When Yan Tuo returned with various breakfast items, he indeed won everyone’s favor. Many people only knew him as the boss but had never interacted with him. Receiving such unexpected care, they felt flattered and even a bit honored—even the breakfast seemed especially delicious.
He paid special attention to the person who had gone into surgery last night.
The man was called Tian Xiang, in his twenties. Because of his gunshot wound limiting his movement, Xiong Hei had told him to recover where he was, saying his salary would continue and he could return to his position once healed.
As Yan Tuo carried the meal bag over, Lu Xian, who was brushing his teeth, caught sight of him and mumbled: “Hey, you can’t let a patient eat just anything—no spicy food right now.”
Yan Tuo replied: “I know that much—it’s beef and egg flower porridge, for protein.”
Lu Xian stopped complaining. Hearing the commotion, Tian Xiang quickly pressed the electric bed’s switch to help himself sit up, then pulled out the small dining tray, his eyes full of gratitude. Indeed, those worthy of being bosses were all of high quality, approachable, and even being so thoughtful about meals. Unlike Xiong Hei with his explosive temper, always hitting and kicking people—he’d never be more than someone taking orders.
Yan Tuo opened the meal bag, took out the porridge container, removed the lid, placed a spoon, and set it on the tray: “Can you eat by yourself?”
Tian Xiang nodded repeatedly: “Yes, yes, yes.”
He immediately took a spoonful into his mouth, praising it before even tasting it: “It’s delicious.”
Yan Tuo smiled and sat on the stool beside the bed: “Brother Xiong told me about yesterday’s events. You’ve worked hard.”
Tian Xiang responded anxiously: “Not at all, not at all. I’m paid for it—it’s Brother Xiong who gave me the opportunity, thinking highly of me.”
Yan Tuo didn’t respond immediately.
Xiong Hei, though he might seem like a big brute without brains, had gathered quite a group of fierce, daring subordinates willing to cross lines and take risks, thanks to his generosity and sense of loyalty. These people had no connection to Di Xiao or Chang Gui, but they were probably just as troublesome.
Yan Tuo had drawn a structural diagram of Lin Xirou’s group.
At the core were the Di Xiao led by Lin Xirou, their numbers unknown. However, he suspected that the Excel spreadsheet Lin Ling had stolen recorded their distribution, with missing numbers, currently up to No. 017 Zhu Changyi—these people, except for Xiong Hei, were scattered across different locations, social classes, and industries, living like ordinary people.
The inner circle consisted of Chang Gui, who according to Nie Jiuluo, were inexplicable and bizarre traitors. They hadn’t been attacked, hadn’t lost their minds, and seemed normal in all aspects, yet they would serve the Di Xiao faithfully unto death. From what he could see, his father Yan Haishan was one such Chang Gui, though not quite as “chang.”
The list of Chang Gui was completely blank, and because of this blankness, he maintained distance from everyone around him, never fully trusting, speaking only partially, mixing truth with fiction—ironically finding it easier to feel close to strangers.
The outer circle consisted of people like Tian Xiang—human, yes, but when they turned fierce, even ghosts would give way. The numbers and membership of this group were unknown and variable.
After drawing the structure diagram, Yan Tuo felt incredibly lonely, like a tiny ant trying to pull down a hot air balloon, fighting alone against a vast and bizarre organization.
Sometimes, he felt his progress was too slow—seven years had passed with almost no breakthrough. But then he would console himself: as long as he didn’t lose, as long as he still stood, it didn’t matter how slow he went. There was no need to hurry—after all, no matter how fast he moved, he could never get his family back.
…
Yan Tuo pulled his thoughts back and asked Tian Xiang: “Have you been with Brother Xiong long? How long has it been?”
Sensing the boss starting to ask questions, Tian Xiang became a bit nervous: “I was introduced to Brother Xiong through a friend. It’s been four years… last year, Brother Xiong arranged a position for me in the company, very stable, with full benefits.”
Yan Tuo nodded: “Are you comfortable at the company?”
Tian Xiang nodded vigorously: “Yes, yes. Mr. Yan, I’m very discreet, I understand the rules.”
“Is this your first time in Shihe?”
“Se-second time. The last time was in September, I came too.”
Yan Tuo acted as if he knew about the previous visit: “It didn’t go well last time, right? Almost cost a life—you should all be more careful.”
He remembered Lu Xian mentioning that in early September, someone was brought in nearly dead, with broken ribs that almost punctured a lung.
Tian Xiang responded nervously: “We were careless last time. We thought it was just an ordinary camper, and didn’t expect them to be so fierce. Everyone got anxious and used too much force.”
Camper… so they grabbed random people? And brought them for emergency treatment…
Yan Tuo suddenly remembered what Lin Ling had mentioned about her experience on the second underground floor of the farm.
She said she heard a man being beaten by Xiong Hei, pleading “we have no grievances,” while Aunt Lin reminded Xiong Hei to “be careful, don’t kill him, leave him breathing.”
It sounded very similar to the September incident: the captives were clueless, but had to be kept “alive”—dead ones were useless.
Yan Tuo didn’t dare ask too much about any one point, fearing suspicion. He naturally changed the topic: “This kind of work requires extra vigilance. Look at you this time…”
He gestured at Tian Xiang’s wound: “I heard it was even a blind person.”
At this, Tian Xiang was truly embarrassed, forgetting even to maintain his respectful demeanor. His face showed fierce anger as he cursed: “Fuck, I’m just unlucky. Mr. Yan, have you ever seen anyone as unlucky as me? A blind person fires one shot and hits me…”
Yan Tuo said calmly: “Not hitting your brain means you’re not that unlucky.”
Tian Xiang froze, a chill running down his back. This seemingly casual comment brought out countless fears—yes, what if it had hit his brain…
Xiong Hei told him to go pray at the temple—he should definitely go, thank the gods and buddhas for helping him survive this ordeal.
He swallowed and said: “Mr. Yan, you’re truly wise, opening my eyes with one sentence. No wonder they say people should be… optimistic. Optimistic people can see the good even in bad things…”
Yan Tuo had meant to give Tian Xiang a sharp reminder but ended up receiving unintended praise instead.
However, he had already stayed by Tian Xiang’s side for too long—any longer would seem suspicious. He stood up: “Never mind, anyway, that blind person’s companions are in our hands. I’ll go check…”
As if casually, he asked: “The people are at that place, right?”
Lin Xirou should have two locations in Shihe—if not this one, then “that place.”
Tian Xiang responded automatically, then realized: “Ah, no, Mr. Yan, don’t go—it would be a wasted trip. They were sent to the farm last night.”
The farm.
So they went to the farm.
Yan Tuo smiled: “Such a hurry, it was even snowing last night, was it really that urgent?”
He pointed at the porridge on the small tray: “Drink it quickly, before it gets cold.”
Yan Tuo used the excuse that buying breakfast early had made him tired and he needed to go back to his room for a nap. Lu Xian wore an “I knew it” expression: “See? I said you couldn’t change—hardworking for no more than three seconds.”
Yan Tuo ignored him, went into his room, and locked the door.
He just wanted a quiet place to organize the current information.
The people were at the farm.
This was very difficult. The second underground floor was too heavily guarded. Even if he cut the power and destroyed the computer surveillance, how could he break through those people inside, and how could he get Jiang Baichuan out?
Perhaps he should take it slow, first go to the farm, and make plans after seeing Jiang Baichuan.
Just as he was thinking, his phone rang.
It was Lin Ling.
Yan Tuo was very surprised, and his first words upon answering were: “Did something happen?”
…
Lin Ling was indeed his companion, but not an ideal one.
She was too timid. After the farm incident, she fell ill from fear, and for a long time afterward, she couldn’t sleep without lights on and couldn’t eat lotus root or any dishes with pulled sugar.
She had made two small acts of resistance. Once, she said she wanted to apply to a university in another city, but after Lin Xirou’s single “no,” she never mentioned it again.
The second time, Yan Tuo felt sorry for her and suggested: why don’t you just quietly leave? Don’t make any detailed plans—Aunt Lin is too shrewd, you can’t hide things from her. Don’t tell anyone, not even me. One day while out shopping, suddenly rushed to the station, bought a ticket, and left. When you arrive, buy a ticket to the next station, and the next. After several transfers, it should be hard to find you.
Lin Ling asked tearfully: “Will you leave?”
Yan Tuo said: “This is my home, I’m not going anywhere.”
Lin Ling hesitated for a long time, and finally, as he hoped, one day while out shopping, she disappeared.
Yan Tuo was genuinely happy—he might be unfortunate, but he didn’t want to drag others down with him.
But what he hadn’t expected was that Lin Ling was brought back by Xiong Hei the next afternoon. Lin Xirou was truly angry, grabbing Lin Ling’s hair and slapping her several times, clutching the three ticket stubs found on her and demanding: “Haven’t I been good to you? I raised you all these years, how dare you run away without a word? Why did you run? These tickets, one after another—where were you trying to go? Tell me!”
Lin Ling couldn’t come up with suitable lies but didn’t dare tell the truth, crying and shaking uncontrollably.
Seeing the situation becoming difficult to resolve, Yan Tuo stepped forward.
He said: “Let it go, Aunt Lin, don’t be angry. This is because of me.”
Lin Xirou was startled, seeming to realize her loss of composure, uncomfortably adjusting her hair: “You?”
Yan Tuo knew the lie had to be big enough to be convincing.
He said: “It’s like this—Lin Ling likes me. She confessed to me a few days ago, and I rejected her, saying we grew up together and I don’t have those feelings. She probably couldn’t handle it, being a girl with a thin face, wanted to run far away and never see me again.”
Young girls in puberty indeed often had such stubborn thoughts. Lin Xirou naturally accepted this explanation. She regretted her overreaction, laughing awkwardly and with some guilt, saying: “The girl has grown up indeed. It’s my fault for not paying attention.”
…
After that, Lin Xirou pampered Lin Ling in every way, buying her many new clothes and trinkets, taking time to have heart-to-heart talks, counseling her on emotional matters, telling her to look further ahead, that the scenery right beside you isn’t necessarily the best.
In short, everything seemed harmonious again, all seemingly forgotten—at least, for Lin Xirou.
However, not for Lin Ling.
She secretly found Yan Tuo and told him she had an intuition that she could never escape, that Lin Xirou would find ways to bring her back no matter what.
She also asked him: “Yan Tuo, why do you think Aunt Lin adopted me? There must be a reason, right?”
…
Thus, Lin Ling naturally became his companion, though not ideal, but having someone by your side was better than walking alone.
Yan Tuo took great care of Lin Ling, only letting her do the most covert and safe tasks, such as providing cover for him, gathering peripheral information, stealing that Excel spreadsheet from Lin Xirou’s computer, and continuously monitoring the movements of the people listed in it.
Lin Ling rarely called him unless something was truly wrong.
Sure enough, Lin Ling’s voice was low and urgent: “Yan Tuo, do you remember that spreadsheet, the one with the hundred surnames?”
Yan Tuo: “Yes, go on.”
“Those people always stayed in place, living ordinary lives, rarely traveling far except for work. But I’ve discovered that in the past two days, five of them have left.”
Five?
Yan Tuo drew in a sharp breath. Although the spreadsheet went up to No. 017, it started from No. 003 Xiong Hei, and the numbers weren’t consecutive, having gaps. In the end, excluding Xiong Hei, there were ten people in total.
Five had left—that was more than half.
He quickly dug out his laptop from his suitcase, asking while starting it up: “Did you find out where they went?”
“They all arrived in Xi’an first. Then split into two groups. Write this down: Numbers 010 and 015 seem to be heading to Shihe, where you are now. Numbers 004, 009, and 016 are probably going to the farm.”
Opening the spreadsheet, Yan Tuo quickly reviewed these numbers.
Numbers 010 and 015 were both men, looking at their photos, they were quite burly, similar to Xiong Hei’s type.
Numbers 004, 009, and 016 were two women and one man, all rather thin and scholarly-looking, with one of the women being quite elderly, in her sixties.
The impression was that the first group was more focused on physical force, and the second on discussion.
Lin Ling continued: “I’m not very clear about the group heading to Shihe. But for the three going to the farm, one of them was picked up by a company car. You know the cars have dashcams, right? I secretly took out the card to look. Although it only recorded outside images, I could hear the sound.”
Yan Tuo was somewhat surprised: “Pretty clever.”
Lin Ling felt embarrassed: “You didn’t bring me along this time, and I was just sitting at home anyway, wanted to do more. Like you said, it’s okay to go slow, do what we can.”
Yan Tuo: “Did you find anything?”
Lin Ling made an affirmative sound: “I listened to it all the way through. That person made several calls in the car. Leaving aside the casual family chatter, there was one call where they clearly lowered their voice and spoke very vaguely, but there was one particularly strange sentence.”
“They said: ‘Your opposition doesn’t matter, everyone has already voted, we must follow the rules, I vote for the death penalty.'”