Crucible of Solitude (10)
“That level of organization doesn’t make any sense.”
Gao Xusen’s aide declared it flatly. “Traitors in Hong Kong commonly form gangs of a million strong, but not here in Guangzhou. Demonstrations of even a few hundred are rare enough—let alone tens of thousands?”
Inside the tent serving as the Patrol Police Detachment’s on-site headquarters, the speaker was an inspector named Panhai Shan. He was the last of the three spare lives Gao Xusen had mentioned to Park Mi-joo—the final backup.
The fact that this communist noble had personally introduced all his close aides to me meant he’d finally set aside his suspicions about me.
“That vulgar, ignorant, selfish rabble couldn’t possibly band together on their own like that—they’re a gang of potential criminals. Therefore, there must be external aid and interference behind their organized actions. Just like with the Black Sea Party.”
Panhai Shan’s words perfectly captured the entrenched class’s view of peasant workers. And yet, it wasn’t entirely baseless prejudice. The perceptions of the noble class wielding dominant power often became self-fulfilling prophecies.
The Communist Party had relentlessly monitored, brainwashed, controlled, and manipulated workers to prevent them from uniting. In doing so, they’d succeeded in fostering mutual distrust and suspicion among the oppressed. The extreme individualism rampant in Chinese society was one result of this fragmentation.
In the same vein, relations between peasant workers and Black Sea members were poor. For those Black Sea thugs with no other options but crime, peasant workers were the next easiest prey after fellow outlaws.
Creatures trapped in a dark jar, devouring each other and building up poison—when the jar showed signs of cracking, it was hard for them to suddenly unite and pool their strength.
That was why the communist nobles and their underlings kept harping on foreign interference. They’d created the conditions themselves, so their prejudices and suspicions ran deep.
Gao Xusen waved his hand in annoyance. “Who doesn’t know that? What good does saying it now do in this situation?”
He stroked his chin, pondering. “Maybe we solve this with money again...”
When the man who’d whined about compensation after I bulldozed a slum with a cargo truck suggested that, suspicion flickered in the eyes of the three inspectors looking up at their superior. Expressions of half-doubt, as if wondering if they’d heard right.
Panhai Shan spoke cautiously. “It’s a bold decision, sir, but paying back wages to those tens of thousands of traitors—over thirty thousand easily—would require billions of yuan at minimum. If you spend like that again on top of last time, you might face backlash from party cadres asking where all that money’s coming from—”
“What bullshit is that, you idiot! If you’ve got a brain in that thick skull, think before you speak!”
The scolded aide’s face flushed red. Gao Xusen jabbed a finger at him in reprimand. “You said it yourself with that mouth of yours! They’re bastard scum who can’t band together on their own! Of course you bribe a few key ones on the sly to shake them up!”
Pounding his fists together like a pair of hammers, the communist noble continued. “Send someone to contact their leadership, figure out who the cadres are, then—huh? Meet a few of them privately, tempt them with cash, feed them money through their cronies! One breach in the dam will bring the whole thing down! They’ll turn on each other and self-destruct! Then clean up the bribed ones and recover the funds—perfect!”
The chastised aide bowed his head. “My apologies. I was short-sighted...”
“If you get it, draw up a plan! One slip here and we’re done for!”
The communist noble seemed confident in his own scheme, skipping discussion altogether. It had potential, but regardless of the idea’s merit, the decision-making structure looked flawed.
And one more thing. No matter how I looked at it, they were treating this as a simple riot suppression.
Watching them blunder ahead without even scouting the facilities inside made my head throb.
Well, they’ve never dealt with a mass sit-in like this before...
Even with strikes on the rise lately in China, they’d been minor disturbances confined to single workplaces. In the “people’s and workers’ nation” with no strike rights and only one state-sanctioned union—the All-China Federation of Trade Unions—when had there ever been such a large-scale facility occupation and struggle?
No experience meant no manual. Or even if there was one, no one had internalized it through practice. Tiananmen was crushed by the military, Hong Kong’s democracy movement beaten down haphazardly—so all they had was know-how for one-sided bloody suppression.
In the end, I stepped in. “Mind if I interrupt?”
“Oh, Vice President Li. Speak freely.”
As Gao Xusen’s demeanor softened instantly, I pressed my temple and reminded him of basic procedure. “Have you confirmed details on the facilities they’re occupying?”
“You mean internal layouts for the assault?”
“No... According to my people’s intel, there’s a fireworks and canning factory inside that complex. And a metal bowl stamping plant. Thought you should know.”
“Fireworks and cans...? And metal bowls?”
The communist noble’s initially puzzled face hardened quickly. Closing his eyes and sighing, he placed a hand on his hip, standing askew as he turned to his subordinates. His gaze screamed exhaustion, too tired even for irritation.
“What have you been doing without checking this? Do I have to hear it from Vice President Li?”
The inspectors’ faces fell. Among them, eyeing who’d take the next hit, Hushan Liang answered as if racing a timer. “Facility intel like that is monopolized by the Internal Security and Protection Detachment. Plus, with our Patrol Detachment running a separate on-site command from the others, it’s hard to get info on time. The detachment leader’s from Secretary Gao’s rival faction.”
“Oh, really? Then how did our vice president here confirm it?”
“...We have no excuse.”
“If your usual path’s blocked, find a detour. You gonna sit and wait to die when disaster’s chasing you from behind?”
Even Hushan Liang, who’d risen to hero of the Patrol Police Detachment after clashing with the Black Sea Party’s bike assault team, got no special treatment from the communist noble. Borrowed glory was still borrowed.
Gao Xusen shook his head with a longer sigh than before. “Damn. Charging in blind could’ve cost us our heads for a different reason.”
The inspectors had a point—it wasn’t entirely fair. Without the big shots showing up in person, the scene wouldn’t have devolved into such chaos. Inter-agency turf wars (or finger-pointing) and non-cooperation were common worldwide during incidents, but here the city police departments were running separate command posts. No wonder nothing worked.
In a way, it was partly my fault. By propping up Gao Xusen, I’d turned showing face at scenes into a trend among high officials.
“What Vice President Li means is—”
Gao Xusen narrowed his eyes at the industrial park’s panorama. “Those filthy beggar hordes are using a two-pronged strategy. Pretending it’s just about grievances up front to buy time, while cranking out bombs for killing in the back...”
I shook my head calmly. “It’s a possibility. So check the power draw going into the park now. We can’t pinpoint factory-by-factory usage from outside, but whether any are running? Easy enough.”
Gao Xusen nodded a couple times with a hum, then scolded his men. “You hear that? That’s what you’re missing. Get stuck in your routines, and you won’t survive long!”
He singled out one inspector, Zhang Tailong, to verify the power usage I’d requested. Then he asked my opinion again. “Wait. Why not just cut the power entirely?”
I shook my head again. “Don’t rush. We can decide based on the situation—it won’t be too late.”
“Situation? What situation? Giving traitors time to arm up benefits who?”
“Didn’t you complain about losing the initiative early? In my view, your rivals focused only on seizing opportunities and skimped on site intel. Power still flowing in is proof. Or maybe the Internal Security and Protection Detachment Hushan Liang mentioned is hoarding info alone...”
“Huh...?”
“Your rivals’ alliance isn’t ironclad just because they’re checking you. Pretend to bully them and rush the suppression op. They’ll shove in their elite hunter squads to avoid wasting their gains. Confident in their handpicked ability users, too.”
I shrugged slowly to conclude. “Let’s hope the rioters crank out bombs busily, Secretary. That way, we get a real show.”
“Haha... Hahahaha!”
The communist noble burst into clear laughter. “Brilliant! Truly brilliant! I was fuming just minutes ago about losing ground, and now it flips like this! No one matches your insight, Vice President! Yes, let them die in droves! The more, the better for me to catch up! Now things even out!”
The other nobles losing their hard-recruited private troops in bulk benefited me too. As rival units weakened, the business environment for me and the hunter squad I’d build improved.
Besides, their “private troops” were just hired civilians. Once performance and prestige gaps widened, ability users would eye brighter prospects.
In any market, less competition was always better. Consumers might hate it, but for operators, monopoly was a virtue.
“But—”
Once the laughter subsided, Gao Xusen asked with mirth still lingering on his face. “Fun as it is watching rivals eat shit, I worry about the aftermath. If rioters arm up, blood’s coming our way too, right?”
“No need to worry.”
“You have a fix for that too?”
To the noble gearing up to laugh again, I replied calmly. “Yes. Blow them all to hell.”
“...Pardon?”
Perplexed, Gao Xusen blinked. As his friendly partner, I elaborated. “Blow the whole complex sky-high. Sneak in at night, stick timed fuses in the powder stores, and walk out.”
“Hold on, Vice President...”
“Falsify the post-blast investigation, and the ‘accident’ falls squarely on them. How many workshop fires from worker negligence handling flammables? Pin it on one rioter smoking next to explosives. They blew themselves up—who’s to blame? Pours cold water on other gangs scheming the same.”
“...”
“Don’t worry. My company and I will handle it flawlessly, like always. Your reputation stays spotless.”
The smile drained from Gao Xusen’s face. His heartbeat quickened—I could tell.
The man who’d despised peasant workers so much was shocked by the idea of wiping them out entirely.
I’d predicted this reaction from observation, but it still struck me as inconsistent. Human lives aren’t quantifiable like numbers. Where’s the line saying few deaths are fine but many aren’t?
People claim one sacrifice beats thousands, but ask if they’d be that one when needed—most clam up.
They won’t admit their life’s worth more than everyone else’s combined because it’s just face-saving. Hypocrisy to avoid seeming selfish.
And that’s normal. A world without me means nothing to me.
So if it aids my ultimate survival, I’d light the fuse on a powder keg slaughtering over thirty thousand workers without hesitation.
No need now, though. Chinese media coverage of domestic issues has such low trust—even locals take it with salt. A ten-thousand-casualty “accident” here? Plenty wouldn’t buy it, no matter our claims. Worst case, it balloons into scandal.
The party’s first tail to cut would be Gao Xusen, naturally. A result I’d avoid at all costs.