Crucible of Solitude (6)
The main compound of the fallen Hulong Bang, along with the nearby auction house, dogfighting pit, and surrounding houses, had been repurposed by Bangpa action squad members as barracks and warehouses for storing their two-legged merchandise. After I'd personally cleared every last one of those warehouses and secured a haul of goods, Gao Xusen at the on-site command post stepped forward to buy most of them off me. He eyed me suspiciously and asked,
"You're not planning some charity work, are you...? So where do you intend to sell them?"
I swallowed a sigh and recited the excuse I'd prepared in advance.
"It's not about the money."
"Then what?"
"I'm thinking of coaxing those Uyghur abductees into becoming informants. You haven't already forgotten that we need to keep a close eye on the Muslims' movements regarding the Black Sea Party's arms supply routes, have you? Sure, there are sectarian differences, but they're all believers in Allah at the end of the day. Handle them right, and they'll make a fine network of spies."
"......"
Gao Xusen went quiet as a clam. I could guess what this noble had in mind. He'd planned to calculate the value of the merchandise I was taking and deduct it from my share of the profits. But with me invoking our shared goals, what more could he demand? Before he could even broach the subject, the embarrassed communist noble tacked on a needless question.
"That's fair enough, but isn't the number a bit much?"
"The more spies, the better. With so many Muslim minorities out there and no clue which tribe members are Black Sea Party collaborators, what results do you expect from scattering a handful?"
"Hm......"
"Official intel from investigations is available to rivals too. Hell, depending on the situation, your competitors might get info you don't. We need our own independent channels."
"I see, I see. I misspoke. Sorry about that. Just be careful handling those Uyghurs—they're all two-faced subversives."
Gao Xusen's apology came out more like a grumble. His talk of subversives was just empty pride. The deepening embarrassment he felt alone spilled over into unfair hysterics toward his subordinates.
"Shan-liang! Tai-long! Still no results?"
Hushan Liang. And Zhang Tailong. The communist noble's Public Security detectives were directing the search operations in place of their superior. Their goal: uncover traces of the Black Sea Party in this impoverished neighborhood. As expected, the poor migrant workers' district hid Black Sea Party lackeys. Though the Guangdong Triad's entrenched Bangpa had kept them from expanding fully, they'd still set up several hideouts with participating members and collaborators.
Of course, I could see exactly where those hideouts were. But with no way to explain how I knew, I hadn't tipped off the communist noble's Public Security goons.
Hushan Liang, who'd met me a few times before, stepped forward with a weary face to absorb the noble's irritation.
"Sorry, sir. We can't speed up any more—not when bombs could be hidden anywhere."
"Speed! That's the key! We need more evidence by end of day! The initial report and announcement have to be as dramatic as possible!"
"Understood."
This wasn't the first time I'd seen this. I'd only been at the command post for about half an hour, and already the noble had chewed out his men four times in the same pattern. He really seemed to have no talents beyond political maneuvering and fence-sitting.
Though political maneuvering alone is talent enough...
Just climbing to a high position in the communists' predator pit earned Gao Xusen the right to be called valuable. Even if it was thanks to his bloodline and connections. What difference was there between innate power and innate talent? Either way, it just hammered home the world's unfairness to those without it.
A heavy drowsiness was starting to creep in.
"Detective Hu. Got a moment?"
I decided to give Hushan Liang a light nudge.
"Thinking back to the initial breach, I recall some suspicious movement around here. Check it thoroughly."
Hushan Liang peered at the spot I indicated on the situation map and nodded.
"Good ambush point for intruders. Thanks for the tip."
The area was riddled with such spots, but he didn't dismiss my words. Gao Xusen's Public Security brass treated me almost like a superior. I'd delivered results, saved lives, and opened paths to promotion. Keep doling out favors at the right moments, and some might end up serving two masters—the nominal boss and the real one.
The hideout I'd pointed out was already cleaned out. First, some had been lured away by my initial bait, chasing free meals. Then the rest, guarding the place, had fled when trucks barreled straight through the neighborhood. But they hadn't left quietly. They'd rigged every bomb they couldn't take with tripwires before bolting. Add the noble's whip-cracking, and casualties were inevitable.
Boom boom boom—KABOOM!
The search team entering my marked spot finally tripped a wire, detonating two pairs of Explosively Formed Penetrators set to pair off. Four projectiles punched through walls, shredding the kill zone. The concrete chunks following them carried energy rivaling small-caliber lead rounds.
"Finally!"
Gao Xusen clenched his fist in excitement. For this noble, recovering the bombs intact wasn't the point. Finding traces of the "real Black Sea Party" was. This let the self-preserving communist brass neatly shed their anxiety over framing the Triad. A few lowly deaths in the process? Not his concern. If anything, some blood on their side added gravity—as long as the losses didn't cripple their forces.
"Division Chief."
I called softly, and Gao Xusen turned, his face still flushed with glee. I thumbed toward the live merchandise I wasn't taking.
"About that charity idea from earlier... why not give it a real shot?"
"Hm, for image-building?"
"Exactly. Feed and house them for a couple months till the buzz dies, then cut 'em loose. Dump them in some backwater village—won't cost much. No strings when you kick them out."
For people with nothing but their bodies—or kids who'd just get resold after going back to parents—this cold hypocrisy would feel like a godsend. In this savage, chaotic continent, a few hunger-free months were a massive gift. Anyone who's scavenged trash bins for meals would get it.
The noble brushed it off vaguely.
"I'll think on it. But there's something else I want your take on."
"What?"
"Your method from today—my rivals will copy it left and right. Won't that erase our first-mover advantage? They've got more heads and deeper pockets. They'll catch up fast, I'm worried."
The value in my method was the mindset shift. Shatter the fixation on sticking to budgets, and the rest was just imagination.
"Let them."
"You sure?"
I closed my heating eyes, pressed my temples, and nodded.
"Positive. The more they do it, the harder it'll get."
"Why?"
"Think logically. Sure, these slums are everywhere, but keep bulldozing blindly like today, and you'll run out of places for the displaced to go. Each round, more cash to hush complaints—rising rents chasing the chaos."
"Ah."
"And you've heard of the broken windows effect?"
"Hm? Oh. Ohhh!"
Gao Xusen let out a gasp. Moments like this showed greed clouded his thinking, but he wasn't uneducated or dim.
"Repeating this will trash the whole city! Bad for public order too!"
"Yes. Even if they don't notice, higher-ups will slam the brakes. The city's image in foreign media will go to hell. Top brass will judge the copycats: 'One clean sweep would've been fine, but they botched it imitating blindly.'"
"Haha! Indeed, indeed! They'll dig their own graves!"
I decided to cheer Gao Xusen up more.
"One more thing."
"What?"
"Al Qasim can churn out recoilless rifles and anti-tank rockets in a day with materials. Black Sea Party aren't idiots—they've placed orders by now. They've got cash to burn, and money makes things happen."
They had to prep for incoming armored reinforcements. No way they hadn't ordered. Even repurposing stockpiled EFPs as mines would've doomed today's stunt from the start. Bury penetrators upward in floors, wire the rooms—truck crushes in, boom! Cab shreds from below. Or axles snap. Ground-buried blasts waste power; this amps the projectiles.
"People remember the first one anyway. Imitations are just that. After Columbus, plenty stood eggs on end—who got in history books?"
Strictly speaking, my example was off. Contrary to legend, the first to stand an egg was 15th-century architect Filippo Brunelleschi. He won Florence Cathedral design by "cracking the base" for a wool guild contest. But the point landed, and fact was, only we here profited from the first domino I'd toppled today.
The noble beamed.
"Listening clears my head. How do you unravel my worries so neatly, Division Chief? We'll make great friends ahead."
"......Thanks for saying so."
The headache I'd forgotten in battle adrenaline was creeping back.
"Looks like I've done all I can here. My crew and I will head out. We'll discuss next moves tonight."
Gao Xusen feigned polite dismay.
"Ah, of course. I've kept a man who needs rest."
On the way out with the noble's escort, I spotted crowds gathered, staring blankly at the reward payout announcement. They'd heard exact amounts, yet their grubby faces showed only anxiety and despair.
Made sense. To unstable migrant workers and refugees, government promises were always empty checks. No relief till cash hit hands.
I lazily withdrew my gaze from their faces. In my world, it was nothing special.