Dare to shirk responsibility? This adorable little one will tear down your military district!

At three o'clock in the morning, white smoke was already billowing out of the kitchen chimney.

Gu Changfeng's long legs moved swiftly, his military boots making a dull thud on the cobblestone path.

He carried Meng Yaya in his arms, followed by more than a dozen heavily armed soldiers. The group shoved into the logistics compound like a sharp knife.

"Seal off the front and back doors; not even a fly is allowed to get out."

Gu Changfeng made a gesture. The soldiers quickly dispersed and moved along the wall to encircle the enemy.

"Bang!"

Gu Changfeng kicked open the old wooden door of the mess hall.

The room was steaming hot. Several soldiers who were kneading dough were startled and almost dropped the dough in their hands.

Behind the large stove, a burly man wearing a white apron stained with oil was bending over, adding coal to the firebox.

Hearing the noise, the man straightened up, still holding the fire tongs in his hand. His face was smeared with soot, and when he saw Gu Changfeng, a simple and honest smile appeared on his dark red face, revealing a mouthful of large, smoked teeth.

"Oh, sir? So early?"

The man wiped his hands on his apron and approached somewhat awkwardly: "Hungry? The big meat buns have just been steamed; you'll have to wait ten minutes."

This is Lao Wang.

Wang Defa, the head of the mess hall.

Gu Changfeng didn't speak, his eagle-like eyes fixed on Wang Defa. He stepped forward, his movements as swift as a cheetah, and grabbed Wang Defa's left hand.

Wang Defa was startled and tried to pull back, but was held firmly by a large, iron-like hand.

Gu Changfeng held up the flour-covered hand to his eyes.

Rough, covered in calluses, with wide fingertips.

Only his little finger was shorter. It was an old wound, the cut was clean, and the flesh had shrunk back.

"Sir, what... what happened?" Wang Defa looked bewildered, with a hint of panic from being suddenly attacked by his superior. "My hands aren't clean, don't get your gloves dirty."

The features match.

Gu Changfeng shook off his hand and coldly uttered a single word: "Search."

The soldiers behind him swarmed forward.

The once tidy kitchen was instantly turned upside down. Rice containers, flour sacks, firewood piles, and even pickled vegetable jars were all dumped out.

Wang Defa stood in the corner, his neck hunched, his hands clasped together. He looked at the mess on the ground and didn't dare to say a word, though his eyes were a little red.

"Reporting, sir! No!"

"Report! There's only rice in the rice bin!"

"Report! The woodshed only contains coal and wood!"

There was no telegraph machine, no codebook, no weapons, not even a spare piece of paper.

Zhao Tiezhu pulled a tin biscuit box from under Wang Defa's bedding roll and ran over excitedly: "Commander! I've found something!"

Gu Changfeng took the box and opened it.

There were no gold bars or intelligence inside.

There was only a thick stack of remittance slips and a few letters with crooked handwriting.

Gu Changfeng picked up a piece of yellowed paper. It read: "My son, my lung disease has flared up again; I'm coughing up blood. We've sold the cow, but it's still not enough to pay for medicine..."

Then look at those remittance slips. Every month on the 15th, without fail, twenty yuan is sent out. The recipient is Liu Cuihua, and the address is a poor mountainous area thousands of miles away.

Gu Changfeng's allowance wasn't low, but he knew what sending twenty yuan a month meant.

Wang Defa hardly spent any money in the army; he patched his clothes again and again, and couldn't even bear to buy a bar of soap.

"Commander..." Wang Defa sniffed, his voice choked with emotion, "Did I do something wrong? Or did something happen to my mother...?"

The man was seven feet tall, and now he was squatting on the ground, holding his head, crying like a wronged child.

The soldiers searching the surrounding area slowed down.

Zhao Tiezhu scratched his head and looked at Gu Changfeng with a guilty expression: "Commander, did we... make a mistake? Old Wang is usually the most honest, at most he wouldn't dare to kill a chicken."

"Yes, sir. Old Wang is a good man, except for being a bit stingy. He's the one who sewed up my clothes last time when they were torn."

Public opinion has shifted.

There was no evidence, only a pitiful-looking, devoted son who was single-mindedly devoted to his seriously ill mother.

Could it be that the captured spy was making baseless accusations before he died, deliberately framing someone to incite infighting within the unit?

Gu Changfeng held the stack of remittance slips, his knuckles turning blue from the force.

He trusted his intuition, and he also believed the confession forced out of Meng Yaya by those few "mutated burrs." The blue-clad agent was in so much pain that he simply didn't have the energy to fabricate such a perfect lie.

The more perfect and flawless something is, the more problems it has.

But this old guy is too good at pretending.

If we forcibly arrest people now, not only will we be unable to convict them, but we will also be branded as "mistreating veterans," which will destabilize the morale of the troops and fall right into the enemy's trap.

"Commander," Wang Defa wiped away his tears and looked up at Gu Changfeng, "If I've done anything wrong, you can execute me. But could you please let me send this month's money? My mother is waiting for help."

This tactic of retreating to advance has been mastered to perfection.

Gu Changfeng took a deep breath, closed the cookie box, and tossed it back to Wang Defa.

"Routine inspection for the whole regiment," Gu Changfeng said expressionlessly. "Things haven't been peaceful lately, so everyone should be on their guard."

"Yes! Yes! Thank you, sir!" Wang Defa held the box, expressing his gratitude profusely. His humble appearance was heartbreaking to see.

Gu Changfeng turned and left.

Meng Yaya leaned on Gu Changfeng's shoulder, her chin resting on his stiff epaulets. Her large, dark eyes, like black grapes, stared intently at Wang Defa, who was still wiping away tears, over Gu Changfeng's shoulder.

Wang Defa happened to look up.

Their eyes met briefly in mid-air.

Wang Defa's eyes were still as honest and simple as ever, but they also revealed a hint of panic from being terrified.

But Meng Yaya saw something else.

She had lived in the apocalypse for ten years and had seen far too many people who would push their own brothers into a horde of zombies just to grab a piece of moldy bread. Those kinds of people, no matter how much they pretended to be sheep, were wolves at heart.

The moment Wang Defa caught the cookie box, his fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the box.

That wasn't about treasuring the mother's letters.

That's greed for wealth.

Moreover, although there were no contraband items in the room, there was a faint, lingering smell.

It's not Thirteen Spices.

It was a very faint, earthy smell, masked by the smell of cooking. Exactly the same smell as the sole of that spy's shoe from before.

This guy is definitely hiding something, and it's nearby.

When I stepped out of the mess hall, it was already dawn.

"Dad," Meng Yaya whispered in Gu Changfeng's ear, covering her mouth with her small hand, her voice extremely low, "He's faking it."

Gu Changfeng didn't stop walking, but simply hugged his daughter tighter: "I know. But he's cleaned himself up too thoroughly. Without evidence, we can't touch him."

"He's short of money," Meng Yaya said in her childish voice.

Gu Changfeng frowned: "His remittance slips..."

"That's for the dead." Meng Yaya sneered, her tone revealing a coldness beyond her years.

"If he were truly a filial son, his first reaction upon receiving the box would be to check if any letters or monthly allowances were missing, not to hug it without even looking at it. He's putting on an act for you."

Gu Changfeng paused.

Those involved are often blinded by their own perspective. I was so caught up in Wang Defa's performance of being a "filial son" that I completely overlooked this detail.

If the claim that he sends money every month is false, then where does his money go? Or, what would he do for money?

"And," Meng Yaya pulled a White Rabbit candy from her pocket, unwrapped it, "he's very greedy."

"greedy?"

"Hmm. He's kneading dough, but there's oil under his fingernails. Not lard, but roast duck oil." Meng Yaya stuffed a candy into Gu Changfeng's mouth. "I smelled it on that uncle in the blue shirt; it's the smell you only get at Quanjude in the provincial capital."

A filial son who wouldn't even buy soap and sends his allowance home every month is secretly eating roast duck from the provincial capital.

This old fox has finally shown his true colors.

"Girl, do you have a plan?" Gu Changfeng looked down at her.

Meng Yaya played with the candy wrapper in her hand, and a sly smile, as mischievous as a little fox, appeared on her chubby little face, completely out of place with her three-year-old appearance.

"Dad, since he's so short of money, let's give him some valuable treasures."

Meng Yaya patted her bulging little yellow backpack.

"A greedy person cannot resist meat. Even if it's meat on an iron hook, he will still open his mouth and take a bite."

Gu Changfeng raised an eyebrow: "You mean...?"

"Fishing." Meng Yaya blinked. "I have something good here, much more valuable than roast duck. Tell me, if a mouse sees a mountain of gold, can it resist taking it?"

As long as he makes a move, as long as he wants to smuggle the stolen goods out to exchange for money, that perfect facade will be shattered.

Looking at his daughter's scheming little face, Gu Changfeng couldn't help but lean down and kiss her on the forehead, his stubble making Meng Yaya giggle.

"Okay." Gu Changfeng strode forward. "Whatever you say. Let's give this big rat an extra meal."