet her husband, and proceeded as planned to the next address to wait.

The Criminal Unit was thrown into chaos; Yu Lanfang was stunned—he was reclassified as Zhang Shuqin’s accomplice and interrogated again.

Although the letter from Jinling stated she intended to leave, the Criminal Unit still contacted local sister units to assist in the investigation.

The result was the same: no such person existed, no trace whatsoever.

In this era, there were no surveillance cameras, no real-name registration system; to check into a hotel, one only needed an introduction letter and household registration book.

The household registration book had no photo, nor did the introduction letter.

Thus, as long as one’s behavior did not raise suspicion, no one would initiate an investigation.

This created enormous difficulties for the investigation—it was no longer a case confined to just the Four-Nine City area.

While the Criminal Unit was interrogating Yu Lanfang and waiting for new leads, a letter arrived at the branch from Yangcheng.

On December 1, Zhang Shuqin mailed a letter from a Yangcheng hotel, stating her husband was innocent and unaware, asking them not to harass him, as she had already prepared to cross the sea and would never return.

After two instances of forged letters, they knew this investigation would likely be futile, yet the Criminal Unit still coordinated with Yangcheng’s sister units for assistance.

As expected, the response was strikingly consistent: no such person existed.

What was going on? If the letters were true, even if Yu Lanfang was unaware, he should have known to meet her in Jinling.

Yet after so many days of interrogation, Yu Lanfang had no reason left to lie.

It wasn’t that they trusted Yu Lanfang—they trusted their own interrogation methods.

They only called in Li Xuewu now not because he was exceptionally hard to recruit or highly skilled, but because the branch had already requested the Ministry’s strongest interrogation team for support.

As the supervising leader, Zheng Fuhua was now certain Yu Lanfang had no room left to lie.

And today, park staff came to scoop up goldfish—and pulled up Zhang Shuqin, who had fooled them for over two months, traveled half of China, and supposedly fled abroad.

After seeing the photo comparison results, the first thing Lai Shanchuan said was: “This is fucking impossible!”

They had thought they could extract leads from Yu Lanfang’s mouth, but now the body was found—over two months of work had been wasted.

Indeed, it was all wasted—they had been convinced the fugitive was hiding somewhere in this ice.

And the interrogation of Yu Lanfang was one mistake piled upon another: every direction from the start was wrong, and all their work was rendered useless.

Everything must be torn down and restarted from the case’s origin.

But over two months had passed; due to the wrong investigative direction, many details would no longer align when retracing steps.

With such massive human and material resources expended, if this became an unsolved case, Zheng Fuhua might actually achieve his wish and retire early.

“Tell me.”

As the sun slanted westward, casting brilliant glimmers across the ice, Zheng Fuhua, after long silence, asked Li Xuewu: “What do you think?”

“Standing and watching.”

Li Xuewu rubbed his brow with his right hand and said helplessly: “I don’t want to look, and I don’t understand it. If I say she committed suicide, I doubt you’d accept it.”

“Suicide…”

Lai Shanchuan looked at the scene—the large wound at the back of the corpse, the bound hands and feet, the sack tied shut with rope—and fell into stunned silence, questioning reality itself.

“I wish she had committed suicide too—but where’s the money?”

“Stop talking nonsense.”

Zheng Fuhua exhaled deeply, watching the forensic examiner still working on the ice, and said: “If you can explain how someone tied their own hands and feet, then stuffed themselves into a sealed sack, I won’t object to filing a closed case.”

He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with his foot: “Even if we never recover the money, it doesn’t matter.”

“No way—it’s too cold.”

Li Xuewu shrugged and said: “Even stripping naked to dive in would be too unreasonable. Let’s not close the case—keep looking for the money.”

“How?”

Zheng Fuhua gestured toward Zhang Shuqin’s corpse and said: “I don’t believe fifty thousand yuan in cash is buried under this ice. Even if it were, I have no way to retrieve it.”

This goldfish pond was enormous; the ice was over a meter thick in winter. If we broke the ice to search for the money, not only would the manpower and resources be immense, but even if we found it here, the cost would far exceed fifty thousand.

If we didn’t find it, the financial loss and responsibility would be even greater.

“So we must continue investigating.”

Zheng Fuhua looked at Li Xuewu and the others and said: “We must move quickly. Though we’ve lost two months, a new lead has emerged.”

“I can only offer three suggestions.”

Li Xuewu said seriously: “First, determine the time of death to judge the scope of this case.”

“Second, determine the cause of death to assess the killer’s motive and modus operandi.”

“Third, confirm whether the money was taken by the victim, where she went, and where she disappeared.”

Li Xuewu looked at Zheng Fuhua and said: “I don’t believe fifty thousand yuan in cash is hidden in this water—but that doesn’t stop me from suggesting a way to try retrieving it.”

“What idea?”

Zheng Fuhua frowned slightly and said: “I’ll be clear upfront—the bureau has no budget for this kind of wild goose chase.”

“No money needed.”

Li Xuewu raised his eyebrows and gestured toward the crowd gathered on the shore: “Have the officers go over and tell them the ice might conceal fifty thousand yuan in cash—ask them not to fish here anymore.”

“….”

Hearing this, everyone fell silent.

“This trick is truly… truly brilliant.”

Lai Shanchuan quickly swallowed the word he was about to say and replaced it with “brilliant.”

Zheng Fuhua’s lips twitched involuntarily; his gaze at Li Xuewu was filled with astonishment.

He now firmly believed his decision to recruit Li Xuewu into the team had been absolutely correct!

If such a dangerous criminal had been allowed to roam free and lost control, the consequences would be incalculable.

Thus, today’s peace in Dongcheng was largely due to Zheng Fuhua’s great contribution.

“If you think my trick is inappropriate, you don’t have to follow it.”

Li Xuewu, noticing Zheng’s suspicious gaze, raised his eyebrows: “No need to be so wary of me.”

“No—it’s fine. Very good.”

Zheng Fuhua spoke earnestly, uttering insincere words: “You’re truly talented. This idea is excellent.”

“Comrade Lai.”

He turned to Lai Shanchuan and instructed: “Remember the three points above? Use them as reference. And carry out the suggestion I just heard right away.”

After giving the order, he clasped his hands behind his back and glanced at the curious crowd on the shore, thinking: How good it would be if Li Xuewu hadn’t been transferred—subordinates like this are needed everywhere.

Although Lai Shanchuan found Li Xuewu’s three suggestions somewhat ordinary, from his own perspective, he still agreed with them.

Without clear case details, solid evidence, or the forensic report, he could still propose three precise suggestions—Li Xuewu’s professional level was genuinely high.

After all, Li Xuewu isn’t a novelist who can fabricate stories, right?

Zheng Fuhua also found these suggestions feasible, which is why he assigned them to Lai Shanchuan.

After Lai Shanchuan finished briefing the Criminal Unit, the forensic examiner’s on-site investigation was nearly complete.

Zheng Fuhua checked his watch and told Lai Shanchuan: “Let’s ask the forensic examiner to work late tonight. The Criminal Unit should also quickly organize the case files, alright?”

He then gave instructions to those around him: “That’s it for today. Tomorrow morning, we’ll hold a meeting to discuss the case.”

“In the afternoon, we’ll ask the criminal psychology expert, Comrade Li Xuewu, to review the suspects and related individuals again—see if any new details or leads emerge, alright?”

The final “alright?” was directed at Li Xuewu, who quickly replied: “Director Zheng, let me be clear—this is just assistance, and it’s my duty.”

“But my current workload is extremely heavy, and my time is limited—I’ll help as much as I can.”

Li Xuewu spoke sincerely: “Doing two jobs at once is truly difficult. Please understand.”

“What are you talking about~”

Zheng Fuhua smiled, patted Li Xuewu’s arm, and said, “We used to be one family—now that we’ve split, do you not recognize the door?”

“Of course we understand you’re busy with work—we won’t interfere with your duties—but we still need your strong support.”

He spoke seriously: “Calling you isn’t my personal action—it’s coordinated by Director Gao with higher leadership, and the department is fully aware of this matter.”

“In the end, we must return to the beginning.”

Zheng Fuhua gripped Li Xuewu’s hand and said, “Our pressure is great, and the pressure from above is no small thing—let’s work together, and strive to ask questions without guilt, alright?”

“As you say.”

Li Xuewu glanced at the forensic technician arranging the corpse. Zheng Fuhua had used this conciliatory tone, and right in front of what might be a wrongfully dead man—what could Li Xuewu possibly say?

When they left the scene and got in the car, it was already past four. After declining Lai Shanchuan’s invitation to dine, Li Xuewu told Han Jiankun he wouldn’t return to the factory—he’d head straight to Hu Fangqiao for a bath.

Not far at all—both are near Tian Tan in Nancheng, less than three kilometers, just a light press of the accelerator.

Han Jiankun understood why Li Xuewu wanted to bathe—if he lived alone, it wouldn’t matter, but he had a pregnant wife and children at home—how could he go straight back?

Even if he didn’t mind such things, he feared his child and wife would suffer because of it.

Han Jiankun thought the same—bathing would dispel the chill and the bad luck; after the bustle of the bathhouse, nothing would remain.

“Which school did you graduate from?”

“Tsinghua.”

“Near Hu Fangqiao?”

“No, across from the Huguang Guild Hall.”

“Isn’t that the same place?”

“Where?”

“Huaqing Pool!”

Anyone who’s heard Master Guo’s “Essay Meeting” knows the “school” they meant is exactly Li Xuewu’s destination today.

The only authentic Chinese time-honored brand in the bathhouse industry—Huaqing Pool.

“Bathhouse” is the refined term; in the Four-Nine City, everyone calls it a bathhouse.

When someone greets you: “Where you off to?”

If you say, “I’m going to the bathhouse to bathe,” they’ll laugh at you for being out of touch.

What are you pretending?

This place has been called a bathhouse since ancient times—the term “bathhouse” only came later, after private rooms were built.

The Four-Nine City’s bathhouses began in the Yuan Dynasty, originally run by temple monks as places for pilgrims to bathe and change clothes.

Gradually, they evolved into a culture, a habit of “cleaning oneself,” and became a business.

These bathhouses didn’t just offer bathing—they had other special services too.

Originally, only men went to bathhouses, and mostly those of low status, since you had to be completely bare.

In feudal times, how could young ladies or newlywed wives bathe outside? What about their face? Their reputation?

The more widespread, the more mainstream, the more low-end—it’s determined by economic nature.

What special services do bathhouses offer?

Compared to later times, the only thing missing is “going upstairs”—everything else is there.

Like washing, scrubbing, tapping, massaging, foot trimming… and so on.

Of course, there were also improper bathhouses, all concentrated in the Eight Great Alleys.

I know everyone likes to hear about the improper things, so I’ll mention it briefly.

The low-end bathhouses were mostly on Wang Guafu’s Slanting Street—it was outside the city, a rural-urban fringe, with very basic conditions.

At the time, this alley housed many northern prostitutes driven out by southern ones, who ran small inns for meals and lodging.

A middle-aged woman named Wang, whose husband had died, was called Wang Guafu; her “Wang Guafu Chicken Inn” on this street was famous.

So when people spoke of this place, they’d say, “Go to Wang Guafu’s Slanting Street”—over time, the name stuck.

But now it’s changed—it’s called Zongshu Slanting Street. Wang Guafu is long gone, and the place is now a teahouse. A pity.

Are there any high-end ones?

Yes, like Yipinxiang Bathhouse.

Originally, most bathhouse owners in the Four-Nine City came from Dingxing in Hebei Province—but Yipinxiang’s owner was Hui Muslim, so beneath its signboard was carved the words “Halal.”

Back then, this halal bathhouse was wildly popular throughout the Dashilan area; many Hui Muslims came here to bathe, even the Peking Opera master Master Ma often visited.

Some say the bathhouse owner Master Ma and the drum king Liu Baoquan were inseparable friends—they’d often stroll together, then bathe at Yipinxiang.

In the afternoon, they’d go to Liang Yixuan for dinner, then head to the theater to watch performances by Yang Xiaolou and Yu Shuyan.

Look at that—this is the life of an artist. How dull and boring.

Li Xuewu was no artist, but he wanted to be dull and boring for once—after all, if such refined artists pursued this life, there must be something worth it.

Of course, the Eight Great Alleys no longer had improper bathhouses—even if any remained, Li Xuewu wouldn’t go. He was a proper man.

Besides, even if he went now, it’d be pointless—empty buildings, nothing but historical ruins left.

Huaqing Pool was excellent—it was originally called Xiao Canglang Bathhouse, but after making money, it upgraded to one of the Four-Nine City’s top bathhouses.

Never mind the rest—its foot trimming was unmatched.

As for foot trimming, its origins go even further back—in Shang Dynasty oracle bone script, the characters “foot illness” already appeared.

The founder of foot trimming, Master Zhi Gong, was from the Zhou Dynasty. Legend says King Wen of Zhou suffered from a toenail ailment; Master Zhi stepped forward and used a “fangbian shovel,” curing him instantly.

This story cannot be taken as historical fact—it’s what the foot trimmer told Li Xuewu, and he just listened for amusement—who knows if the master was just bragging?

The foot trimming skill was real, but tracing it back to the Zhou Dynasty? He had no time to research whether King Wen of Zhou had paronychia.

What a waste of time!

“Hey! Here you are! Come right in!”

Han Jiankun parked at the entrance and followed Li Xuewu into the main hall.

As soon as they entered, a server stood at the door calling out—still that old Beijing flavor.

“Here you are! Come right in!”

Li Xuewu nodded to the server with a smile, took Han Jiankun to the counter, paid, and got their locker tags.

Valuables were all left in the car—they came empty-handed.

They asked for towels and soap—all included in the bath ticket.

A server led them to change shoes and brought them two cups of clear water—this was called “guest tea,” or “clear water.”

Li Xuewu waved it off and didn’t drink—he never drank or ate anything outside.

Han Jiankun drank—he was just a lowly driver, didn’t worry about being poisoned.

Even if someone drugged him here, three or five couldn’t get near Li Xuewu.

After changing shoes and entering the bathhouse, they stripped completely, locked their clothes in small lockers, then walked further inside.

An old bathhouse—even after several renovations—still exuded its era’s character.

Nowadays, many factories and units built their own staff baths, so business here wasn’t as booming as before.

But in terms of service, this place was still far better than staff baths—after all, they were professionals.

What? You say staff baths are professional too?

Hmm, professional? They’re professional old bastards!

The bathhouse was foggy, like the Queen Mother of Heaven hosting a peach banquet—look at all these “big peaches,” “little peaches,” floating around the pool.

By the poolside, someone sang a line from an opera: “The sun and moon chase the dawn’s arrow,” and immediately someone in the “hot” pool replied: “Green mountains and clear waters always before the eyes.”

Two old men exchanged smiles and continued chatting—once one topic started, another followed. If you showed interest, you could jump in—like a roundtable, anything goes.

Of course, you couldn’t jump straight into the pool upon entering—it harmed the body, especially the heart.

They rinsed off first, then strolled over to the pool.

Li Xuewu was twenty, Han Jiankun nineteen—both had military experience, both married, young men—naturally they’d show off a bit.

Especially Li Xuewu—he was gifted, unlike ordinary men—he noticed many eyes fixed on him.

Even the two men playing chess were glancing over—couldn’t tell if it was envy or jealousy.

“Alright, buddy, make room for me!”

Li Xuewu called out with a smile, sat on the bench first, waited until someone vacated a spot, then joined Han Jiankun in the pool.

“Wow! Dude! You’re something else!”

An old man across the pool grinned mischievously and said, “Youth is wonderful.”

“Heh~ What’s wonderful or not~”

Li Xuewu laughed, splashed water aside, and joked: “If you’ve got it, use it—don’t wait till you can’t anymore and envy others, then say ‘You’re something else!’”

“Hahaha~”

Li Xuewu’s retort didn’t anger the man—it triggered a wave of laughter across the pool.

Many regulars were soaking here—some were regulars, others just came daily to chat nonsense.

They all knew each other, had said everything they could say, had already told nearly all their jokes in a lifetime.

So whenever they saw a new face who wasn’t cold, they’d crack a joke—it was fresh entertainment.

Of course, if you were shy or couldn’t take it, they’d pounce on you and tease you mercilessly.

Don’t get angry—take it seriously and you’ve lost. The old Four-Nine City saying: “Can’t play.”

If they tease you, tease back. Here, everyone’s naked—don’t care if you’ve got hair on your head or not—just joke around.

Once you’re in the same pool, forget nobility or status—the more you play along, the less they’ll dare to mess with you.

Li Xuewu had an unusually sharp tongue, relentlessly mocking several others in creative ways; after a few laughs and jabs, they all shifted their attention elsewhere.

Guys like him? Old-timers have seen plenty—either scoundrels from the alleyways or street thugs raised on chaos.

A relentless brawler, never gets angry, just spits back at you nonstop, can go all morning without catching breath—commonly called a “little elder.”

Finally got undressed—now no one holds back. Once you’re in this tub, you hear everything.

Street gossip, celebrity scandals, policy trends, national affairs—everything mixed together, regardless of truth or falsehood, they deliver it all with perfect confidence.

Those who know you’re just soaking think you’re in the bath; those who don’t think a major conference is being held upstairs.

But the “keying” here in the bathhouse has historical roots—it’s even got a lineage.

Before 1949, Huaqing Pool served as an underground operational station for our organization, doing vast covert work for the peace of the Four-Nine City.

So here, chatting nonsense isn’t taboo—it’s a culture soaked into this tub of water, seeped into every bather’s bones.

Li Xuewu and Han Jiankun said little, just listened as these “old soakers” blew smoke.

Under current conditions, of course you can’t talk about those things—but you can still blab nonsense. Just listen—you’ll hear everything under the sun.

Li Xuewu finished soaking, called for the masseur, and enjoyed the “108-towel” rubbing experience.

After Han Jiankun finished his rub too, the two went to the foot therapy room.

In 1958, Huaqing Pool established the nation’s first foot therapy room, pioneering the integration of foot trimming with Chinese and Western medical techniques, gradually transforming from simple trimming to medical foot treatment.

Cut, dig, lift, slice, separate, tear, scrape, pinch—these are the Eight Methods of Foot Trimming.

Support, pinch, dig, clamp, gather, clench, resist, push—these are the Eight Methods of Foot Holding.

Hold the blade steady, identify the veins clearly, move lightly, keep the wrist agile.

Practitioners of foot trimming must master “finger-wrist skill,” emphasizing “strong, flexible fingers, precise, steady, light, swift cuts”—the thumb and index finger must be powerful, or else the blade may slip during trimming and injure the client.

Force operates at the millimeter level—some jokingly call it “carving flowers on flesh.”

When the two walked out feeling utterly refreshed, the old bathers who’d been splashing around with them earlier stared in shock as they got into the command vehicle, nearly popping their eyes out.

They’d thought these were just alleyway brats—turns out they were from a powerful department.

Each silently panicked, wondering if they’d said anything taboo in the tub.

Li Xuewu was downright cruel—he saw those old men frozen at the door, stunned, and deliberately rolled down the window, face cold, pointing at them with his finger.

Perfect—tonight, he’d scare a few to death!

That one finger-point might trigger heart attacks or cerebral hemorrhages in those old men.

Even if they didn’t collapse, they wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight—and if they ever dared come back to soak again, they’d have to sew their mouths shut.