Chapter 8: Offending the Captain of the Security Squad

“Thank you, miss. May I ask your name?” Having gained his freedom, Jiang Fan mimicked how other laborers addressed women, expressing his gratitude.

“No need to be so polite. My name is Zhu Maoju. Do you have any family or friends in Dongguan? Why were you sleeping in the cemetery last night?” Zhu Maoju, moved by Jiang Fan’s kindness, asked with a puzzled look.

Whether it was about Hao Meng or the matter at the school, Jiang Fan felt too embarrassed to speak openly to a girl he barely knew, so he simply said he had come to Dongguan to seek out his senior but hadn’t found him yet.

“Well then, be at the gate of Jilong Factory at one o’clock this afternoon. I’ll ask someone from the factory to help you out.” Zhu Maoju turned back to the security team after Jiang Fan left. Qiu Ge, eager to ingratiate himself, remarked, “There are so many vagrants. How can you manage them all? You’re just too kind-hearted.”

In Shangsha Village, dominated by the Sun family, Zhu Maoju’s father was a son-in-law who married into the family, making theirs a relatively weak household in the village. She cast a disdainful glance at this sharp-faced, monkey-like man, whose family influence had secured him the position of vice-captain and who was now trying to court her, but said nothing.

At one o’clock in the afternoon, Zhu Maoju arrived at Jilong Toy Factory on her Haomai lady’s motorcycle as promised. She said to Jiang Fan, who had been waiting, “My best friend from the village works in HR here. I’ll go in and ask around for you.”

Factories that invested in Dongguan villages were required to provide jobs for locals. Every factory reserved two or three easy positions for villagers and usually hired a local as the factory manager to maintain good relations. Zhu Maoju’s friend had entered Jilong as an HR specialist thanks to this policy. Her work was easy and her pay was considerably higher than that of migrant workers—an advantage enjoyed by locals.

About an hour later, Zhu Maoju came out of the factory and, seeing Jiang Fan waiting hopefully, replied sympathetically, “Your friend used to work here as a security guard, but he left more than half a year ago. It’s said he went to Baisha in Humen, but I couldn’t find out exactly where in Baisha.”

Hearing this, Jiang Fan quickly pulled out the envelope Li Jiuguan had given him and checked the postmark—it was from March 1989, which meant ten months had passed. Finding someone in a factory was hard enough, let alone in a crowded village. Jiang Fan held the envelope and looked toward Beijing, jokingly complaining, “Old man, you gave me an empty address, are you trying to torment me?”

“Well then, same time tomorrow afternoon. Wait for me here. After work, I’ll go back to the village and ask my friends to see if they can help you find a job.”

Hearing Jiang Fan’s murmured words and realizing he was still willing to help others despite his own troubles, Zhu Maoju felt compelled to assist him further.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t forget, same time tomorrow,” Zhu Maoju reminded him once more before heading back to work.

With the person he sought nowhere to be found, Jiang Fan stood dejectedly by the roadside, worrying about his prospects for work.

Just as he was wondering where to go, Qiu Ge and three security men, riding two patrol motorcycles, blocked his path. The security man who had tried to curry favor with Qiu Ge in the cemetery that morning swaggered up, grabbed Jiang Fan’s collar, and spat out, “We didn’t press charges for you harassing someone’s wife when you were locked up, and now you’re trying to seduce Qiu Ge’s woman? You must have a death wish.”

Qiu Ge, gaunt as a corpse, sat unmoving on his motorcycle and instructed the two security men on the other bike, “The three of you teach this punk a lesson, then lock him up. Tonight, send him straight to Zhangmutou and see if he still dares mess with my woman.”

Expelled from school, Jiang Fan couldn’t face his family, who had sacrificed much for him. Li Jiuguan had sent him off with all he could, and now, if he returned to Beijing in disgrace, he would be too ashamed to see his mentor, who was like a father to him.

Seeing that Qiu Ge had no intention of letting him off, Jiang Fan, confronted by the arrogance of the locals for the first time and with no way out, could only cling to the belief that he must not sit idly by.

Seizing the moment before the other two security men had surrounded him, Jiang Fan struck like lightning: he kneed the burly security man who was grabbing him in the groin. As the man doubled over in pain, Jiang Fan grabbed his hair and kneed him squarely in the face. Both upper and lower blows left the security man writhing in agony on the ground, his earlier bravado gone.

Without pausing, Jiang Fan charged at the two newly dismounted security men. One struck him on the arm with a patrol baton, but Jiang Fan endured the pain, seized the baton, and struck the man in the face. He kicked the other in the face as well.

While the two were stunned, Jiang Fan rained blows down on them with the captured baton. The pain of being hit by a rubber security baton was unimaginable to anyone who hadn’t experienced it; the screams from the two men on the ground were even more harrowing than those of the first.

Having dealt with the three henchmen, Jiang Fan advanced toward Qiu Ge sitting on the motorcycle.

Seeing Jiang Fan’s agility and ferocity, Qiu Ge cried out in terror, “What do you want? I’m the deputy captain of the security team. Don’t do anything rash!”

With no retreat left, Jiang Fan, having already acted, was determined not to spare the chief culprit. He kicked over Qiu Ge’s motorcycle and smashed his bony legs with a few heavy blows from the baton.

Beaten, Qiu Ge curled up on the ground like a turtle, his cries as plaintive as a pig at the slaughterhouse.

In a strange land, Jiang Fan knew he couldn’t stay here any longer. Before leaving, he vented his anger by stomping on Qiu Ge’s bloodless face several times, then hurriedly fled toward Humen.

Though it was afternoon work hours, the streets were still crowded. Witnessing Jiang Fan beat up the usually swaggering security men, the bolder passersby applauded, while those afraid of retaliation kept silent but secretly cheered.

Jiang Fan had run four or five hundred meters when a motorcycle taxi caught up with him. The driver warned, “They’ve already called for backup on their walkie-talkies to catch you. Give me five yuan, and I’ll take you out of here at my own risk.”

Jiang Fan knew that if he were caught, he’d suffer badly. He didn’t hesitate over his meager funds and quickly got on the bike.

The rider took him as far as Danning Village in Humen and stopped, saying, “This is Humen territory now. They shouldn’t be able to chase you this far.”

Seeing the driver’s enthusiasm, Jiang Fan handed him five yuan and thanked him.

The driver noticed Jiang Fan had only two crumpled one-yuan notes left and asked, “You’re traveling with just this little money?”

“I came to Dongguan to seek out a friend, but he’d already quit and left.”

“I saw those security men targeting you earlier—how did you get on their bad side?”

Seeing the stranger’s genuine concern, Jiang Fan told him how he had helped Jin Lan in the security team and how Zhu Maoju had assisted him, which led to trouble with Qiu Ge. The motorcycle driver, nearly thirty, listened and handed back the five yuan, saying, “We’re all struggling away from home. Just give me one yuan for gas.”

The ride from Jilong Toy Factory in Shangsha to Danning was six or seven kilometers. Jiang Fan took the returned five yuan and handed both one-yuan notes to the driver, bowing deeply and saying, “Thank you, brother.”