Chapter 219: New and Old 1

Li Yuxuan waved his hand, indicating it was fine. He said to the guard, "Got any money?"

So the guard pulled a small cloth bag from his pocket.

Li Yuxuan counted a few banknotes and slipped them to Wang Mama: "Take this, for emergencies."

Wang Mama was startled and declined, "How can this…?"

"Take it," Li Yuxuan said, "Times have changed, you have to change too. The government lets you find your own way, so go find it. Being in your fifties isn't old; learn a skill and you'll survive."

Wang Mama took the money, tears falling: "Thank you, Officer Li… you're still so benevolent. Back then you said our money wasn't clean, but this money is clean, I'll keep it."

She said a few more sentences, then wiped her tears and left.

The Jeep moved slowly on the road back to Gongde Lin. Li Yuxuan told the guard not to rush; he wanted to take in more of the city that was being reborn. Outside the window, the street scenery flowed like a film of old and new interwoven. Fresh slogans covered the mottled old advertisements; the red characters "Labor is most glorious" shone brightly, beneath which one could still faintly read the Republican‑era "Ren Dan" or "Meinuo" cigarette brand. Some shop doors hung five‑star red flags, the cloth new but the stitching coarse, clearly hurried; other shops kept doors and windows shut, sealed with tape, silently telling of ownership and era changes.

Guard Xiao Zhao, through the rearview mirror, secretly observed the senior official in the back seat. Li Yuxuan's face was mostly hidden in the moving shadows outside the window, only when the light hit could his tightly pursed lips and deep gaze be seen. His eyes seemed to look beyond any specific shop or person, piercing everything and landing on a farther, heavier place. Xiao Zhao was a newly enlisted soldier, having heard rumors about the official's past, but he more directly felt the calm aura that set him apart from many old cadres. That calm carried weight.

When the car passed a narrow alley entrance, Li Yuxuan suddenly spoke, "Pull over, stop for a moment."

This time, after getting out he didn't head to the wide main street, but walked into the slightly narrow alley. In the alley, various households hung their quilts and clothes to dry, the thin winter sun giving a breath of life. A few children chased a broken iron hoop, their laughter crisp. In a corner, an old man smoking a dry pipe squinted at his unusual wool coat and polished leather shoes. Li Yuxuan stopped before a mottled screen wall, extended a finger, and lightly brushed the deep and shallow carvings. Those were marks left by years of wind, rain, perhaps even war. He remembered this place. Many years ago, when he was a spirited young diplomat, he had accompanied a foreign reporter here to gather material. At that time, behind the screen wall was the back wall of the well‑known Qingyin Small Class, where faint strings and flutes could be heard. The reporter asked his view on this "ancient tradition." How did he answer? He apparently quoted classics, speaking of "social ills that cannot be removed in a day, requiring guidance and education" and other formalities. Now the strings are gone, the back wall remains, more weathered. Decades of guidance and education are not as thorough as a thunderous sweep in one night. He withdrew his hand, the fingertip cool.

After getting back into the car, Li Yuxuan's silence deepened. Xiao Zhao dared not ask further, only drove more steadily. It wasn't until they saw the iconic high wall and gate tower of Gongde Lin that the silence inside the vehicle was broken.

Liu Guangzhi was indeed waiting at the gate, holding a folder. Seeing the Jeep, his face instantly broke into a smile as he greeted, "Lord Jing, how was the stroll? Is the weather in Xin Yanjing still suitable?" The words were caring, but his gaze subtly swept Li Yuxuan's entire body, as if observing what this outing had brought back or changed.

Li Yuxuan stepped out, pressed his slightly numb foot, and replied lightly, "I saw Xin Yanjing." He paused, then added, his voice showing no emotion, "and I also saw Jiu Yanjing."

Liu Guangzhi's smile remained, his eyes flickered slightly, and he stepped aside to lead the way: "Seeing is good, seeing is good. The transition of new and old is natural. Dinner has just started; I've set aside a hot dish for you."

Dinner, as usual, was in a corner of the Management Office Cafeteria. Li Yuxuan's status was special, so he had a small square table. As soon as he sat, Du Yuming, Huang Wei, Wang Yaowu and others brought their rice bowls and gathered naturally. This had become an unspoken understanding. Here they were not only subjects of transformation, but also, to some extent, a small "Discussion Forum" relatively isolated from outside information. Li Yuxuan's outing became an important window to observe the outside world.

"Director, did you notice anything fresh on this trip?" Du Yuming scooped a mouthful of rice, asked casually. He asked naturally, but the other ears perked up.

Li Yuxuan picked up a chopstick of stir‑fried cabbage, chewed slowly, then set the chopsticks down and said calmly, "Fresh things… quite a few. I saw a convoy of trucks hauling silk brocades and furniture from Qianmen Street, saying they were confiscated assets from a closed brothel to be taken for centralized processing." He described it plainly, yet sparked the listeners' imagination. Those items that once carried the hedonistic life of smoky alleys were now being publicly hauled away like trash, a strong proclamation in itself.

Huang Wei adjusted his glasses, concerned with concrete numbers and enforcement: "Did every brothel disappear, all shut down?"

"On the surface, 224, all in one night," Li Yuxuan affirmed, "There are still hidden doors, but the tide has turned. The prostitutes are being sent to the Women's Reproductive Training Institute to learn, receive treatment, and be given a path. The owners… find their own way."

Wang Yaowu sighed, his sigh carrying complex meaning. He was a commander, having seen the worst at the bottom and also the filth beneath the so‑called "prosperity." "That's also merit. That trade… indeed creates sin. How many women are trapped inside, unable to live, unable to die."

"Yes," Li Yuxuan's gaze swept over the several not‑young faces before him, "sinful deeds. But back then, when we were on stage, who really decided to manage it? Everyone knew it was a societal tumor, a disgrace, but what was the result? Either turn a blind eye, pretend not to see, or simply intervene, because you can collect taxes, you can take 'Filial Respect.' Maintaining a dirty 'Balance,' and calling it 'Gradual Ban,' 'Guidance.'"