Chapter 48: Joining the Security Squad for the Second Time

“Glug, glug”—the two security thugs, both hopeless swimmers, splashed into the pond and swallowed a few mouthfuls of water tainted with duck droppings. Panicking, they cried out, “Help! Help! We’re being attacked by hoodlums! Quick, catch him!” In truth, the pond was only about a meter and a half deep. Their frantic howls for help came more from nerves and having choked on the foul water; in their fluster, they flailed about in a dog paddle, legs refusing to find the bottom.

Hearing the commotion, other security men combing the nearby reeds rushed over, quickly surrounding Jiang Fan and Wang Wenyu, and hauled their two drenched comrades out of the pond.

Shining flashlights into people’s faces in an intimidating manner was a habit these officers had long cultivated. Now, more than a dozen beams converged on the faces and eyes of the two. Wang Wenyu, dazzled and disoriented, swayed. Jiang Fan immediately turned her toward himself and gathered her into his arms.

It was still early in the night patrol, and the security team was eager to make their dirty money. The leader left behind two burly men to watch Jiang Fan and Wang Wenyu, assigning the rest to continue searching the reed beds.

The two guards wanted to make Jiang Fan and Wang Wenyu kneel with their hands on their heads again, but seeing Jiang Fan, one arm bandaged, holding Wang Wenyu tightly, his sharp gaze threatening to devour them whole, they hesitated. They were used to seeing only frightened eyes during their checks, rarely encountering someone as defiant as Jiang Fan, let alone someone bold enough to lay hands on them. The fact that he’d managed to toss two of their colleagues into the pond in an instant made them wary. So, for now, they simply kept their eyes on him, not pressing the pair to kneel.

Checking IDs was done in pairs. Jiang Fan heard the radio chatter from one of the officers: nearby teams boasted of their catches.

“I’ve got two here.”

“I’ve got four. There are more nearby—need backup.”

Jiang Fan cursed inwardly. These mongrels would line their pockets handsomely tonight.

Wang Wenyu, safe in Jiang Fan’s embrace and no longer blinded by flashlights, quickly recovered. Seeing the worry etched on his face, she felt a deep sense of security lying in these not-particularly-broad arms. She savored being held like this, momentarily forgetting the two strangers standing on either side. Her own arms snaked around Jiang Fan’s waist, hugging him tightly, her head resting obediently against his chest.

The two guards, both considering themselves far more handsome and imposing than Jiang Fan, were already envious at seeing him hold Wang Wenyu. Now, as she hugged him back, envy turned to jealousy. Inwardly, they grumbled, “How did that soft-looking guy manage to get such a beauty?”

About twenty minutes later, all those captured were herded to the edge of the pond and lined up. Though it wasn’t the weekend or a factory holiday, the three hundred square meter reeds still yielded sixty or seventy young men and women.

The lovers’ haunt was hardly picturesque—used for raising ducks and fish, the pond hosted a murky, stagnant ecosystem, the air thick with the stench of duck manure and damp mildew.

The deputy team leader radioed the station, ordering several vehicles to come and collect the detainees.

The security team’s vehicles were modified light-duty pickups, each rated for one and a half tons, sides welded with iron railings, topped with canvas covers, and fitted with barred doors at the back like a jail cell. They bore no difference from trucks used to haul livestock—the people inside like lambs to the slaughter.

The security headquarters sat by National Road 107, in the jurisdiction of Baisha First Village. The building was a two-story row, with the team occupying three of the storefronts, the rest rented out by the village.

Behind these, an unpaved yard was enclosed by two-meter-high walls. Along its edge stood a row of offices, and a massive, makeshift tin-roofed barrack, used to confine those without residence permits or marriage certificates.

Jiang Fan and Wang Wenyu, herded in like livestock, arrived at the station. As they passed the front offices, they saw a uniformed officer sitting with his back to them at the fine desk used for collecting cash fines, gambling at cards with several men.

Wang Wenyu stamped her foot in anger, shooting a glare at the officer gleefully calling out “Nine!” with three cards in hand, then took Jiang Fan’s arm and led him to the yard behind the building.

Among the gamblers Jiang Fan recognized a portly, fifty-year-old man: Zheng Xiaomao, the team captain.

Captains were usually appointed by the village chief or party secretary, some elected by villagers. Vice-captains and squad leaders were often relatives or cronies of local power brokers, or even village bullies—thugs given official titles upon joining the team. The rank and file were mostly local toughs, with a few outsiders who’d pulled strings to get in, usually migrants desperate to eke out a living. But once inside this den, lured by profit and a quota system that rewarded more arrests with more bonuses, most found themselves corrupted.

Some even donned uniforms in small groups to run private ID checks in secluded spots, looking to pocket a little extra on the side. If the person checked had a few coins, they’d be let off; if not, they’d be hauled in, earning the bonus for the officer. The team leaders were well aware of these side hustles, but with so many jobless, permitless people on the streets, they turned a blind eye—these private shakedowns were just another way to keep their men loyal.

Officially, the team existed to protect the village, but in truth, they were indistinguishable from local racketeers.

Though each village ran its own team, the precinct would assign a stationed officer, whose authority surpassed even the captain’s. It was this official presence that gave the team its veneer of legitimacy, turning these devils and monsters into lawful thugs.

A girl newly caught, frightened and shut up in the airless vehicle, was so carsick that she staggered out and promptly vomited in the yard. Her boyfriend knelt to comfort her.

A stocky, bull-necked officer, towering at over six feet, barked coldly, “Disgusting! Don’t throw up here!”

He pinched his nose and stomped over, then, seeing the boy crouch to soothe his girlfriend, kicked him viciously and snarled, “Go get a broom and clean up her mess—now!”

The boy, short and skinny, was sent sprawling face-first in the dirt. Ordered to clean up, he scrambled up and rushed off for a broom, dust and mud clinging to his face and in his mouth.

Jiang Fan couldn’t help but protest, “What’s more important—this patch of dirt, or people? Can’t you let him comfort his girlfriend before cleaning up? Waiting a few minutes won’t kill you!”

Wang Wenyu let go of Jiang Fan’s arm, went over to the girl, and gently patted her back. “Are you feeling better? Would you like some water? It might help.”

New arrivals had to be questioned for their family contacts, so their relatives could be notified to ransom them. Two dozen security men watched over the yard.

The two guards who’d watched Jiang Fan and Wang Wenyu, still riled with jealousy, now had their colleagues to back them up and were itching for a fight—especially after Jiang Fan’s outburst.

They began to circle him from behind. When they were half a meter away, one suddenly kicked him in the back. Off guard, Jiang Fan stumbled forward, and the other grabbed him from behind, trying to choke him down, but failed.

Assaulted even here, Jiang Fan was boiling with rage. Ignoring the stitches in his left arm, he countered with a move called “Su Qin Wears the Sword,” grabbing the assailant’s hair with one hand and his arm with the other, flipping him over his shoulder in a perfect throw. The burly officer, well over six feet himself, hit the ground face-first.

The exertion tore open Jiang Fan’s stitches, blood seeping through the bandage.

Ten more guards, seeing Jiang Fan causing trouble, rushed him at once.

Seeing the blood soaking through Jiang Fan’s bandage, Wang Wenyu’s eyes filled with tears. She hastily pulled her temporary work permit from her bag, raised it high, and shouted, “If any of you touch him again, I’ll fight you to the death!”

Though the four corners of the yard were dimly lit, the place was large and the night was black. The guards barely noticed Wang Wenyu’s raised permit and paid her threats no mind, intent only on beating Jiang Fan.

Clutching his arm, Jiang Fan dodged as best he could, but there were too many of them—he still took a few punches and kicks.

The guards ignored Wang Wenyu’s credentials and protests, but the officer gambling inside froze at the sound of her voice—familiar, yet not quite placeable. He quickly asked Zheng Xiaomao, “Who did you just bring in?”

Zheng, dealing cards, glanced up at the officer’s grave expression and asked, “What’s wrong?”

The officer frowned. “I thought I just heard a woman shouting—her voice sounded like the young lady who just joined our precinct.”