Gou Zai Punishment Division

The winter rain hasn't stopped yet.

The water that had accumulated on the broken awning of the noodle stall could not support its weight and crashed down with a "splash".

At the crossroads outside the old factory area in the north of the city, a large truck drove over the potholes.

The splashing mud and water, mixed with the vibrations of the ground, traveled to the soles of my feet.

Chen Mo sat on a low plastic stool by the roadside.

The stool legs sank into the mud, forcing him to lean to one side. A stain of oil stained the cuff of his gray uniform; he instinctively rubbed it with his thumb, but seeing the stain only getting dirtier, he expressionlessly lowered his hand.

The steam rising from the noodle soup carried the smell of rancid water, which just masked the bloody smell he had brought out of the air-raid shelter.

Chen Mo stared at the bowl of plain noodles without even a braised egg, his stomach churning with hunger. Without that fifty-yuan reimbursement slip, he no longer had the confidence to treat himself to a meal.

A broken radio next to the stall was broadcasting, "The city has good public security and production is going smoothly."

The boss picked up the sink and splashed out half a basin of dirty water, interrupting the broadcast.

Several female workers wearing faded blue overalls had just finished their night shift and stopped in front of the stall, pushing their rusty bicycles.

They had dark circles under their eyes.

"Sister Zhang, could you cover my early shift tomorrow? My husband lost again gambling..."

The female worker, reeking of cell phone oil, shoved a small piece of fried dough stick into her colleague's aluminum lunchbox with a monotonous "clang."

These complaints from the common people quickly dissipated into the sound of the rain.

Chen Mo looked away and picked up a piece of noodles with his chopsticks. Chewing it felt like eating waterlogged newspaper; he couldn't taste anything at all.

He swallowed the nausea, got up to pay the bill, and walked back into the rain.

Back in the tenement building on the northern edge of the city, I pushed open the peeling wooden door and the room was filled with the familiar damp and musty smell.

The plastic chair opposite the folding table was pulled out halfway, and a faint water stain appeared out of nowhere on the tabletop.

Chen Mo stepped forward and picked up the tin teacup on the table.

It was slightly warm to the touch.

He didn't glance at it again, but calmly poured himself another full tub of hot water.

Holding the scalding hot teacup, he walked to the window and looked towards the air-raid shelter in the north of the city—where the night sky was heavy with darkness.

"boom--"

A muffled tremor came from the ground in the far distance, and even the windowpanes hummed.

That was the lingering sound after the massive iron gate, weighing tens of thousands of tons, was completely jammed shut.

Just then, the "zero" under my feet moved restlessly.

An inexplicable warmth slowly seeped into Chen Mo's bones through the soles of his shoes. The soreness accumulated from days of staying up late and the chill from being soaked by the cold rain gradually dissipated in this warm current.

Chen Mo let out a comfortable sigh and took a sip of hot water.

My gaze casually swept across the muddy alley below. Under the dim streetlights, a charred figure was dragging a broken leg that was bent backward, crawling desperately through the mud.

It was the night-wandering deity Wenliang.

Without the white paper lantern in his hand, even the skin of his priesthood had mostly fallen apart.

Chen Mo looked down at the shadow disappearing into the dark alley, his eyes completely unmoved.

He turned around and sat back down at the folding table, pulling down the cord of the tungsten filament lamp.

The dim light only illuminated one corner of the table.

The slippery brown paper bag was turned upside down, and half of a softened "Special Materials Allocation List" and a wooden hairpin fell out.

The hairpin had been carefully wiped clean by something, revealing its original clean wood grain.

Chen Mo's gaze fell on the end of the list.

It was a red mark made up of forty-one overlapping bloody fingerprints, crammed together in a messy jumble. Next to it were dozens of crookedly signed names, the handwriting rough and exuding the same low-class vibe as the machine oil smell on the hands of a noodle stall worker.

"...Project to be handled: Robbery by proxy."

'...Target: Female worker No. 042 at the textile factory.'

"...Contracting parties: the remaining forty-one female workers in the same group."

Chen Mo's fingertip rested on the wood grain of the hairpin.

The undigested cold noodles in my stomach seemed to suddenly freeze and sink.

"Top update."

He repeated in a low voice the common words he had just heard at the noodle stall.

In the shadows of this city, there are some things that cannot be casually mentioned.

In order to survive, the forty-one women pushed the most honest of their kind into the darkness of the air-raid shelter.

The bloody, mangled characters on the walls of the air-raid shelter—each stroke represents a name. That faceless, rotten flesh should have been pushing a bicycle, haggling over a few cents.

Chen Mo tried to recall the section chief in the office.

He remembered the extra hand with its jet-black nails. But now, when he tried to recall that spot, all he could see was the shadow of a black tie swaying in the wind.

The section chief's face and tie gradually blurred together in my memory, like ink spreading with water, and I could no longer recall what they originally looked like.

The only clear reality is that he lost the reimbursement form that could have saved his life.

Chen Mo stared quietly at the desktop.

The steam in the teacup slowly dissipated under the light.

The plastic chair opposite made a soft creaking sound, as if the person sitting on it had changed their posture.

Chen Mo did not look up.

The fire in the air-raid shelter had already started, and all he could do now was watch quietly.

He reached out and turned off the table lamp.