Chapter 1587 - Old Uniforms
"You've deployed your Public Security Army company?" Mu Min straightened and pressed again.
Though Li Yayang held the title of Lingao Garrison Commander, Mu Min served as Director of the Cultural Festival Security Countermeasures Headquarters and wielded command authority over all security operations.
"They're in the field," Li Yayang replied, "but given how things are developing, we're stretched thin. The Riot Control Company is my only remaining mobile force."
Under normal circumstances, the Lingao Garrison Command's single National Army company and three Public Security Army companies could barely manage routine security. But the comprehensive campaign to crack down on theft and vandalism of communication equipment—jointly launched by the National Police and Lingao Telecom—had drained every available soldier. Only a Korean company remained.
The loyalty of the Korean Public Security Army wasn't in question, but language barriers and limited military proficiency confined them to serving as "door gods"—their polished helmets and gleaming armor useful for deterrence while actual security work still fell to the police.
"The Riot Control Company stays put. They're our last mobile reserve if a mass incident erupts." Mu Min fixed her gaze on the colored markers scattered across the transparent glass board, biting her lip as she contemplated the situation. Today's mission was straightforward: ensure the Cultural Festival ran smoothly and protect the Senators and naturalized citizen performers. Leave the arrests to others.
The telephone shrilled. Mu Min snatched it up before her assistant could react.
"This is Mu Min." A moment later, her expression hardened. "That's a new development. Understood. Don't waste time with detailed interrogation—bring him directly to the Political Security Bureau and hand him to Wu Mu."
"You're telling me a prostitute purchased National School uniforms from you?" Yang Cao fixed Gou Buli with eyes so sharp that even bystanders felt a chill.
Minutes earlier, a carriage from General Affairs Section 9 had raced to her office, delivering this middle-aged man with a black cloth bag over his head.
According to the Section 9 officer who made the handoff, the man had stumbled into the police station's duty room at dawn, trembling violently as he shouted to the duty officer: "Someone is rebelling!"
By regulation, uttering that phrase triggered immediate investigation protocols. Of course, speaking those words without cause carried severe consequences—no one except a madman would make such a claim lightly.
The duty officer took the matter seriously and immediately summoned the Senator police officer on rotation. After a brief exchange, the officer recognized the gravity of the situation. Within minutes, Lingao's machinery of state began revolving around Gou Buli.
"Yes, yes—absolutely true." Gou Buli trembled, struggling to steady himself. To emphasize the importance of his information, he quickly added, "It was a Non-National!"
Gou Buli had been among Lingao's early "followers," though his commitment had always been half-hearted and speculative. Unlike others who rose to become naturalized citizen cadres, he'd contented himself with running a small restaurant while gathering intelligence for the Australians in exchange for petty rewards.
Over the years, his regret had only grown. Compared to fellow naturalized citizens who'd surrendered at the same time, he remained a petty urbanite despite receiving an allowance as a police "trustee" collecting tips on minor thefts—barely an improvement over his former life as a cook for the Gou family. Recently, he'd spotted Yang Zeng—once a mere house servant—striding down the street in military uniform, a foreign saber at his hip, three or four soldiers in tow. The sight filled him with such jealousy and regret that he'd nearly wanted to end his own life.
A fortune in rank and honor had slipped through his fingers so easily. Gou Buli understood that seeking refuge now would require genuine talent and useful information. His only hope lay in uncovering a "treason case."
Though he was merely a "sitting spy" with limited access to valuable intelligence, his dream of exposing traitors never died. He routinely reported even the most trivial observations to the police station. Being brought to this mysterious place blindfolded meant he'd finally stumbled onto something significant.
Heaven rewarded the patient—at last, fate had delivered the key to wealth and honor into his hands. Yet if the investigation yielded nothing, he wouldn't even be able to continue running his small shop. He'd probably end up serving Fu Bu'er for the rest of his days.
At this thought, his body trembled involuntarily.
Yang Cao rang the bell. "Send in a stenographer!"
Her assistant nodded and turned to leave. "And bring tea," she added. She looked Gou Buli over again. "Do you smoke?"
"A... a little."
Yang Cao extracted a cigarette from the box on her desk and tossed it to him. "Take your time. Give me every detail."
"Explain the situation again, start to finish. Report everything truthfully." Hearing this, Gou Buli perked up immediately: There's hope! This wasn't the usual dismissive response—"We will pay attention" or "We will investigate further."
"As you know, I run a small restaurant and serve as a trustee for the police bureau," Gou Buli began. "There's a prostitute named Xin Nachun who frequents my establishment..."
Here he faltered, suddenly apprehensive—for Xin Nachun's visits invariably involved illegal gold and silver exchange.
Private exchange of precious metals meant at least a month in a labor camp if caught. If the amounts reached a certain threshold, one could be exiled to Tiandu or Taiwan to "work until death."
He'd agonized half the night before deciding to report precisely because of this exposure.
But circumstances seemed urgent. If he made a significant contribution, surely the Chiefs wouldn't quibble over such matters.
Fortunately, Yang Cao didn't ask why the prostitute frequented his shop. Slightly relieved, he continued:
"Several days ago, Xin Nachun asked me questions about the school—inquired about my cousins' situations. I assumed she was merely curious, so I told her what my cousins had shared about their experiences. They studied at Fangcaodi for two years, but they were older and their academics were mediocre, so they were assigned jobs after completing junior primary school."
He drew on his cigarette. "Then she asked if their uniforms were still available."
"Uniforms?!"
"Yes, uniforms." Gou Buli sensed this information was valuable and pressed on eagerly. "I said the uniforms were still there. Then she suddenly asked if I could sell them to her."
"Interesting." Yang Cao's expression grew thoughtful. "And what did you say?"
"At first I thought she was joking—what use would old uniforms be? I paid no attention. But she pestered me about it three or four more times, claiming that wealthy tycoons who'd immigrated from the mainland wanted to sample the flavor of Australian students and were willing to pay three hundred circulation notes."
Three hundred circulation notes for a set of old clothes! This woman's ulterior motives are transparent, Yang Cao thought.
"Did you agree?"
"How could I? What she was suggesting was disgraceful. I never expected—I never expected..."
His voice trailed off.
It turned out that Xin Nachun had turned around and threatened to report him to the police for "private exchange of gold and silver." Over recent months, she'd exchanged over a hundred taels of silver and more than ten taels of gold at his establishment—amounts sufficient to earn him the rest of his life in a labor camp.
"Continue. What leverage does she have on you? Confess early and be treated with leniency."
"Yes, yes." Gou Buli was sweating profusely. He summarized Xin Nachun's frequent visits to exchange precious metals, then continued, "I was forced—I had no choice but to procure three sets of uniforms and sell them to her."
Yang Cao nodded. "How much did you sell them for?"
"Five... five hundred... per set..." Gou Buli stammered.
"You drove a good bargain."
"No, no, I dare not... I simply felt it was too... too suspicious..." Gou Buli had gone pale.
Yang Cao's thoughts raced: This matter is indeed suspicious. Why would a prostitute want uniforms? For wealthy clients seeking an "Australian flavor"? One set would suffice for that—this clearly doesn't add up.
"Describe the uniforms."
"Just standard Fangcaodi female student uniforms... nothing special..."
"Where is she now?"
"I'm not certain—probably at the hostel where she lives, or out working."
"Your information is extremely valuable." Yang Cao leaned forward. "Return home and conduct business as usual. Understand? Act completely normal. Report any developments immediately. I'll station a contact outside your shop."
"I understand."
"Regarding today's meeting..."
"Don't worry—I know how to keep secrets." Gou Buli realized he'd provided crucial intelligence and felt considerably better. "I'm also a trustee for the police bureau."
"See that you remember it."
She rang the bell and told the assistant who appeared, "Escort him out."
Yang Cao then summoned Liu Fuqing and relayed what she'd just learned.
"I don't know if this connects to the Sun Umbrella Special Case, but at this critical moment, someone is acquiring uniforms..."
Liu Fuqing cut in: "This is definitely suspicious. I'll have someone investigate Xin Nachun immediately and track down where those uniforms went."
"Let's work in parallel—the faster the better!" Yang Cao said. "Don't forget: today is the first day of the Cultural Festival! Students from Fangcaodi will be at the gymnasium to observe!"
Liu Fuqing headed for the archives room. Since Xin Nachun was a "Non-National," the Political Security Bureau certainly maintained a file on her. Whether the documents originated from the Customs Management Office of the Civil Affairs People's Committee, which oversaw Yellow Ticket prostitutes, or the Public Security Division of the National Police, responsible for daily supervision of sex workers—all materials would be copied to the Political Security Bureau.
He retrieved Xin Nachun's file and began skimming through it. Soon something caught his attention: over a month ago, Xin Nachun had been sentenced to whipping for "illegal solicitation"—nothing unusual in itself. But on the legal documents for this minor case, one signature stood out unmistakably.
Li Yongxun.