Chapter Two: The Scheme

Shen Ye sat below, pretending to take notes on the lecture given by the pyramid scheme instructor, when he was suddenly seized by an urgent need to use the restroom. He stood up.

Gaozi, seated beside him, immediately whispered, “Where are you going?”

“I need the bathroom, is that a problem?” Shen Ye rolled his eyes. He had no intention of being polite to someone like Gaozi.

“I’ll go with you,” Gaozi replied, rising at once.

The entire pyramid scheme operated on a system of strict surveillance. Anyone who hadn’t earned the organization’s trust was watched wherever they went. For example, Gaozi, the one who had lured Shen Ye into the operation, was assigned to watch him. If Shen Ye managed to escape, Gaozi himself would suffer a beating from the higher-ups.

Inside the organization, there were many strict rules. With so many people sharing just two toilets, there was a strict time limit: three minutes for a bowel movement, one minute to urinate—absolutely no exceptions. Every time Shen Ye went to the restroom, Gaozi would stand watch outside to prevent any unexpected incidents. The entire system was rigid and tightly controlled.

Shen Ye reached the restroom—a cramped space of barely three square meters. The walls were covered with the cheapest tiles, but it was relatively clean. There was a window, but it was covered with wire mesh to prevent anyone from climbing out. Tossing a note out the window would be pointless anyway; they were on the fourth floor, and below, on the second floor, there was a large platform. Anything thrown out would simply land there. The organization had people regularly patrol the platform and pick up anything suspicious.

During these three months of pretending to be indoctrinated, Shen Ye hadn’t been idle. He observed everything carefully and eventually devised a possible escape plan. On the third floor, there lived a family who sold salted dried fish, often laying them out to dry on the balcony. Their shop, he’d heard, was located across from Quliqing City Normal University, targeting students as customers.

Shen Ye had long since written out a note: “I am being held captive by a pyramid scheme on the fourth floor, about five hundred meters opposite the Xinyu Grand Hotel. Please call 110 and notify the police to rescue me. Thank you!” It had taken considerable effort to write and conceal the note. He carried it on him at all times.

He had also prepared some thread. The organization preached “enduring hardship” to toughen up for future success, so anyone with torn clothes was expected to mend them. Shen Ye had deliberately torn one of his garments to acquire some thread.

Now, he tied the note together with a piece of chalk, using the sewing thread to bind them. Then, through the wire mesh, he carefully lowered the package down to the third floor, maneuvering it skillfully so that the note and chalk landed inside the open mouth of a salted fish. With a deft flick of his wrist, he separated the package from the thread and then reeled the thread back up.

In this way, whoever bought the salted dried fish—most likely a student from Quliqing City Normal University, who would have a stronger sense of justice—would find the note and chalk while eating and hopefully call the police. Even if someone else found it, there was still a good chance they would report it.

He had just finished the whole process when Gaozi began pounding on the door from outside. “Are you done yet?”

He’d been in there just over three minutes.

“Damn, can’t a guy take his time? Gaozi, you really want to control everything, even how long I’m in the bathroom. Are you going to wipe for me next?” Shen Ye snapped, then flushed the toilet and composed himself as if nothing had happened, opening the door.

Gaozi gave him a suspicious look, glancing around the restroom, but found nothing out of the ordinary and let it go.

...

A little over two hours passed. It was nearly time for lunch. The meals provided by the organization were abysmal—just endless rounds of cabbage, radishes, potatoes, and plain rice. According to the organization’s rhetoric, this was to “temper the will and strengthen the body,” so that enduring hardship now would lead to riches and respect later. In truth, the leaders simply refused to spend money on decent food for their underlings. Keeping costs down meant more profit for the bosses.

Just then, a man with shifty eyes approached Shen Ye, giving him a malicious look. “Hey, Shen, Director Zhang wants to see you in his office.”

Director Zhang was the head of the organization, real name Zhang Jianguo. In most pyramid schemes, the boss is called either “boss” or “big brother.” Zhang Jianguo, however, found “boss” too vulgar and “big brother” too reminiscent of gangsters.

He preferred the title “Director,” which carried a bureaucratic air.

Shen Ye was taken aback, unsure why Director Zhang had summoned him. Was he about to be forced to call home and demand money?

With a sense of unease, he made his way to the office, which was located at the very end of the sixth floor of the old building. The door was closed. He knocked.

“Just come in,” came Director Zhang’s voice from inside.

Shen Ye pushed open the door.

The floor was covered with the cheapest tiles, five yuan a piece, some of them cracked and stained in places with something that looked eerily like blood. There were only a few chairs in the room, nothing else. The walls were grimy and mottled with grime. Overhead, a fluorescent tube flickered and buzzed. In the corner, a fan spun listlessly.

Seated in a boss’s chair—which creaked and sagged under his weight—was a short, stout, thick-necked middle-aged man with a gold chain around his neck. This was Director Zhang, the head of the pyramid scheme.

To Director Zhang’s right stood a tall, tattooed thug, about 1.8 meters tall, with a vicious look and what seemed to be a steel pipe strapped to his back. He was Director Zhang’s left hand, known as Black Panther, real name unknown.

On Director Zhang’s left was a chubby man with a perpetual grin. This was Fat Dragon, his right-hand man, who always played with a butterfly knife.

Taking in the scene, Shen Ye couldn’t help but feel a chill—it was clear that nothing good awaited him.

Director Zhang smiled faintly, sipping from a glass of “brandy.” Within this organization, there were countless odd code words: plain water was called brandy, washing one’s face was “building a house,” brushing teeth was “getting married,” changing shoes was “changing tires,” changing socks “changing inner tubes,” urinating was “singing,” defecating was “dancing,” and going out on business was “making a contribution” or “going to SX.”