Siheyuan came through and sent Jia Zhang to prison

Xiao Wang shook his head, moved closer to Lao Li, his shoulder almost bumping into the other's arm, and whispered in Lao Li's ear: "The captain said we should just stay here and keep watch, and not take any action for now. Just wait for his news."

Old Li's brows furrowed instantly, his wrinkles crinkling into a knot, like a piece of old tree bark soaked and twisted. His heart pounded like a rabbit's, filled with unease—Zhang Jie was the key figure on this line, holding half the life of the smuggling network in his hands. Was he really going to let him in to meet Jiang Hu? What if the two conspired, burned all the shady accounts, or simply slipped away through the back window? But then he reconsidered: there were only two of them on his side, while the other side openly numbered five, each with a fierce look in their eyes, their belts bulging—they might be hiding weapons. If it came to a head-on confrontation, his old buddy (referring to his sidearm) might not be effective; he might not fare well and could easily scare these two big fish. If they escaped, catching them would be incredibly difficult, perhaps requiring a chase of two hundred miles. He spat on the ground, his saliva tinged with blood, and said in a muffled voice, "Alright, let's listen to the captain. He's more reliable and patient than we are."

The two men were speaking in hushed tones when the door of the dilapidated old building across the street creaked open a crack, the rusty iron hinges scraping against the floor with a harsh, grinding sound. Zhang Jie emerged, his black jacket zipped up high, obscuring half his face. Behind him followed two burly men, each carrying a bulging black cloth bag, its corners drooping low, revealing a glint of cold metal, like the curve of a gun barrel. The three men moved with hurried steps, their heels clattering on the uneven concrete, clearly rushing off to take care of something urgent. Zhang Jie walked in the middle, his head almost touching his chest, speaking rapidly to the man beside him, his lips moving quickly, his profile tense, his jawline like a hard stone, exuding an indescribable anxiety. Old Li squinted and stared without saying a word, but his hand quietly pressed on the pistol at his waist. His knuckles turned bluish-white from the force, and he even softened his breathing.

Xiao Wang couldn't contain himself any longer. His fingers clenched so tightly in his trousers that they turned white, his nails almost digging into his flesh. He tugged at Lao Li's sleeve, his eyes gleaming with barely suppressed excitement: "Uncle Li, how about I follow them? We'll keep a distance, sticking to them through the back alleys. We'll make sure we're not spotted. We can see where they go next, maybe we can find their hideout or traces of their other accomplices. You stay here and keep an eye on the people in the building. We'll keep watch from both sides, making sure nothing goes wrong."

Old Li had also been considering it, taking half a step forward, his heels crunching on the gravel. He figured Zhang Jie's hurried manner suggested he was probably moving stolen goods. But then he remembered Zhao Lei's parting instructions: "Stay calm, don't make any rash moves, wait for backup." He abruptly pulled Xiao Wang back, his grip firm: "Forget it, the captain specifically told us not to follow. Let's just stay here—there are still three people in this old building who haven't come out yet. They might be hiding something more important, like ledgers, rosters, or people waiting for backup. If you lose them, or alert them and they jump over the back wall, that would be a real disaster, a huge loss."

Xiao Wang nodded heavily, took a deep breath, his chest heaving like a small animal that had just finished a run, and the barely suppressed impatience in his heart slowly subsided. He knew that the worst thing in this line of work was impulsiveness; patience was key, and the right opportunity would eventually come. The two retreated back into the shadows of the street corner, their backs against the cold wall, like two stone statues embedded in the brickwork. Their eyes were fixed on the doors and windows of the old building—the old newspapers pasted on the window frames rustled in the wind, their edges curling into waves; the light in the east-facing window on the second floor flickered, and occasionally a dark shadow would flit by; even the smell of smoke emanating from a crack in a window, changing from pungent, cheap tobacco to thick, acrid smoke, did not escape their notice. Like two lurking cheetahs, they held their breath, their heartbeats slowed, quietly waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Old Li's gaze swept across the half-open window on the second floor. The glass was covered with a layer of dust, and he could vaguely see a blurry figure moving about, hunched over, occasionally raising a hand to wipe his face. The figure looked like Jiang Hu. Confirming that he was still in the building and not in immediate danger, Old Li's tense jawline relaxed slightly. He didn't say anything more, but simply stubbed out his cigarette in the dust at his feet, the sparks hissing out. He then gripped the pistol at his waist again, his fingertips rubbing against the cold holster.

Just after seven in the morning, He Feng stepped out of his house carrying his briefcase. The morning mist hadn't yet dissipated, and the air carried a hint of early autumn chill. He was heading to the bureau to handle an urgent document—a smuggling case lead he'd just received from an informant the previous night, which he needed to piece together as quickly as possible. Just as he reached the alley entrance, Zhao Lei rushed over from the side alley. His bangs were ruffled by the wind, his shirt collar was open, and he had a light sheen of sweat on his face. His voice was hurried: "Chief, wait a minute! I have something to tell you. It's about the latest developments concerning Zhang Jie and Jiang Hu. I just received the news."

Seeing his serious expression and slightly furrowed brows, He Feng knew there was probably an important clue. He nodded, quickly scanning the surroundings, and said in a low voice, "If you have something to say, go to the office. There are too many people around here." A crowd had already gathered at the breakfast stall on the street corner. The aroma of fried dough sticks mixed with the steam of soy milk wafted over. Several elderly men and women were chatting idly on small stools. If unrelated people overheard them and disrupted the carefully laid plan, all the effort of staking out and keeping watch would be wasted.

The two men strode into the police station building without speaking a word, their leather shoes clicking crisply on the polished marble floor. Only after entering He Feng's office, marked "Director's Office," and closing the door to shut out the outside noise, did Zhao Lei breathe a sigh of relief. He pulled a small, worn-out notebook from his pocket, quickly flipped it open, and pointed to a page, saying, "Director, yesterday we were watching Jiang Hu's old building from six in the morning until midnight. We discovered that Zhang Jie not only brought four men in, but when he left, he was carrying a black cloth bag—the kind made of canvas, with shiny, worn edges. It looked heavy, and his arm seemed to sag as he carried it; we don't know what it contained."