Chapter 137: East Gate Market Police Station (Part 2)

Zhou Shizhai had spent eleven years at the Qiwei Escort Bureau. Like his martial brothers, he hailed from Sun Kecheng's hometown—a man who knew his way around boxing and staff fighting but had no stomach for breaking his back in the fields, so he'd drifted into the escort trade instead. The life suited him well enough, certainly better than farming. Yet his temperament had always made Sun Kecheng uneasy. Zhou Shizhai lacked the steady disposition the work demanded—or rather, he was too rough-edged in his dealings with the world.

Escort bureaus walked a knife's edge between the legitimate and the underworld, and the profession required integrity and flexibility in equal measure. Zhou Shizhai understood perfectly well that bureaus "ate their friends' food and wore their friends' clothes"—yet he despised those very "friends" and couldn't stomach their shamelessness. Disagreements turned into fights. Before long, he was pulled from long-distance escort runs and relegated to guarding shops and residences. But even this work had its rules: when you encountered thieves, you escorted them out—you never captured them. When disturbances arose, you used minimal force and stopped there. Bureaus weren't the government. Your job was protecting employers' property and safety; capturing criminals was yamen business. Zhou Shizhai broke these rules repeatedly, making himself plenty of underworld enemies in the process. Eventually they transferred him to manage the mule stables, just to keep him out of trouble.

Dull years passed. Then Bureau Chief Sun summoned him with unexpected news: those Australian sea merchants wanted to purchase estates in Qiongzhou and needed an escort to "lead" there.

"Leading" was a particular arrangement. Wealthy households maintained house-guard forces for security, but typical guards were commoners who knew neither martial arts nor the ways of the underworld. Specialized hired escorts served as "leaders"—training the guards in martial arts, arranging night patrols, and generally taking charge of household security. Within a residence, this granted one the status of a guest-retainer.

Leading was responsible work but well-paid, with no sleeping rough on the road. Within the bureau, it counted as a choice assignment—but it required smooth, flexible people, and Zhou Shizhai's previous stint had ended badly. He'd caught thieves too enthusiastically and failed to get along with his employers. Now he was being sent again? Strange indeed. Was the sun rising from the west?

Puzzled though he was, he reasoned this was still better than handling livestock. Besides, the bureau had recently received considerable business from these Australian merchants—they'd become a major patron. Previously tight finances had eased, and compensation for dead brothers was now covered. Anyone else's work could be refused, but work for the Australians was mandatory.

He packed his things and brought two new disciples—sons and nephews of fallen escorts, per bureau rules. Their training was too poor for real escort work, which would have meant becoming servants or counter assistants. These two boys, only sixteen or seventeen, were too young for proper escorting anyway, so they'd been assigned to continue their training under Zhou Shizhai. Sun Kecheng had made his own calculations: it saved the bureau some food expenses. Such youngsters had been accumulating.

Hiring escorts had been Ran Yao's idea. Despite their twenty-first century concepts and equipment, the transmigrators knew almost nothing about this timespace's underworld. Escorts made perfect candidates—compared to yamen runners, who were basically criminals themselves, escorts' professional ethics made them far more trustworthy.

Though Dugu Qiuhun held the nominal title of station chief, actual operations fell under Mu Min's direction. At her request, with Industrial-Commercial Bureau cooperation, they conducted a "security census"—surveying East Gate's environment, daily traffic flow, and the operations of shops and vendors.

The investigation revealed that pickpocketing was the most common crime, followed by theft, then fraud and brawling. Robbery and murder were nearly absent—criminals apparently didn't dare attack openly under the transmigrators' watchful eyes.

But that large-scale brawl with fatalities troubled her. What had that been about? Mu Min personally questioned many witnesses, aided by local translators. Many stammered with shifting eyes—a clear sign that something was being concealed. Dugu Qiuhun alertly suspected organized crime fighting over territory, but Mu Min disagreed.

It wasn't that she thought the Ming era lacked organized crime. Rather, it was the Medical Department's autopsy report from the incident that told a different story. The evidence showed that all seven dead were heavy laborers who had recently been doing fieldwork. Moreover, from her experience, underworld fights occasionally killed people, but the basic premise was to draw blood without killing—using machetes that looked frightening but had low mortality rates. These bamboo spears, thrust indiscriminately with brute force, resembled rural large-scale clan feuds far more than gang warfare.

Indeed, days later, people arrived to collect the corpses, and the truth emerged. Villagers from one village had come to the Welfare Society to shop. At noon, while drinking tea and eating at a stall run by villagers from another village, a minor dispute had escalated. Unfortunately, the nearby stalls all belonged to the second village's people or their associates. The first village's men suffered badly and fled in defeat. While seeking revenge and preparing for retaliation, both sides had armed themselves. The fighting had broken out from there.

"Such viciousness over such trivial matters?" Dongmen Chuiyu was shocked. "These people are too ignorant and backward!"

"Clan feuds aren't our business—we can't manage them." To Mu Min, this wasn't news. Rural feuding existed even in twenty-first century China. Behind such conflicts lay tangled economic, territorial, cultural, and resource disputes. Years of accumulated grievances made any small incident capable of triggering massive fights—especially now, during the agricultural off-season. "But we must ensure no one causes trouble at East Gate. This incident can't simply end here."

"People are dead—what more can be done?"

"Dead people—but the corpses remain. Have body collectors from both villages arrived?"

"They're all resting at the inn. Should I bring them in?"

"Don't meet them. Send word: five liang fine per corpse. Coffins we'll generously provide at cost price—one liang each. Payment within seven days. Overdue corpses get tossed in the sea."

"What?" Dongmen and Dugu stared wide-eyed. "But didn't the Committee require treating natives well?"

"Good treatment has its limits." Mu Min's tone turned murderous. "Let the surrounding people see the consequences of drawing weapons on our turf."

Dugu Qiuhun slapped the table with excitement. "Should have been like this long ago! I've told the Committee—harsh laws and punishments are what keep the peace. If you ask me, future thieves should have their hands chopped off! See if anyone dares steal on my turf then! All this talk of 'good treatment, good treatment'—they're climbing right over our heads!"

"Hand chopping is too much." Mu Min turned to Ran Yao. "Team Leader Ran—what legal standards should we follow?"

"Just use the Public Security Management Punishment Regulations. It's ready-made." Ran Yao had already discussed these issues with the Committee. This actually involved legislation, and the transmigrators currently lacked time to draft their own laws—so they would naturally use existing regulations.

Ma Peng was returning from work that day when he noticed new notices posted on the camp bulletin board, a crowd of coworkers gathered around them. Zhang Xingjiao stood nearby, reading aloud in a singsong voice: "Recruiting police... ten persons... ages eighteen to twenty-five... height one hundred sixty centimeters or above, healthy... meals provided, wages of two-point-five work points daily, plus half a kilogram of rice, bonuses extra..."

Excited chatter erupted among the crowd. "Two-point-five work points!" one laborer exclaimed. "On my busiest day I only get one-point-five. Even group leaders only get two. And now you can get two-point-five just like that!"

"Didn't you hear? Only workers can apply. Workers already earn more than us!"

"Why? We do the same work—why do they get more?"

"Don't want it? Then transfer to worker status."

"You need twelve months' service for that. Or exceptional performance."

Ma Peng wasn't initially interested. He'd heard this was yamen-runner-type work—managing arrests and preventing theft. He feared death, and he also thought it undignified. But now his mother lived with him. Though the short-hairs gave an extra one-point-five work points for "dependents," his mother received no free meals, and finances were tight. Camp rumors now said workers were getting raises, and he regretted listening to Fu Buer and not transferring to worker status. Such opportunities were passing him by.

But the next day he went to the commune office to apply anyway. Though he wasn't a worker, Ran Yao noted his decent physique—finding men over one hundred sixty centimeters tall wasn't easy—and approved him. After questioning, he was called to a back room, stripped, measured with rulers, and weighed on a large scale. Finally, he was approved for the native police squad.

The first phase was ten days of combat training: the fastest joint locks, fighting with peculiar-shaped short clubs. Then came instruction on spotting suspicious persons, patrolling, questioning pedestrians, pursuit and capture, and rope-binding techniques. A short-hair named Li Jun taught shield and club formations for dealing with mobs, along with live sparring against laborers. The material was complex. Ma Peng was illiterate, which made learning harder, but fortunately the transmigrators used demonstration teaching—hands-on instruction with models and pictures.

(End of Chapter)