Chapter Twelve: The First Victory

A chorus of birdsong roused Haifeng from his slumber. Opening his eyes, he saw a shaft of sunlight piercing through the window. He walked to the curtains and glanced outside, where a few white clouds drifted across a cerulean sky. This morning, Qingdong basked in exceptional clarity and brightness.

Haifeng woke Liu Zhiyang, and together they made their way to the dining hall for breakfast.

Upon arriving, they noticed four young people already seated, eating. Li Weiwei waved them over, and so Haifeng and Liu Zhiyang carried their trays to join them.

“Didn’t you sleep a little longer? You all didn’t stay up all night, did you? Your health is your greatest asset. If you didn’t get enough rest, catch up on sleep later—there’s no rush,” Haifeng said to the group of youths.

“That’s right, get some sleep when you need it. Burning the midnight oil is terrible for your health, and you mustn’t let it become a habit. Any boss who makes their subordinates work overtime through the night clearly isn’t thinking straight and doesn’t value the people under them. What could possibly be so urgent it demands all-nighters?” Liu Zhiyang chimed in.

“I’ve never liked staying up late. Back when I was in the Legal Affairs Office, if someone needed a case reviewed before eleven, I’d do it by the book. But if they came to me after eleven, I’d give them a piece of my mind. Even as police officers, we’re only human—not made of iron. We deserve the most basic right to rest. Besides, if something can be done before eleven, why drag it out and force everyone to stay up late? That kind of inefficiency never leads to good work—it’s nothing but collective loafing. We can’t indulge them.”

“Those young folks are just following orders, but when their superiors do the same, it’s pure malice. They don’t treat our colleagues from Legal Affairs as people, so I certainly never gave them a friendly face in return. Work isn’t accomplished in a single day or night; there’s no need to rush. If you wear your body out, no one’s going to take responsibility for you. So remember to balance work and rest. If the boss pretends not to see, grant yourself time off—don’t let them get away with their bad habits,” Liu Zhiyang rattled on, his words tumbling out like machine-gun fire.

“And yet, you’d curse people just the same if they asked you to review a case before eleven,” Haifeng teased languidly.

The group of young people burst into laughter at the antics of these two playful veterans. Li Weiwei turned to Haifeng and the others with a smile. “Team Leader Hai, Captain Liu, we didn’t stay up late yesterday. We finished everything by midnight and all slept well. Everything went smoothly, everyone’s in good spirits, so I came down for breakfast. I didn’t expect all of you to be here!”

“Oh, things went smoothly? Did you find ‘Jia Yucun’ and the others?” Haifeng asked.

“Mm-hmm. Mengyang was incredible—just a few words, and he convinced them he was Jia Cunzai. Once I hacked into ‘Jia Yucun’s’ phone, I pinpointed his location. Zhao Zhijie’s side also went well; he quickly found the new scammer’s account, and all the addresses were real—no attempt at concealment at all. Honestly, he didn’t even need my help; he found them right away. Both locations are very close, in the same residential complex just five minutes’ walk from our hotel,” Li Weiwei said cheerfully.

“I already went over to take a look. It’s a gated community with only one entrance and exit—anyone coming or going is easily seen. Not only did Weiwei find their exact locations, but we can now also listen in on their conversations at any time. As soon as they all gather, we can make our move,” Zhang Mufeng added.

Haifeng’s face broke into a satisfied smile. “You’ve all done your parts—it seems there’s nothing left for me to do.” He paused, then continued, “Are we sure how many bases they have now? If there’s only one, we can take care of it in one sweep. But if not, let’s not alert them yet. Find all the locations before we act.”

Zhang Mufeng nodded, realizing he’d let his excitement get the better of him and had been ready to act too soon. Luckily, Team Leader Hai was calm enough to rein him in.

Meanwhile, in the Qingtang residential complex, Zhou Donghai was still fast asleep. By the time he sobered up from his drunken stupor, it was already noon. Even so, his mind remained muddled from the previous night’s excess. He washed up haphazardly, rummaged through his fridge, and found nothing but beer—not a bite to eat. Throwing on some clothes, he made his way to a small restaurant outside the complex for lunch.

Wine, women, wealth, and leisure—Zhou Donghai felt he indulged in all four. Thinking back to the beautiful woman who had drunk with him the night before, a smile crept onto his face: sultry, alluring, captivating, dressed in a red miniskirt and black stockings—a vision of earthly perfection. Zhou Donghai suddenly felt that money was truly a marvelous thing. Who would have thought that a poor, dirt-caked boy from the rural backwaters of Songbei would one day carve out his own domain in this city of sky-high rents, becoming a successful man surrounded by beautiful women?

It seemed almost unreal to Zhou Donghai himself. In just two short years, he’d gone from having nothing to living in abundance. Life, at times, was certainly a curious thing.

By the time he finished lunch, it was already past one. Wandering back to the complex, he headed to the building next door—his “wealth factory.”

When Zhou Donghai opened the door, the room was already full. Each person had a computer, their fingers flying over the keyboards. Zhou Donghai asked the young man in a white T-shirt beside him, using their regional dialect, “Is everyone here?”

“They’re all here,” the young man replied.

Zhou Donghai nodded, cleared his throat, and addressed the room in his hometown dialect: “Work hard, everyone. Today’s Friday. If we make a hundred thousand today, we’ll call it early and I’ll treat you all to a night out at the club.” Zhou Donghai was unusually animated, and his hometown crew seemed invigorated by his words, throwing themselves even more frantically into their work.

He lounged in his office chair, scrolling through the photos he’d snapped the night before, a look of lingering satisfaction on his face. “Tonight, I’ll head over to Xiao Zhang’s place again—more beautiful women, more fun, and no chance of being raided. What a perfect spot!” With his feet propped on the desk, Zhou Donghai was already daydreaming about the evening’s escapades.

“Let’s do a little ‘uniform fantasy’ tonight—have all the girls wear police uniforms. The thrill of a police station intrigue! Just the thought makes me happy.” Zhou Donghai laughed aloud at his own musings, the sound echoing so loudly that even those outside could hear his hearty guffaw.

As he scrolled through his phone, he stumbled upon a message from Jia Cunzai. The sight left Zhou Donghai both exasperated and amused.

He felt it was perfectly normal for men to have a wandering eye, but someone as lecherous as Jia Cunzai was hard to come by. If he wasn’t posting sneaky photos of women’s legs on his private social feed, he was uploading pictures of himself in hotel rooms—never with anyone attractive. Sometimes Zhou Donghai wondered if Jia Cunzai was simply a deranged idiot.

Yesterday was even more ridiculous. While Zhou Donghai was still out drinking, Jia Cunzai messaged him, asking for next quarter’s hosting fees in advance, claiming he’d been caught in a hotel room by someone’s husband and was now locked in with a group demanding money. Zhou Donghai couldn’t help but laugh—he almost wanted a photo of the scene to witness this fool’s humiliation firsthand.

He couldn’t wire money directly, as Jia Cunzai claimed his own account had been frozen. Zhou Donghai was baffled—how could this guy, who barely earned anything, have his account frozen, when Zhou himself moved hundreds of thousands every day without issue? When he asked for the other party’s account, Jia Cunzai sent a contact card instead. But Zhou was in a good mood and didn’t argue, simply sent the money as requested.

Yet, if Jia Cunzai weren’t such a fool, he wouldn’t have so easily agreed to host servers for a stranger he’d never met. Zhou Donghai himself didn’t really know why the boss insisted on outsourcing the servers, but it cost little, and he just followed the rules. Fortunately, Jia Cunzai was easy to manipulate and never asked what Zhou’s business was or what programs were running on the servers. If he knew those little servers netted Zhou thousands a day, he’d be green with envy.

Thus, Zhou Donghai passed the day fiddling with his phone, checking the computers, doing a bit of work himself, occasionally stepping out to supervise his men, all the while fantasizing about the “police uniform” party that night. Time slipped by quickly. When he glanced at his watch, it was already seven in the evening. Stepping out of his small office, he asked the young man in the white T-shirt, “How did we do today?”

The young man grinned. “About a hundred and fifty thousand. Two big suckers alone netted us over a hundred grand.”

Delighted, Zhou Donghai waved expansively, “Brothers, let’s call it a day. No more work tonight—I’m taking you all out for a good time.” With that, he strode toward the door.

But as Zhou Donghai opened the door, a team of uniformed police officers surged in, swiftly subduing everyone. Before he could react, Zhou Donghai was pinned to the ground.

The officers wasted no words, bundling them off to the station without delay. Zhou Donghai had no idea what was happening; in a blink, he found himself behind bars.

Once at the station, Zhou Donghai couldn’t help but feel like slapping himself. He cursed his own fantasies about uniforms—he hadn’t even glimpsed the “temptation,” but the uniforms had most certainly come for him. What a bitter irony.

He looked at the middle-aged man before him: dark-skinned, eyes sharp as knives, sending a chill down Zhou Donghai’s spine. He couldn’t fathom why he’d been arrested. Was it because of last night? Impossible—when catching thieves or adulterers, the police didn’t wait until the next day, and besides, he’d been alone. Why arrest everyone?

Could his business have been exposed? That couldn’t be—he never dealt directly with the duped fools, and all the money was handled online. No way he could be found out. Was there a traitor? Unlikely—these were all brothers from his hometown, and he treated them well. Who would betray him?

Was it Jia Cunzai? Impossible. That fool didn’t even know his real name, let alone the location of his base. Zhou Donghai’s anxiety grew. He didn’t know what was happening and dared not meet the eyes of the man before him. All he could do was sit with his head bowed, waiting for questioning.

Haifeng regarded Zhou Donghai with a surge of anger. These were the men who had caused Huang Guan’s death, yet here they were living in luxury—was it truly that crime paid and virtue brought only ruin? Earning more than a hundred thousand in a single day—Haifeng wondered how many had fallen victim to these scoundrels, how many had been left in tears because of them.

After a while, Zhao Zhijie called to report that the preliminary forensic analysis was complete; chat logs with “Li Mengyao” had been found on Zhou Donghai’s computer. She was the girlfriend with whom Huang Guan had been involved for a year.

Haifeng studied Zhou Donghai—high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, hair slicked with gel, hands curled defensively against his chest, looking for all the world like a meerkat. Haifeng could not fathom how someone like this had driven Huang Guan to his death, nor could he see what qualities this man possessed that had so bewitched Huang Guan.

“What’s your name?” Haifeng asked him.

“My name is Zhou Donghai,” Zhou replied in his Songbei dialect.

“Speak Mandarin.”

Seeing the menace in Haifeng’s gaze, Zhou Donghai grew even more frightened. But he simply couldn’t speak Mandarin—he could only understand it. In a panic, he gestured awkwardly, speaking in dialect to indicate that he couldn’t speak Mandarin.

Zhang Mufeng, observing this scene, couldn’t help but ask, “You really don’t speak Mandarin?”

Zhou Donghai nodded furiously, like a chicken pecking rice.

Haifeng looked him over, then stepped out, meeting Liu Zhiyang as he, too, emerged from the interrogation room, shaking his head.

Haifeng turned to the men waiting in the holding area. “Which of you can speak Mandarin?”

They all exchanged looks. One after another, their heads shook like rattles.

Haifeng asked the guard, “Can you understand their dialect?”

The guard replied, “They’re not from Qingdong, so I don’t understand a word. I thought they spoke your regional dialect! But even though I couldn’t understand, I didn’t let them talk to each other, so don’t worry about that.”

Haifeng managed a wry smile. He realized he’d overlooked a crucial issue when assembling the team, and now they found themselves in this farcical predicament. Liu Zhiyang smiled ruefully beside him. “What do we do, make them type their answers? This is a first for me. There’s never a dull moment with you—who’d have thought we’d need translators in our own country?”

Haifeng replied helplessly, “They’re not faking it. For now, we’ll have to keep things simple, have them type out their statements, and bring them back to Mingcheng to find a solution.”

Liu Zhiyang could only nod in resignation and return to the interrogation room to try again.

By the time they finished questioning everyone, dawn had broken. The night had slipped away unnoticed. The local officers in Qingdong had already helped transfer the detainees to temporary holding. When Haifeng wearily exited the interrogation room, he found Liu Zhiyang asleep at the desk. Haifeng gently woke him, and, along with Zhang Mufeng and Li Mengyang, they dragged their exhausted bodies toward the hotel. At the entrance, they met Zhao Zhijie and Li Weiwei, who had just returned from forensic analysis. Thus, six people who had gone sleepless through the night returned together to the hotel.