Chapter Twenty-Four: The Factory Homicide

Cui Yue’s face was riddled with doubt—could he really have misseen things? Or perhaps today’s run-in had unsettled him, too much drink and too much imagination, scaring himself with dreams. He gazed outside at the tranquil night: the moon bright, the stars sparse, a gentle breeze stirring, all peaceful and serene. There was not a trace of anything ghostly. Muttering a few words under his breath, Cui Yue rose and entered the house.

From the shadows, Zhang Hu watched Cui Yue turn indoors. His face twitched, then slowly stretched into an eerie grin—ghastly and cadaverous, menacing and grotesque.

The little bridge welcomed night’s rain again, the fresh breeze refusing the faint dawn. The wine never finished, the sorrows never clear, the road long and lonely—who would accompany me? In a small courtyard, beside a row of low houses, the figure under the lamp stretched long and thin. A cup of tea cooled, the chess piece in hand yet to fall. Suddenly, gazing out the window, a trace of thought crossed his face, a gleam flashed in his palm, and a quiet alarm sounded in his heart. Without another word, he flipped like a hawk and vanished out the window, leaving no trace.

Having finished his shift, Cui Yue pushed his battered old Forever bicycle home, barely greeting Cui Yuanjun before collapsing onto the bed. His head throbbed violently as he pulled the covers over himself—this was the famed cure by dream. Cui Yuanjun, surprised, set down his newspaper and called several times for Cui Yue, but received no response. Aunt Li carried in a bowl of porridge from the kitchen, called out, but still received no answer.

“This child, what’s wrong? Is he ill?” Aunt Li fretted.

“Sick? What could he be sick with? He’s fine. It’s you, always spoiling him, never letting him do a thing, coddling him so he can’t bear any hardship. Just one night shift and he’s like this? Usually he’s bursting with energy.” Cui Yuanjun, sipping his tea, complained.

“Mom, I’m fine, just tired. A nap and I’ll be okay,” Cui Yue managed, unable to stand his parents’ nagging.

“This child, honestly…” Aunt Li finally relaxed.

“Honestly—what? It’s all because you pamper him,” Cui Yuanjun muttered, glancing toward the inner room.

Cui Yue, head under the covers, felt cold sweat streaming down his body, his head spinning, dark dots crawling across his vision, nausea rising. A sudden thought leapt into his mind: “That old Zhang Hu—did he give me fake liquor? My head’s splitting open.”

Just then, a fierce, stormy pounding came at the door.

“Who is it? You’ll break the door down!” Cui Yuanjun hurried to open it. Outside stood a burly man, panting heavily—he was taken aback.

“Zhang Hu, you trying to tear my door down?”

“Old Cui, no, it’s urgent. Where’s Cui Yue?” Zhang Hu pressed.

“He’s here, sleeping in the inner room.” Zhang Hu darted inside, yanked the covers away, and hauled Cui Yue out of bed.

Cui Yue, still miserable, blinked—damn, it’s that troublemaker again. He almost choked.

“Cui Yue, hurry up, come with me to the factory,” Zhang Hu commanded, dragging him along without explanation.

“Hey, what happened? What trouble did he get into?” Cui Yuanjun chased after them.

“Nothing, something happened at the factory,” Zhang Hu replied, already pulling Cui Yue away.

“Uncle Zhang, what’s going on? Why so urgent?” Cui Yue could barely keep up.

“There’s been a big accident. Someone died at the factory.”

“Dead…?”

“Hurry up…” Soon, Zhang Hu, riding his battered Forever with Cui Yue, reached the factory, nearly rattling the bike to pieces—its retirement, honorable and overdue.

Inside the scrap processing workshop, a female worker in uniform lay collapsed over a machine, arms dangling, her long hair trailing down her back, her face unseen. Blood flowed down the machine, soaking a wide patch, already congealed. The workers arriving for the morning shift had all been terrified, quickly notified the security office, and reported it to the police.

Technicians from the Public Security Bureau were surveying the scene, led by Zhao Weiping, who smoked silently, staring at the site in deep thought.

Workers had flocked to the scene, crowding the workshop until not even air could squeeze through. The workshop leaders struggled to keep them behind the safety cordon, hastily organizing staff to restrain the crowd.

“Hey, why are you only just arriving?”

“As soon as the machine stopped, I rushed over. Such a pity—Huang Juan was only in her twenties, and now…”

“Tell me about it. I saw her just two days ago, she was asking me how to knit with flower needles, and now…”

“Ah, life is unpredictable. I heard from the scrap workshop people that they met their quota yesterday afternoon—there were no night shifts scheduled.”

“So why would Huang Juan, perfectly fine, be here in the workshop, dying on the machine? It’s baffling.”

“Who knows? No one can say for sure right now.”

Everyone talked at once, offering theories and stories, and soon several versions of events emerged.

“What’s all this noise? What are you all gawking at? If you’re so chatty, you can forget about this week’s performance bonuses—work with your mouths, will you?”

Just as the hubbub peaked, a voice rang out—it was Chen Changming, the director of the fertilizer plant, arriving at the scene. The workers fell silent, not daring to utter a word.

“Director Liu, get everyone back to their workshops. Crowding here—what does it look like? You workshop directors are all useless, can’t control your own people?”

Chen Changming pointed at the group, scolding them.

“Security staff stay, everyone else clear out.”

“Yes, yes.”

Liu Laisheng and the workshop directors hurried to herd the workers out of the scrap workshop.

Just outside, Liu Laisheng spotted a familiar back—an old, faded uniform.

“Old Duan, what are you doing here, joining the crowd?”

Liu Laisheng’s sharp eyes picked him out immediately and called.

Hearing his name, Old Duan turned awkwardly, rubbing his hands.

“Oh, Director Liu, with so many people, I didn’t see you.”

“So it is you. Why aren’t you in the warehouse where you belong, coming to gawk here?”

Liu Laisheng grabbed Old Duan’s shoulder, feigning severity.

“Director Liu, everyone came over, so did I. As soon as I heard something big happened at the factory, I rushed to see,” Old Duan replied sheepishly.

“You came all this way? You really have time to spare. That’s called leaving your post without permission, you know?”

Liu Laisheng teased, refusing to let up.

“Uh, Director Liu, I just remembered something—I might’ve forgotten to lock the door. I have to go, see you around, we’ll chat later…”

Old Duan was already edging away, slipping out with the departing crowd.

“Captain Zhao, any findings?”

Chen Changming’s question snapped Zhao Weiping from his reverie, bringing him back to reality.

“Ah? Oh, nothing found so far,” Zhao Weiping replied, offhand.