Chapter 947

"You must first solve the problem of survival before talking about ideals."

Li Xuewu thoroughly answered questions regarding quality, pricing, and assembly during the meeting.

Especially during the discussion on automobile selling prices, he clearly pointed out that the market’s primary purchasing power still prioritizes quality.

Steel is stronger and more durable than iron; plastic is nowhere near as tough or impact-resistant as iron—consumers feel compelled to buy a car and use it for at least a hundred years to justify the cost.

How to break through the constraints of quality choices, and how to leverage new materials, all depend on sales volume.

A car’s worth isn’t determined by what label is stuck on it, but by its market share.

Consumers may not understand the advantages and disadvantages of a 7,000-yuan price versus 31,000 yuan, but the factory and sales staff must know.

Being the first to widely adopt new materials like plastic, fiberglass, and alloys will inevitably raise consumer concerns regarding suitability and functionality.

You can’t have both fish and bear’s paw; to overtake competitors on the automotive manufacturing track using new materials, processes, and technologies, you must sacrifice some profits.

So from the start, acknowledge this quality gap in pricing, but use deep price differentials to prevent the 212 from following suit in price cuts.

Although today’s meeting focused on procurement, Jing Yunong mentioned next year’s budget for the automobile manufacturing project.

Li Xuewu especially emphasized ensuring adequate promotional budgets for automobile manufacturing and other product projects.

Advertising in this era was bizarre: under normal logic, if the Hongxing Rolling Mill successfully built a car, they’d submit a report and wait for higher-ups to arrange promotion.

If, like this time, they held a new car launch and sparked a major news story with the Jingcheng Automobile Factory, that would be accidental publicity.

Self-initiated promotion could at most mean printing black-and-white flyers and mailing them to industrial departments across provinces and cities.

Whether others promoted you or not was out of your hands—they had their own work schedules too.

Li Xuewu obviously wouldn’t wait passively for top-down plans; if he just sat around hoping for handouts, when would the cars ever sell?

The automobile production base is already under construction; production line equipment is already on the way; all necessary processes and procurement have been finalized and locked in.

So if not now, when should promotion happen?

From the moment of the new car launch, promotional work had already begun.

Including car pre-orders, price discounts with partner and affiliated enterprises, newspaper ads—sales campaigns aren’t just about pricing; they also involve promotion.

Li Xuewu repeatedly stressed during the meeting that the manufacturing cost of the Hongxing Antelope Jeep was very high, the quality excellent, and selling at this price meant essentially selling at a loss.

(Though Su Qi also said “selling at a loss,” the Hongxing Antelope was absolutely not a young person’s first car.)

Especially now, with neither production volume nor management outcomes yet clear, it’s impossible to estimate how far costs can be controlled.

If pricing can’t be negotiated and it’s losing money, why bother building cars at all?

Because internally it resolves excess capacity and enables diversified operations; externally, it fulfills the great goal of serving the people!

While the meeting room leaders debated, secretaries sat behind a row of desks against the wall, taking notes.

When they heard Deputy Director Li mention that each Hongxing Antelope Jeep sold meant a loss, the secretaries began whispering among themselves.

Wang Yuzheng’s secretary frowned and asked: “Hey! After all this effort, how could it be losing money?”

Kuang Yusheng’s secretary sneered back: “Listen to Deputy Director Li—he said if you sell just one, of course you lose money~~”

Wang Yuzheng’s secretary: “Wait, is this really a loss or just talk? Selling one car for 7,000… I find that suspicious!”

Kuang Yusheng’s secretary: “You’re in finance—you don’t know? I’ve never seen the Security Department short on cash.”

Wang Yuzheng’s secretary: “This is a factory project—how could it be the same? Besides, didn’t Deputy Director Li just say we need to prepare for losses?”

Kuang Yusheng’s secretary: “Yes, prepare for losses—but he didn’t say we’re actually losing money. He said selling cars loses money, but also admitted the cost hasn’t been controlled yet.”

Wang Yuzheng’s secretary: “So… you think Deputy Director Li is lying? Deceiving these leaders?”

Kuang Yusheng’s secretary: “Pfft, I never said that! Deputy Director Li is a senior leader—he wouldn’t lie!”

He gave the other a sharp glance, then lowered his voice: “You don’t get it—Deputy Director Li’s standards for profit and loss are different.”

“What standard?”

Wang Yuzheng’s secretary asked, puzzled: “I’ve never heard of that—shouldn’t it be based on our financial accounting?”

“Nonsense. When has Deputy Director Li ever asked you before launching a project?”

“You think he follows your standards?!”

“Heh~ Then he’d go bankrupt!”

Kuang Yusheng’s secretary rolled his eyes: “Deputy Director Li’s profit-loss standard: if he doesn’t make double, it’s a loss!”

“Huh?”

Wang Yuzheng’s secretary was instantly stunned, staring blankly at the leaders at the table, muttering: “How can Deputy Director Li lie to his own people?”

“What kind of talk is that?!”

Kuang Yusheng’s secretary quickly warned him: “How could Deputy Director Li lie? That’s called a strategic move, understand?”

He gestured toward the leaders on either side of the desk: “Look around—has any leader reacted like you?”

“Why?”

“No reason—it’s just normal.”

Kuang Yusheng’s secretary craned his neck toward the meeting table, sneering: “Even a little less profit is a loss—on this road, if you don’t see our factory’s cars everywhere, it’s a loss!”

He turned back to the other and said: “Deputy Director Li always says: the revolution isn’t complete yet—comrades must keep striving!”

Peng Xiao: “…”

Li Xue: “…”

…

The secretaries sat together—they all heard those two bastards slandering Li Xuewu.

But even though they were furious inside, why didn’t they feel the urge to refute them?

Peng Xiao’s lips twitched slightly; he glanced at Li Xue and saw the same expression on her face.

They looked at each other in silence, each lowering their heads to study their documents, pretending they heard nothing.

This viewpoint was impossible to counter…

Regarding pricing, and her brother’s repeated emphasis in every meeting, Li Xue had asked before.

She didn’t ask her brother—she found a chance to bring it up with Deputy Director Jing.

According to Deputy Director Jing, this was called strategy: the launch event, deliberately provoking conflict with the Jingcheng Automobile Factory, even saying they’re selling at a loss—all strategy.

She understood clearly: her brother was deliberately making the Rolling Mill play the victim, using Jingcheng’s refusal to cooperate to create conflict.

While seizing the moral high ground, he generated widespread attention for the car and defined its brand value.

If you sell at a loss, everyone will buy—because buying means profit!

Even alley kids in the Four-Nine City knew: this was called “collusion fraud.”

An old trick, common as dirt—but it still worked.

The Rolling Mill wasn’t a well-funded, state-supported auto manufacturer—it had no technology, no foundation, starting from scratch, and yet it was aggressively reducing weight and replacing materials.

In such an environment, who would even notice the Hongxing Antelope?

So when the Jingcheng Automobile Factory refused to cooperate, Li Xuewu deliberately blew the incident out of proportion.

You claim to be the top Jeep, quality number one, sales number one? Fine—I’ll cling to you and create a sensation.

He turned non-cooperation into deliberate suppression, creating an atmosphere that Jingcheng Automobile Factory feared the Hongxing Antelope’s quality would surpass the 212.

Now rumors spread that Jingcheng refused to cooperate because they were afraid.

Jingcheng was now speechless—even higher-ups were asking whether they’d been too stingy.

What could they say? If they accused him of slander, he’d never made any public comment!

After all, there had been a minor unpleasantness after the procurement meeting.

But they were genuinely wronged—they were being framed!

Who ever said they were afraid of the Hongxing Antelope? Who ever said they restricted procurement out of fear of being surpassed?

Even if they now approved the Rolling Mill’s procurement request, that bastard would claim they’d only done it under public pressure.

Wang, the deputy factory director in charge of this project at Jingcheng, was a refined man, from a family steeped in culture.

But even cultured men suffer—facing such a shameless, street-thug tactic, he was furious.

Yet he also said: ignore it, don’t respond—otherwise the public opinion conflict will only grow larger and more influential.

There are only so many Jeeps on the market; a new one will inevitably be compared.

If this heat is truly created, won’t it just serve as free promotion for the Hongxing Antelope?

That’s why they say cultured people are different—they see further, stand higher, and refuse to respond externally. He even reported the matter upward.

He explained the reasons for non-cooperation, while also emphasizing unity and development.

Li Xuewu wouldn’t let this advantage slip—he told the Economic and Trade Office to have the automobile project team keep provoking Jingcheng.

Meanwhile, he had Li Huai step forward voluntarily to express unity and goodwill, stressing they’d never compared the 212, never claimed the Hongxing Antelope was better, and never intended to create conflict.

Li Huai even proactively applied to publish a public statement in major newspapers to clarify the matter—but Deputy Director Wang “politely” refused.

Was this a statement—or free advertising for them? And it was free!

This tactic was too cruel. From what Li Xue heard from Deputy Director Jing, Jingcheng’s internal directive was clear: never mention the Hongxing Antelope again—don’t give them any opening for collusion fraud.

As Li Xue listened to her brother still talking about promotion, she knew he had no intention of letting Jingcheng off the hook.

Sometimes, you can’t avoid being dragged into the spotlight—her brother always had ways to cling to you and act like a thug.

“When did you arrive?”

Li Xuewu led Peng Xiao up to the third floor; hearing their voices, Xu Ning stepped out of Sun Jian’s office.

“Came early this morning, didn’t see you.”

Xu Ning smiled and saluted Li Xuewu—still as crisp and sharp as ever.

Li Xuewu sized him up, patted his arm, and said: “Hard work. Come in.”

“Director Sun said you were in a meeting, and heard you need to assist the branch on a case.”

Xu Ning wasn’t complaining about the long wait—he was asking if it was convenient now, and said he could come at another time.

Li Xuewu led him inside, pointed to the chair across the desk, and said, “Two meetings: the automobile manufacturing procurement has been finalized.”

As he spoke, he picked up his teacup, took a sip, and continued, “I just coordinated with HR about the new recruitment quota.”

“Our factory is about to enter a major phase of development!”

Xu Ning smiled happily: “I can clearly feel this change and progress in Gangcheng—it’s truly day by day, night by night.”

“It’s you front-line workers who are putting in the effort.”

Li Xuewu smiled, studied Xu Ning again, and nodded: “You’ve become much more composed than before.”

“Thank you, Leader, for your cultivation.”

Xu Ning said gratefully: “Without your care and help, I wouldn’t have made the progress I have today.”

“Hmm, you’ve even learned to flatter now~”

Li Xuewu laughed it off: “Fine. Learning anything is learning. Learning how to speak is good—what matters is progress.”

“Thank you, Leader.”

Xu Ning paid no mind to Li Xuewu’s words, thanked him cheerfully, then added: “I won’t waste your time—I’ll now report on my work, and ask for your guidance.”

As he spoke, he opened the notebook he’d brought and began reporting on his work in Gangcheng.

Li Xuewu listened while pulling out a cigarette pack and tossing one to him.

Peng Xiaoli, who had brought the tea, lit it for Xu Ning, earning a polite thanks.

Peng Xiaoli wasn’t close to Xu Ning; previously, he’d been in the factory office while Xu Ning was in the Security Division—they had no overlap.

But both were young: one was the leader’s secretary, the other the leader’s favored officer; their courtesy carried a natural warmth.

As he listened to Xu Ning’s report, Peng Xiaoli took notes—not just for the leader, but for his own learning.

Director Sha had made it clear during the handover: the leader loved asking about past matters; failing to answer would be unacceptable.

Xu Ning’s actions in Gangcheng could be divided into three phases: organization and rectification, system and rules, training and development.

He went to Gangcheng with Dong Wenhua, carrying a mission and determination; after assisting the leader in purifying the steel plant, he firmly implemented the General Factory Security Department’s management policies.

Sitting here to report meant he had already achieved his interim goal.

The transfer order had been issued early; he’d heard rumors beforehand, so when Li Xuewu asked about the border office’s work plan, he gave specific, practical answers.

In summary, there were three goals: first, consolidate the existing foundation and manage effectively by leveraging geographical conditions.

Second, expand cooperation channels and establish meaningful communication and collaboration with local units.

Third, actively assist superiors in building and operating trade projects to ensure procurement and sales meet their targets.

He didn’t exaggerate or speak empty words—he knew Li Xuewu’s style too well: report work honestly, one thing at a time.

When reporting plans, say only what you can do, not what you can’t; say what’s useful, not empty talk; bluffing here lands you on a blacklist.

In the old Security Department, now the Security Team, no cadre ever dared to bluff or exaggerate before Li Xuewu; those who set goals were the kind who’d risk everything to achieve them.

His honest, concise work style directly influenced all security personnel—even the factory’s newly implemented office system bore this imprint.

According to Peng Xiaoli, the factory saved twenty percent on office paper this quarter—meaning one-fifth of old documents were just empty words.

Li Xuewu’s advice to Xu Ning was simple: eight words—work hard, stay safe.

A good cadre doesn’t need constant supervision or teaching—he learns and grows on his own; just give him a push at critical moments.

More importantly, show care and concern so he feels the organization’s attention; once his heart is straight, he won’t go astray.

Think about it: going off track always starts from the top. Fresh college graduates don’t aspire to be Heshen—they all cry out to emulate Jiao Yulu.

Blaming bad environments or corrupt people among the masses for bad behavior? Pure nonsense.

One level leads the next, one level sets the example. If superiors discipline themselves and treat others generously, subordinates won’t even know how to go astray—why would they try?

Those who go off track never advance; those who work hard climb higher. You don’t need to punish them—peers at the same level will push them out.

That’s why disciplinary notices often say, “One rotten apple spoils the whole barrel,” causing negative influence—meaning he spread unhealthy practices downward.

These eight simple words both urged him to do his work well and cared for his safety and life.

As long as Li Xuewu did this, Xu Ning would never dare slack off or entertain improper thoughts.

That’s why Li Huai De kept repeatedly transferring people out from Li Xuewu’s team for important posts.

He knew that cadres who had left Li Xuewu were deeply shaped by him, branded into their very bones—but he still used them.

First, he had no one else to rely on; second, cadres from the Security Department wouldn’t cause trouble—they wouldn’t embarrass him the way Jin Yaohui did, forcing him to clean up the mess.

He had no mothering tendencies. If a position didn’t involve corrupt intentions, placing Li Xuewu’s people there ensured no one else would dare think of corruption.

Just before noon, their conversation ended. Li Xuewu had planned to take him out to eat, but Xu Ning politely declined.

During their talk, the branch office called: there’d be a meeting in the afternoon—the case had new leads.

Even if Xu Ning wanted to stay and chat with his leader, he couldn’t afford to delay his work.

Knowing the leader still trusted and supported him was enough; being too eager would create distance.

Li Xuewu gave Xu Ning a few days off to stay longer in Jingcheng; returning afterward wouldn’t be as convenient.

Xu Ning’s family planned to arrange a blind date for him, hoping he’d marry quickly so his spouse could accompany him to the border.

As his leader, Li Xuewu strongly supported this—even offered input on his future spouse’s job placement.

He was now a Zhengke; finding a partner was easy. Previously, in Gangcheng, his family couldn’t catch him; now, back home, he seemed determined to settle down.

As they walked downstairs to escort Xu Ning and head to the cafeteria, they resumed talking about the recruitment quota.

This was the hottest topic among factory workers: one batch of quotas after another, one group of workers’ children after another entering the factory for internships and training.

What was welfare? What was treatment? What was development? Workers didn’t care about abstract terms—but they saw real changes happening around them.

The factory, once home to over ten thousand, now added eight or nine thousand more; surrounding land was being planned into one new workshop after another.

The first batch of recruited workers had completed internships and were now officially on the job.

Workers replaced by them had already been reassigned.

In establishing standardized production systems, some workers—subjectively or objectively unfit—had to be let go.

New recruits with junior high education or higher were inevitably inexperienced in technique, but had greater growth potential.

Why were there so few senior workers? Why were they so precious?

It wasn’t because technical standards were too strict—it was because workers’ general cultural literacy was low; their education level couldn’t meet the demands of technical training.

After completing the first round of recruitment training, HR’s data showed the probability of producing senior technical workers had greatly increased.

Not everyone could become an Eighth-Class Worker; even expecting large numbers of Seventh- or Sixth-Class Workers was unrealistic—but a rapid rise in Third- and Fourth-Class Workers would meet basic production needs.

When Fifth- and Sixth-Class Workers became technical backbone, the technical and personnel iteration would have achieved its foundational goal.

Workers let go either retrained and retested for reassignment, or accepted reassignment.

Reassignment directions included lower technical posts, tertiary industries, handicrafts, services, and construction.

Workers couldn’t be dumped onto society—only used to their full potential: do whatever they could, and if nothing else, do manual labor.

The new steel rolling plant project had many new positions; if they couldn’t do any of those, they could still lay bricks and build houses—infrastructure projects would continue for the next five years, and manpower would always be needed.

This technological and personnel update may seem harsh now, but it’s better than losing livelihoods later and being forced onto society.

With new workers entering, those ahead feel pressure—and motivation. Some laid-off workers retire; others are reassigned.

Everyone knows manual labor is inferior to technical work; comparison creates direction.

As long as products sell well, quality is guaranteed, and management has no gaps, the wealth workers create will surely meet their living needs.

Positive cycle. Survival of the fittest.

Later, the great collapse wasn’t the workers’ fault—it had nothing to do with welfare, treatment, or pensions. Their heads were broken, their hearts were corrupted—what good was hard work then?

At 1:30 p.m., Li Xuewu’s command vehicle pulled into the branch’s gate.

Several people stood in the courtyard; seeing Li Xuewu’s car, they waved.

Han Jiankun parked, and Li Xuewu opened the door, asking: “Good news?”

“Good news—and bad news.”

Lai Shanchuan took a drag from his cigarette, smiling bitterly: “They just got back from the scene and had lunch—we were just talking about it.”

“Let’s go upstairs and talk.”

He waved to the others: “Director Zheng is already waiting. Today’s going to be busy.”

Li Xuewu walked in with him, followed by members of the Public Security and Criminal Investigation teams; everyone chatted casually.

Due to confidentiality, they could still discuss the case on the courtyard grounds—but once inside the building, they had to stop.

Lai Shanchuan tossed his cigarette butt and asked Li Xuewu: “Director Zheng said next year we’ll get new equipment and replace some vehicles. When will your factory’s vehicle roll off the line?”

“Earliest March for test runs.”

As Li Xuewu climbed the stairs, he explained: “The infrastructure is nearly complete; machinery is being manufactured and transported.”

“Add installation, debugging, and spare parts inventory, and actual production won’t start until June.”

“We’re really in a hurry.”

Lai Shanchuan smiled: “We’ve all seen the materials Director Zheng brought back—cheap, durable, perfect for our environment.”

“You know how many vehicles the higher-ups allocated to the branch for next year?”

“Five!”

He held up his hand: “Only five—how can we split them? With today’s security situation, our mobile forces are falling behind; we’ll end up with disasters.”

“Now, the cost of one 212 can buy five Red Star Antelopes. With twenty-five vehicles, we’ll immediately ease most problems.”

“You make it sound like—”

Li Xuewu raised an eyebrow: “Our factory’s cars must be priced too cheaply!”

“Cheaper is better!”

Lai Shanchuan grinned, pointing upstairs, whispering: “You haven’t seen how Chief Gao is tearing his hair out over budgets—everyone who asks him for money gets yelled at.”

He finished speaking and patted Li Xuewu’s arm as a reminder: “Stay out of sight, or you might get another deal!”

“Hehehe~”

Li Xuewu chuckled lightly: “Six thousand’s already a loss just to draw customers—nobody else gets this discount; cheaper than this and I’d be selling the frame!”

“Oh? What’s so exciting?”

Zheng Fuhua came down the stairs and happened upon them; he greeted them and gestured for everyone to head to the conference room together.

After brief pleasantries, once everyone was seated and the conference room door closed, the case briefing officially began.

“First, let’s go over the scene investigation and findings.”

The Criminal Unit head reported: “First, the bicycle and the two bags—search efforts have lasted three days with no progress.”

“We’ve issued nationwide alerts for the bicycle and backpacks with matching features, but no leads have come in yet.”

“The forensic team has rechecked and confirmed the weapon was blunt—possibly a hammer or a stone.”

He looked up at the leaders beside the table and continued: “Reinterviewing those who knew about the money and Zhang Shuqin’s exact withdrawal time and route yielded no new information.”

“What about social relationship investigations?”

Lai Shanchuan tapped the table, signaling him to skip the dead ends and get to the point.

“Zhang Shuqin had wide social ties—we revisited every connection, and over the past two months, nothing unusual emerged.”

The Criminal Unit head’s answer left several leaders dissatisfied, but the next finding seemed to part the clouds and reveal light.

“During neighbor interviews, someone reported that Yu Lanfang and Zhang Shuqin frequently quarreled—even to the point of threatening divorce.”

“We’d noticed this before but didn’t investigate it specifically; only upon re-examining the statements did we spot anomalies.”

He said: “A neighbor’s child heard Zhang Shuqin shout something about a rabbit on the night of the 28th—he climbed over the wall and saw Yu Lanfang slap Zhang Shuqin.”

“Why wasn’t this mentioned before?”

Li Xuewu tapped the table: “Lin Tingting and Du Xiaoyan’s statements don’t mention Zhang Shuqin being slapped, do they?”

“No.”

The Criminal Unit head explained: “Our earlier focus was on Zhang Shuqin—we overlooked this detail.”

“This is highly suspicious.”

Lai Shanchuan frowned: “We must seriously consider Yu Lanfang’s motive—it might have nothing to do with money.”

“Pure revenge?”

The Criminal Unit head frowned: “Or perhaps Zhang Shuqin was running a scam, and Yu Lanfang, seeing the money, acted on impulse?”

“There’s another possibility.”

Lai Shanchuan tapped his finger: “Maybe he killed first for revenge, then discovered the money. His deep concealment suggests we’ve been asking the wrong questions.”

“If you think about it, that’s plausible.”

The Criminal Unit head nodded: “Yu Lanfang is unemployed and has no alibi for the 29th and 30th—especially since their living conditions are unusually good.”

“Unusually good—how good?”

Zheng Fuhua looked at him: “Be specific—money? Or goods?”

“The house is an old ancestral home, but renovated; all household appliances are present, they own two watches and two bicycles, their grain reserves are plentiful—but there’s no cash.”

“All the money was in Zhang Shuqin’s hands.”

Li Xuewu glanced at him and reminded him: “Yu Lanfang’s statement records that Zhang Shuqin managed the household finances.”

“Yes.”

The Criminal Unit head nodded: “We learned from neighbors that Yu Lanfang rarely handled household affairs—Zhang Shuqin made all decisions alone.”

He glanced at Lai Shanchuan and said: “If none of these possibilities hold, then Yu Lanfang must be completely unaware and uninvolved in this case.”

“Impossible for there to be zero connection.”

Lai Shanchuan frowned: “Move on to the next point.”

“Yes!”

The Criminal Unit head reported: “We investigated Zhao Ziliang, Du Xiaoyan’s husband, and found he’s missing.”

“Missing?!”

Everyone in the room frowned—just moments ago in the courtyard, he’d reported this exact thing to Lai Shanchuan.

“Yes, missing.”

The Criminal Unit head explained: “Coincidentally, Du Xiaoyan said she was on duty the 29th, and her husband took a train on the morning of the 30th, so she never saw him before he left.”

“How did he go missing?”

Lai Shanchuan frowned: “Where was he last seen?”

“Zhili.”

The Criminal Unit head confirmed: “That was his first stop on the business trip—and the last place he was seen.”

“That’s not right—the first letter was also mailed from Zhili.”

Lai Shanchuan tapped the table: “There’s definitely something wrong here. When was the last time Du Xiaoyan contacted her husband?”

“In Zhili, on October 31st.”

The Criminal Unit head affirmed: “According to Du Xiaoyan, at around 2 p.m. that day, her husband called from Zhili, reminding her to visit the elders because he’d forgotten to leave money for groceries.”

“Just for that?”

Li Xuewu looked at him: “And yet, with her husband missing for so long, she’s shown no reaction at all?”

“She says he’s done this before—once he was gone for two and a half months, and neighbors confirmed it.”

The Criminal Unit head explained: “According to the head of their joint venture factory, procurement staff typically travel to over a dozen locations.”

“They only communicate once procurement is complete—this is unusual, but not impossible.”

“Has a coordination letter been sent to Zhili?”

Li Xuewu asked: “What did Zhili say? Is Zhao Ziliang truly the one who vanished there?”

“There’s a residence record, but we can’t confirm it’s him.”

The Criminal Unit head explained: “We brought photos for questioning, but after nearly two months, people’s memories are hazy.”

“What about the letters?”

Zheng Fuhua frowned: “Did the first letter’s mailing date overlap with his disappearance? Was that phone call investigated? Where was it made from?”

“The letter was mailed from a location near Zhao Ziliang’s guesthouse; the call came from his room—but we can’t confirm it was him.”

The Criminal Unit head added: “We investigated Zhao Ziliang’s relationship with the victim—their contact was closer than Du Xiaoyan claimed.”

“Give details!”

Lai Shanchuan emphasized: “Zhao Ziliang’s disappearance is strange—there’s definitely something wrong.”

“Someone in Qian’er Hutong saw Zhao Ziliang at Zhang Shuqin’s house—not just once.”

The Criminal Unit head reported: “Neighbors say Zhang Shuqin explained he was a fellow villager who brought her goods from afar.”

“But!”

He emphasized: “Neighbors near Zhao Ziliang’s home also saw Zhang Shuqin visiting his house.”

“Huh…”

All investigators in the room drew in a breath, their gazes turning complex.

This case seems to have veered into an unusual direction.

“Do Yu Lanfang’s and Du Xiaoyan’s statements mention this?”

Zheng Fuhua tapped the table, refocusing everyone’s attention.

“Also, Du Xiaoyan claimed she introduced Zhang Shuqin to her husband—has she verified that?”

“She probably didn’t know.”

Lai Shanchuan interjected: “The day before, when she came in for questioning, we even discussed whether to bring her husband in.”

“Not in the statements.”

The Criminal Unit head affirmed: “Du Xiaoyan now isn’t even sure whether her husband had any connection to Zhang Shuqin.”

He gave Lai Shanchuan a strange look and reported: “According to Du Xiaoyan, her husband’s job is so irregular that she never knows when he leaves or returns—unless he calls.”

“What a mess these two couples have…”

Lai Shanchuan sneered: “Husbands don’t know their wives, wives don’t know their husbands—a tangled knot.”

Zheng Fuhua rubbed his forehead, thought for a moment, and asked: “So now the direction is clearer—several possibilities.”

“Zhao Ziliang and Zhang Shuqin were lovers, colluded in fraud, killed her, stole the money, and fled.”

“Zhao Ziliang and Zhang Shuqin were lovers, colluded in fraud, Yu Lanfang killed his wife in revenge, then tracked Zhao Ziliang to Zhili and killed him.”

“Zhao Ziliang and Zhang Shuqin were lovers, Yu Lanfang forced his wife into fraud, then killed both and framed it as a robbery.”

“Zhao Ziliang and Zhang Shuqin were innocent; Zhao Ziliang vanished in a separate case…”

“…”

Li Xuewu stared blankly as Zheng Fuhua played matching games—each connection made more possibilities appear.

If we keep investigating like this, we won’t finish until next year.

“Focus on the most likely scenario.”

Li Xuewu spoke: “Yu Lanfang is here—he won’t run. Investigate whether Zhao Ziliang truly appeared in Zhili.”

“If he did, where did he go after vanishing from Zhili? If he didn’t, who made that call?”

“Do you suspect Du Xiaoyan lied?”

Lai Shanchuan frowned slightly at Li Xuewu’s suggestion: “This doesn’t seem connected to her…”

“Not necessarily.”

Li Xuewu squinted slightly and said, “The voice on the phone is distorted; pretending to speak less won’t help determine if it’s real or fake.”

After speaking, he looked at Lai Shanchuan and asked, “Have you never encountered this situation?”

“…”

Lai Shanchuan first froze, then smiled wryly and shook his head; the others in the conference room also burst into laughter.

Only someone insane would call the head of the branch’s public security unit with a harassing call.

Li Xuewu also smiled, unconcerned, and said, “To find out whether Zhao Ziliang and Zhang Shuqin have any special relationship, just ask Yu Lanfang.”

He explained to the group, “Zhang Shuqin’s remark about the rabbit and the slap she received on the 28th are definitely not baseless—Yu Lanfang must give a reason.”

“Another point!”

Li Xuewu suddenly smiled, his tone deep with implication: “Du Xiaoyan doesn’t know if her husband has had an affair, but Yu Lanfang certainly knows whether her wife has done anything to betray him.”

“What do you mean?”

The young investigators in the room blinked in confusion, staring at Li Xuewu; seeing the seniors’ expressions as if they’d grasped something, their own questions multiplied.

If a man has an affair and doesn’t want his partner to find out, with enough effort, he can always hide it.

If a woman has an affair, whether she intends to or not, she can’t hide it—because the words “affair” are written all over her face.

“Cough, cough~”

Lai Shanchuan glanced at Li Xuewu, thinking to himself: This kid clearly has plenty of experience!

He cleared his throat and explained to the young investigators: “Most neighbor statements come from women—they stay home all day and see a lot.”

“And women rarely tell other women that their partner has done something wrong—they’re more likely to tell men that the other person’s partner is problematic.”

“Good! That’s a good explanation!”

Li Xuewu nodded in strong agreement and said, “That’s exactly what I thought!”

Lai Shanchuan: “…”