Siheyuan came through and sent Jia Zhang to prison

Zhao Lei was stunned for a moment, then slapped his thigh. The anger in his eyes gradually faded as if doused with cold water, replaced by a bright light of sudden understanding. Even his voice rose a half octave: "Director He, I understand! You're playing the long game!" He straightened his back, his tone full of certainty. "I'll arrange for the men to change into plainclothes and keep a close eye on Jiang Hu—I'll record every detail of how many cups of tea he drinks each day, who he nods and greets, which alleys he enters, and who he meets, down to the last detail, without a single mistake!"

He knew perfectly well that the bureau chief's move was shrewd—Jiang Hu had just been released from the detention center and was bound to be guilty. He would either be rushing to contact his backers to report to them or busy destroying the evidence that hadn't been seized. As long as he kept a close eye on him, he wouldn't have trouble finding even more solid leverage. Only by following the clues and uprooting the entire network of connections behind him could he truly win this game.

He Feng nodded, the cigarette between his fingers already burning down to the filter, making him slightly pull his hand back before precisely stubbing it out in the ashtray, the embers hissing as they went out at the bottom. "Go on, tell the brothers to stay alert, take turns keeping watch, and make sure they don't give away our whereabouts." Some things don't need to be said outright. Zhao Lei is a veteran member; he'll understand what's meant to be. Saying too much might only create unnecessary trouble and leak information.

On the other side, Jiang Hu walked out of the detention center's large iron gate, squinting at the midday sun. The warm light bathed his face, making him feel relaxed, as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted from his bones. He never dreamed things would go so smoothly—the account books hidden in the cracks of the old house's walls, the witnesses he had bribed at great expense, all of which had been confiscated by He Feng's men, were ultimately released on the grounds of "incomplete evidence chain." It seemed that the "old leader" in the province he had asked to find recently hadn't been wasted; that box of Moutai and gold bars he had kept hidden away were well worth the money!

"Hmph, a bunch of trash." He spat on the ground, the spittle glistening in the sunlight before being quickly swept away by the wind. A haughty smile spread across his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes radiating smugness: "Trying to take down me, Jiang Hu? You're still too green!" He reached up and straightened the crumpled collar of his shirt, stained from the rough cloth of the detention center, which looked particularly unsightly. Then he walked straight towards the black sedan parked by the roadside—the car his nephew Jiang Ming had specially driven to pick him up, its windows tinted dark, looking quite impressive.

He settled into the soft leather chair, leaning back comfortably, his fingers rhythmically tapping his knees as he mentally calculated: first, he needed to find an opportunity to teach He Feng a lesson; second, he needed to regain control of the mine as soon as possible, as the workers were waiting for his orders; and most importantly, he needed to find Zhang Jie's whereabouts quickly—that bastard still had the list of smuggled ore he had amassed years ago, and keeping him around would only cause trouble, so he had to get rid of him as soon as possible.

Unbeknownst to him, two figures in jackets and baseball caps were already watching him from the alleyway not far away. The one on the left was carrying a vegetable basket with a few wilted greens, but his eyes kept glancing towards the car; the one on the right was squatting on the ground, pretending to fix a bicycle that rattled everywhere except for the bell, turning the wrench in his hand, but his eyes were like two lurking cheetahs, locked on the black car, able to hear even the sound of the wheels rolling over the stones.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, falling on them. It was a warm spring day, the air filled with the fragrance of flowers, yet the two men exuded a chilling aura, as if preparing to pounce on their prey. They knew that if they waited patiently, this newly unleashed "tiger" would eventually reveal its weakness, and then it would be time to close the net.

As soon as Jiang Hu stepped out of the detention center, his stomach rumbled with cravings—his mind was filled with images of glistening braised pork belly, tender braised pork hock coated in sauce, and the refreshing taste of an ice-cold beer from a corner pub. He instinctively reached for his pocket, about to hail a pedicab and head to his usual restaurant in the city center, but his steps froze, as if nailed to the spot.

The words of advice the police gave him before releasing him suddenly whispered in his ear like mosquitoes: "Zhang Jie and his gang are still on the run. They have weapons. Be careful. Don't be too conspicuous lately, and avoid crowded places."

"That's true." He smacked his lips, the astringent taste of the coarse rice from the detention center still lingering on his tongue, but the slight craving he felt was instantly suppressed, as if doused with cold water. That madman Zhang Jie, whom he had betrayed and used to take the blame, was probably now searching the city for revenge, his eyes blazing with rage. If he were to swagger into a restaurant now and be seen by those people, who knows what kind of bloodshed might ensue? He'd be back in as soon as he got out, and might even lose his life.

"Forget it." Jiang Hu reluctantly withdrew his hand, spat on the ground, and turned to move towards home. He'd better go back to his nest first, take a nice hot shower, and change into clean clothes; that would be better than anything else.

He lived in a moss-covered tenement building in the old town. The stairwell was so narrow that only one person could pass at a time, with coal baskets, broken cardboard boxes, and pickling jars piled up on both sides. A lingering smell of cooking oil mingled with the damp, musty odor from the walls, making his nose sting. When he took out his key to open the door, the lock clicked open. The house was quiet, the curtains were drawn tightly, and the light was dim. He threw his wrinkled coat onto the sofa, tugged at the sticky shirt around his neck, and went straight into the bathroom.

The water from the showerhead was initially icy cold, making him shiver. It took a while before wisps of steam rose, slowly spreading out. Jiang Hu stood under the showerhead, letting the hot water drench his entire body. He scrubbed the grime on his arms vigorously with his fingers, creating thin, grayish-black "snakes" that slid down the drain with the water. The mirror was fogged up by the steam; he wiped a clear patch, looking at his unshaven, sunken face with dark circles under his eyes, before letting out a long sigh, as if expelling all the bad luck he'd accumulated over the past few days.

After showering, he changed into a slightly worn polyester shirt, sat down on a wicker chair on the balcony, and lit a cigarette. Amidst the swirling smoke, he stared blankly at the blue cotton shirt drying outside the window—the mess at the coal mine bureau wasn't going to end so easily. Although he'd found a few scapegoats, including lower-level mine managers, to take the blame and clear himself of all responsibility, He Feng's eyes were like knives, chillingly cold; he certainly wasn't planning to let it go so easily. And then there were the miners buried underground; their families were still causing a scene at the bureau's gate, clutching the IOUs for their work injury compensation that he'd signed years ago. If this matter couldn't be contained…