In the 90s, you could acquire max-level skills every 14 days.

Chapter 125 The Collapsed Filial Son

Room 808, Jinsong Residential Area.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Li Guilan quickly peeked out of her room.

Seeing Zhang Chao follow Zhang Defa in, looking as dark and thin as a monkey, she suddenly didn't know what to do with her hands and feet.

"Chaozi's here—come in, come in and sit down."

Zhang Chao stood in the narrow foyer, fidgeting with his hands, unsure whether to sit or stand.

"Put everything down first, wash your hands and eat."

He simply put his hands behind his back, trying to cover the calluses and dirt on his hands.

Li Guilan spotted him immediately, quickly grabbed a damp towel, went over to wipe his hands, pressed him down on the stool, and then turned and went into the kitchen.

A short while later, a large bowl of steaming hot braised noodles was brought out.

Shredded pork, eggs, daylily buds, and wood ear mushrooms, with glistening braised sauce poured over the noodles, and then I went back to get a tomato salad with sugar.

"It's not lunchtime yet, kid, have something to eat first. Your aunt will stew some meat for you later at noon." Li Guilan pushed the bowl in front of Zhang Chao and then went to get chopsticks.

Zhang Chao thanked him, answered the phone, and started eating.

He ate incredibly fast, as if he hadn't eaten for days. After finishing the bowl, he looked up again, gazing longingly at Li Guilan.

"There's still some in the pot, help yourself to as much as you want." Li Guilan added two more chopsticks of pickled radish.

Zhang Chao filled another bowl and ate until sweat beaded on his forehead.

Li Guilan sat on a small stool and watched him eat without saying a word.

After finishing two bowls of noodles, Zhang Chao finally regained some color in his face.

Li Guilan cleared away the dishes, took off her apron, and went to buy groceries. Zhang Yong overheard her whispering to Zhang Defa, "The child looks much thinner than Yongzi. I'm going out to buy some pork belly to cook with potatoes. Talk to the people politely, don't scare them."

The living room fell silent.

Zhang Defa sat in the corner, took out a cigarette, and smoked it silently. Zhang Yong sat down opposite Zhang Chao.

"Brother Chao," Zhang Yong poured Zhang Chao a glass of water, "there are some things you need to know."

Zhang Chao paused, his hand tightening around the enamel mug. He looked up, his eyes filled with tension.

Zhang Yong reached into the room, pulled out a brown paper envelope, took out a stack of papers inside, and pushed it to the center of the table.

"This is the police station's statement." Zhang Yong pointed to the top page of the paper with a red stamp. "Your father, my uncle, signed and put his fingerprint on it."

Zhang Chao's gaze fell on the paper, his breathing slightly erratic.

"Yongzi, what is this? What does my dad have to do with the police station? Where is he?"

Zhang Yong didn't answer, but instead asked, "Did my eldest uncle come to Beijing to tell you that he was there to help my fifth uncle borrow money to get married?"

"Yes, I know about this. My fifth uncle had someone introduce him to a new bride from a neighboring village. The matchmaker said he wanted a dowry of two hundred, so he came to the capital."

Zhang Defa opened his mouth and replied, "Your dad told me it had to be one in a thousand, one thousand and one yuan."

Zhang Chao opened his mouth, unable to reply.

"Not only that, my uncle also brought a fake IOU to my dad to ask for money back." Zhang Yong looked at Zhang Chao's expression and continued, "The IOU says he borrowed 1,000 yuan with a monthly interest rate of 3%. In reality, my dad has sent back quite a bit of money over the years, a total of 8,420 yuan. Look at these remittance slips."

Zhang Chao flipped through the stack of photocopies of remittance slips, spanning several years, with amounts ranging from fifty to two hundred yuan, and the recipients were mostly listed as "Zhang Dewang".

Under each entry, there are notes indicating its destination: "House Repairs," "Fertilizer," "Fifth Son's Wedding," "Medical Treatment"—

"This money was all saved by my dad from his salary and sent back home, without my mom's knowledge," Zhang Yong said. "Have you seen this money?"

Seeing Zhang Chao shake his head, Zhang Yong pointed to a photocopy.

It was a blurry black-and-white photograph, but you could make out several rusty iron barrels piled up under a dilapidated shed. The word "engine oil" was faintly printed on the barrels, and there were a few figures nearby.

"This is one of the hideouts of the oil smuggler Ma Degui. My uncle was one of his subordinates, and the two of them also ran a loan sharking business together."

Zhang Chao's face immediately turned pale. "No! My dad told me he was going to do manual labor! Five yuan a day!"

"He wasn't just working for Boss Ma there; he was mixing waste oil with other things, packaging it in barrels, and selling it at a high price. Do you know that's illegal?! The police station found this out!"

Zhang Chao's hands were shaking more and more violently.

He stared at the statement with his father's fingerprint on it, and at the thick stack of remittance slips.

"There's one more thing," Zhang Yong sighed. "Your father used the money he'd saved over the years in Zhangzhuang, a suburb of Baoding, to support a woman named Liu Cuiping. He even built her a two-story house. But the property deed isn't in your father's name; it's in that woman's."

"Clang!"

The enamel mug fell from Zhang Chao's hands to the ground, spilling water everywhere. He quickly bent down to pick it up, repeatedly apologizing.

Then the tears started flowing again.

"Father—Father—" He buried his face in his arms, his sobs muffled in his throat, "You lied—you lied to the whole family—"

""

"Those few acres of land at home, every drop of sweat is worth eight pieces—my mother still can't bear to spend money on them, saying she's saving them for our retirement—for us to get married and build houses—"

He suddenly looked up and grabbed Zhang Yong. "Yongzi, is what you're saying true? My dad—he really did this?!"

"Brother Chao, this can't be fake. The Baoding police station knows about this case, and your aunt will find out sooner or later."

""

The last bit of hope in Zhang Chao's mind vanished in an instant.

Zhang Defa squatted in the corner, burying his face in his knees, not uttering a sound.

After crying for a while, Zhang Chao's sobs subsided. He wiped his face, raised his red eyes, and looked at the black and white photo of the hideout.

Suddenly, he stretched out a trembling finger and touched a corner of the photo.

"This bucket—" His voice was terribly hoarse, "This bucket has red paint stripes on top—three stripes, and a small triangle painted on the bottom—"

Zhang Yong looked up and followed his finger.

Zhang Chao looked up, tears still streaming down his face, staring at Zhang Yong. "I've seen it—I really have! It was outside the shed where my dad worked! He went there once to get something, and he told me to wait there. I saw him!"

He sniffed hard, his voice trembling: "I wanted one too, a roasted sweet potato to sell at the market—but my dad wouldn't give it to me. He even scolded me, saying those buckets were poisonous and that eating roasted sweet potatoes would kill people—"

'

"Later I took a look and found that all the large machines in their room had these three bars and small triangles drawn on them."

The light bulb emitted a slight humming sound.

The room was so quiet that you could hear the rustling of the old locust tree leaves outside the window as the wind blew.

Zhang Yong tapped his fingertip on the table.

The fake oil drum has a red paint mark with three bars and a small triangle.

This may not be a simple mark indicating the location of the hideout, but rather some kind of secret mark, or even a symbol indicating batches or different destinations.

Ma Degui has more than one processing point in Baoding. Are all these marked oil drums and equipment in that small building?

"Chaozi," Zhang Yong asked as he looked up.

"Where is this shed you're talking about? Besides the oil drums, what else have you seen there? Think carefully, don't miss anything."