Chapter Seventeen: Complex Components

“What, it was him? How could that be possible?”

“Even Liu Laisheng has come to his senses now? He actually helped solve a case?”

“It seems to be true. I heard about it too—they say it was a case of tomb robbery and artifact theft.”

“I heard a few people even died, up on the back hill.”

“Really? That can’t be. Are you sure you didn’t get it wrong? With his timid nature, I’d never believe it, not in a million years.”

“There’s no mistake. It must be the Public Security Bureau sent a commendation to the factory, otherwise how could he be named an exemplary worker?”

Everyone wore an expression of sudden understanding.

At that moment, Liu Laisheng stood beaming, holding a banner high with both hands, posing for a commemorative photo beside Director Chen, radiating energy and so excited he could barely speak coherently.

Immediately after, Director Chen announced another important decision: following a meeting of the leadership group, Liu Laisheng was relieved of his previous position and appointed as the Office Director of the Chemical Fertilizer Plant, enjoying the benefits of a full section chief rank.

This news exploded like a bomb among the crowd below, setting off a frenzy of chatter—envy, curses, disdain, and worry all mixed together.

“My, Liu Laisheng actually became Office Director. What a stroke of luck for him.”

Sister Gao muttered awkwardly.

“Who would have thought? That sly Liu Laisheng actually managed to turn his life around.”

Widow Chen murmured absentmindedly, her tone unclear whether perfunctory or thoughtful.

Sister Gao, noticing Widow Chen’s awkwardness, teased her.

“What’s wrong, Beautiful Chen? Your sweetheart has been promoted and you’re not even happy? Hahaha!”

“Oh, get lost! It’s you who’s his sweetheart.”

Widow Chen, rarely so flustered, blushed deeply and, at a loss for words, could only give Sister Gao a few playful thumps to cover her embarrassment.

Life comes in a hundred forms, each with its own posture. Most follow blindly, watching the excitement, cracking sunflower seeds, before returning to their old routines and patterns—living their own lives, pursuing their own happiness. So-called peace is a blessing, and ordinary people have their own simple happiness to seek.

Liu Laisheng felt as if today was the happiest day of his life. He never imagined that this incident would allow him to rise so swiftly, shedding his unlucky warehouse manager post to join the plant’s leadership. At this moment, he admired his own quick thinking and decisive action—otherwise, how could such good fortune have landed on his head?

After a month of meticulous investigation, the County Public Security Bureau, in cooperation with multiple departments, worked day and night to determine that the General’s Tomb from the early Tang era had been robbed by a gang of five. They stole several national first-class cultural relics. Quarrels over the division of spoils led to violent infighting, with two of the five dismembered to erase evidence and another burned to destroy the body—measures taken to conceal key clues and mislead the investigation. The last two accomplices fled with important artifacts. The county authorities circulated their descriptions and requested all police departments along the way to pursue leads and arrest anyone attempting to traffic the stolen relics.

As the informant, Liu Laisheng made a significant contribution. The County Public Security Bureau awarded him a special commendation and sent an official letter of thanks to the Chemical Fertilizer Plant. Director Chen, eager to set up a role model to inspire enthusiasm among the workforce, immediately decided to make Liu Laisheng the plant’s exemplary figure and advanced worker of the year.

It just so happened that the old Office Director, Old Cui, had retired. Director Chen, over some objections, insisted on letting Liu Laisheng fill the vacancy and promoted him to Office Director. When the organization sent a representative to talk with Liu Laisheng, he was overjoyed to see his dream come true. He slapped his chest and pledged to fulfill the organization's trust, dedicate his life to the Party and the people, and contribute to the socialist cause.

The letter of thanks from the County Public Security Bureau mentioned another name—naturally, Old Duan. Unfortunately, the taciturn Old Duan refused any organizational care, unwilling to contribute in another post. He claimed he was used to being free and undisciplined, didn’t have any technical skills, and was content with his current simple job. He was a solitary man, just himself to feed.

Director Chen had wanted to extend further organizational concern, but others around him objected, saying Old Duan’s background was complicated and some lingering historical issues had never been resolved—he was not suitable for important positions. If there ever came another political reckoning or investigation, and Old Duan turned out to be anti-Party or counter-revolutionary, no one would be able to explain it. Hearing this, Director Chen gave up, letting matters be. The vacant warehouse manager post would be filled when the time was right.

Old Duan returned to his warehouse in good spirits. But without Liu Laisheng, life became lonelier—there was no one left to play chess and banter with him.

Recently, when Liu Laisheng returned to the warehouse to collect his belongings, Old Duan grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go, insisting on several games of chess before he left. Even as Liu Laisheng was leaving, Old Duan was reluctant to part, begging him to stay and reminisce about their revolutionary friendship.

Liu Laisheng broke out in a cold sweat at these words, hastily withdrew his hand and said, “It’s better to remember than to meet, and better not to meet at all. Goodbye, old friend. Come by for tea if you’re free. As for the winnings from before, keep them. I don’t care anymore.” With that, he jumped on his old bicycle and disappeared in a flash.

The County Chemical Fertilizer Plant, communal apartment block.

As the factory’s end-of-work broadcast sounded, a great tide of workers poured through the gates—some in groups, some cycling through the crowds, all bathed in warm sunlight. In the apartment block, the clatter of frying pans and sizzling oil rose from the communal kitchens, one after another, filling the air with the heat of busy lives.

A thin boy, wearing a green jacket faded from many washings and carrying a canvas satchel, pushed open the door and called out, “Ma, Ma, is dinner ready? I’m starving!”

A woman poked her head out from the kitchen in the hallway and shouted back, “You little brat, where have you been running off to? You’re only just getting home. Wait a bit, dinner will be on the table soon.”

Just then, another voice came from the hallway, urging, “Aunt Li, hurry up! I’m waiting to fry my shredded potatoes!”

“All right, all right, almost done. Just one more dish—give me a moment and I’ll be out of your way.”

“My husband’s nagging me again—nag, nag, as if missing a mouthful will starve him.”

The first woman, hearing the complaints from inside, replied impatiently.

In the communal apartment, three or four families shared a single kitchen and bathroom. Whoever arrived first cooked first—often, the first family to finish eating still had to wait for the others to finish before they could wash dishes and clean up. When it came to the toilet, everyone queued honestly; if they couldn’t wait, they’d go outside. The apartment block was cramped, but the drama of daily life—laughter and tears, gossip and quarrels—played out in its truest form. There were no barriers between people, no illusory material desires, no need to be a slave to money.