Nominal: My senior brothers are all big shots

The operation at Dongshan Wharf was jointly carried out by the Economic Crime Investigation Division of the Provincial Public Security Department and the local coast guard.

It was 5:30 a.m., and the sky was still dark. Cui Guodong stood on the pier, the sea breeze blowing his hair wildly. His travel bag lay at his feet, and he gazed at the distant sea. The fishing boats had not yet arrived; he was waiting.

Suddenly, several blinding headlights shone on simultaneously, shining from three directions and illuminating the dock. Cui Guodong squinted and shielded his eyes from the light with his hand.

He saw several cars rush in from the entrance of the dock, forming a semicircle and blocking him in the middle. A dozen or so men got out of the cars, wearing bulletproof vests and carrying guns.

"Don't move! Police!"

Cui Guodong didn't run. He stood there, motionless, like a piece of wood. His travel bag was opened; inside were a few changes of clothes, tens of thousands of yuan in cash, and a passport. The photo on the passport was his, but the name wasn't his.

The driver arranged by Zhong Zhihao was also apprehended, but Zhong Zhihao himself was not in the car. He got out halfway, switched to another vehicle, and disappeared into the night.

Cui Guodong was taken to the car. He didn't struggle, didn't beg for mercy, and didn't say a word. He sat in the back seat, head down, his handcuffs gleaming coldly under the light. The car left the dock, got on the highway, and headed towards the provincial capital.

News was strictly controlled. He Bing gave a firm order that only a few people within the task force knew about Cui Guodong's detention. The external investigation team continued its normal work, the funds tracing team continued monitoring the accounts, and the interrogation team continued to dig deeper into Sun Decai's case. Everything was normal, as if nothing had happened.

Cui Guodong was escorted to the provincial capital and detained at the provincial discipline inspection commission's detention center. He Bing didn't rush to interrogate him; he was waiting. Waiting for Cui Guodong to figure things out himself. Waiting for him to realize that Zhou Tianming couldn't save him, and no one else could.

Zhou Tianming learned the news that afternoon. The call was from Zhong Zhihao, whose voice was low and filled with barely suppressed tension. "Mr. Zhou, Mr. Cui is in trouble. The police arrived before the ship even reached the shore. He's been arrested."

Zhou Tianming's hand holding the phone trembled slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Understood."

He hung up the phone, sat down in a chair, and closed his eyes. His hands were still trembling uncontrollably. Cui Guodong had been arrested. Cui Guodong knew too much. The mine accounts, the smuggling routes, the bribery allegations, and the money hidden overseas. If he opened his mouth, Yuanda Group would be finished, and so would he.

He opened his eyes, took the encrypted phone from the drawer, and dialed his uncle's number. The phone rang once, twice, three times, four times. No one answered. He hung up and dialed again. Still no answer. He dialed a third time, a fourth time, a fifth time. Each time, there was only a long dial tone, then the call automatically ended.

Zhou Tianming put down his phone, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling. His uncle wasn't answering his calls. This had never happened before. Before, no matter how late it was, no matter what his uncle was doing, his uncle would always answer if he called. Even if he couldn't talk, he would send a text message saying "I'll call you back later." But now, nothing.

He recalled what his uncle had said to him the last time they met. That was six months ago, when his uncle returned to Pingjiang from Beijing to recuperate, and he went to visit him at the sanatorium.

My uncle lay in bed, thin as skin and bones, his eyes cloudy, but his gaze remained heavy. "Tianming, stop. You can't do those things anymore."

He said, "Uncle, I can't stop." His uncle closed his eyes and didn't say anything more.

When he left that day, his uncle's daughter saw him to the door and said, "Dad's health is getting worse and worse. Come visit more often when you have time."

He agreed. But he didn't go. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was afraid to. He was afraid to see his uncle's eyes; those eyes were like two knives that could pierce his heart.

Zhou Tianming put the encrypted phone back in the drawer, stood up, and walked to the window. Outside, the sky over Pingjiang was hazy, and the distant mines were shrouded in smog. He stood there for a long, long time, motionless.

He Bing received a call from Lin Feng that evening. Lin Feng's voice was calm, but He Bing could sense something pressing beneath that calm. "Director He, I know about Cui Guodong's matter. What are your next steps?"

He Bing said, "Wait. Wait until he figures it out himself. He's worked for Zhou Tianming for fifteen years and knows far more than Sun Decai. Once he speaks up, Zhou Tianming won't be able to escape."

Lin Feng paused for a moment, then said, "Zhou Tianming has connections above him. Does Cui Guodong know?"

He Bing said, "I know. Sun Decai confessed that Zhou Tianming had to pay tribute to certain people in the province every year. But Sun Decai didn't know exactly who they were. Cui Guodong should know."

Lin Feng said, "Then let's wait for Cui Guodong to speak."

He Bing said, "Mm."

After hanging up the phone, He Bing stood by the window, gazing at the night sky outside. He knew that this battle had reached its most critical moment. Cui Guodong was like a severed arm, but how long could Zhou Tianming hold out after that? He didn't know. But he knew that the scales of victory were tipping slowly.

The provincial party committee's approval was delivered to Pingjiang on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon.

The document was thin, only one page long, stamped with the provincial party committee's bright red seal. The few lines of text felt like a heavy stone, crashing into He Bing's hands. "Approval to take detention measures against Liu Zhi."

He Bing read the document over and over again, making sure every word was accurate, then picked up the phone and dialed Lin Feng's number.

"Secretary Lin, the Provincial Party Committee has approved it. We'll get started tomorrow."

Lin Feng paused for a moment on the other end of the phone, then said calmly, "Okay. There's a Standing Committee meeting tomorrow morning; he'll be there. We'll take action afterward, without alerting anyone else."

He Bing said, "I understand."

That night, the darkness in Pingjiang was heavier than usual. Liu Zhi lay on his large bed at home, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. His wife was already asleep beside him, her breathing light. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying the money in those overseas accounts, the provincial discipline inspection commission's car disappearing into the night in the early hours of the morning Sun Decai was taken away, and Zhou Tianming's text message—"Time to prepare Plan B." He didn't know what Plan B was, but he knew he was standing on the edge of a cliff.

The following morning, the Standing Committee of the Municipal Party Committee convened as scheduled. The agenda was the city's economic work—a routine and uneventful affair. Liu Zhi sat to Lin Feng's right, flipping through the documents in front of him, his expression calm and revealing nothing unusual.

He reported on the economic data for the first half of the year: GDP growth, fiscal revenue, and fixed asset investment—the figures were all very impressive. Lin Feng listened, nodding occasionally and asking a question or two now and then. Everything proceeded as usual, like any ordinary Standing Committee meeting.