Chapter Sixteen: Model Individual

At this moment, Liu Laisheng had already lost his voice. His face was deathly pale, and with a thud, he collapsed on the spot, fainting from fright, a wet stain spreading across his trousers.

Zhao Weiping, after all, had weathered many storms. He had witnessed countless crime scenes, big and small, over the decades. Even so, the sight before him made his heart quail. The grass around the general’s tomb had been eerily scorched into blackened earth, the ground littered with scraps of flesh and debris. The only semblance of wholeness was a charred skeleton, barely recognizable; the rest were scattered fragments, impossible to tell which belonged where. It was as if the victim had been hacked to pieces and strewn about, turning the scene more and more horrifying with each glance. The questions in his heart multiplied. He pondered all manner of possibilities, yet none offered a reasonable explanation or a clear line of thought.

“You two, examine the scene. Xiao Shen, rush back and report everything to the bureau, and notify the Cultural Relics Protection Department to come here overnight. The rest of you, follow the tracks nearby and continue the search—see if any accomplices managed to escape.”

Zhao Weiping kept his composure under pressure, swiftly organizing his thoughts. Never before had Qinyang County encountered so heinous a crime: the theft of national relics coupled with homicide. The severity of the situation far surpassed his imagination. The only recourse now was to meticulously comb through the scene. If they could apprehend the remaining accomplices right away, the rest would become much easier, and recovering the relics would be almost certain.

Xiao Shen felt as if his soul had left his body, bile rising in his throat. Hearing the orders, he couldn’t wait to get away, dashing off in a flash.

The others, staring at this hellish tableau, were all deeply unsettled. Their minds conjured up visions of the brutality that must have taken place. A chill shuddered through them, and a profound terror took hold, not needing words to be felt. Even their steps grew heavy under its weight.

Director Liu Laisheng, for his part, had lost all his earlier bravado. His revolutionary zeal had waned; his prominent, wind-catching ears drooped, and his body trembled as if he were full of chaff. The back of his head still ached from before. Unable to bear the blood and gore, he simply closed his eyes, hoping that out of sight would be out of mind. Yet the thick, metallic smell of blood in the air made his stomach churn, and he retched again and again.

One month later, at the Qingyang County Fertilizer Factory, in the materials loading workshop.

The workshop was bustling with activity. Workers, drenched in sweat, moved about to the steady clamor of machinery. Laughter and cheerful chatter mingled with the noise, painting a scene of vitality and prosperity.

A tall female worker was bent over, feeding raw materials into a hopper, when suddenly, she felt a sharp smack on her backside. Instantly furious, she shouted, “Which little brat is messing with me?” She spun around, hand raised to strike.

“Hahaha, Chen Xiaomei, pull up your pants—your backside is showing!” a slightly plump woman laughed, hands on her hips.

“Sister Gao, you wish! It’s you who’s showing off. I bet you’re just jealous of my figure.”

Sister Gao spat a few times in mock disgust, curling her lip. “Oh, please, with those dried-up prunes of yours, you’re only fooling this bunch of naïve boys.”

“At least I’ve got dried-up prunes. No wonder Old Zhang prefers to work overtime and never wants to go home.”

That retort left Sister Gao blushing fiercely. She cursed inwardly, “You widow Chen, just you wait—I’ll warn my fool of a husband to steer clear of you.”

As they bantered, the factory’s loudspeakers blared a rousing march, followed by the sweet voice of the announcer calling all workers to the grand assembly platform for a ceremony.

“Sister Gao, what’s going on? Something big happening?” Widow Chen paused her machine, puzzled, and asked.

“Don’t you remember? Didn’t you see the notice at the gate? This afternoon is the advanced workers’ commendation ceremony. Come on, let’s go.”

Sister Gao quickly slipped off her arm sleeves, grabbed Widow Chen by the arm, and hurried toward the platform.

Soon, the whole factory had gathered below the platform, eyes fixed on the rectangular table and wicker chairs on stage. The crowd buzzed with gossip and speculation, some marveling, others gesticulating animatedly, and a few indifferent, simply there for the spectacle.

“Attention, everyone, please quiet down.” A man in the center adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and spoke slowly into the microphone.

“We have gathered today to hold this year’s advanced workers’ commendation ceremony. We are here to honor those comrades who have shown dedication and a spirit of hard work. We hope everyone will remain modest and diligent, maintain our fine traditions, and live up to the trust placed in us by the Party Central Committee. Never become parasites of socialism…”

“Who do you think will be chosen this time?”

“My money’s on Old Wang from the delivery workshop.”

“No way; last month he failed to meet his quota and had to make a public apology.”

“Then maybe Ma Dapao from Workshop One. He’s shown off plenty this year, and he’s the factory director’s relative—he’s got to be a shoo-in.”

A few young men chattered noisily below the stage, each guessing who the winner would be.

“All right, enough of that. It’s not going to be any of you lot anyway, always hoping you’ll bring some glory to Workshop Two, but it’s a lost cause,” the Workshop Two supervisor cut in irritably. Year after year, they’d been outdone by Workshop One. Though he resented it, he had resigned himself to fate. As the saying goes, a good horse needs a good saddle. But he had neither, and his own crew was a bunch of black sheep. The thought made his forehead ache yet again.

“All right, now I announce that this year’s advanced individual is Comrade Liu Laisheng, formerly the deputy supervisor of Workshop Two and now the warehouse supervisor.”

The announcement barely landed before the crowd erupted. No one had expected this outcome—indeed, it was unimaginable. Liu Laisheng had long been a marginal figure in the factory.

On stage, a pair of large, protruding ears waggled with excitement. Liu Laisheng’s face blossomed into a broad grin, his mouth stretched so wide it seemed his teeth might tumble into his teacup.

Director Chen paused to take a sip of tea, then continued, “Comrade Liu Laisheng has demonstrated the spirit of a true cadre—hardworking and uncomplaining, achieving extraordinary results in an ordinary position, willing to be a common yet indispensable screw in the great machinery of socialism. Even more importantly, he recently assisted our county’s Public Security Bureau in solving a major case, earning high praise and a commendation from law enforcement. Comrade Liu Laisheng has maintained revolutionary vigilance, stepped forward at a critical moment, and put his own life on the line, saving the Party, the people, and the nation from significant loss. He has fully embodied our factory’s tradition of courage and determination. These are qualities we should all strive to learn and emulate…”