I slept with my sister's classmate, and she turned out to be my boss.

The second day of the three-day deadline.

Fang Zhiwen locked himself in his office, with the curtains drawn tightly and the blinds closed.

The sunlight outside was blocked, and the only light inside was the pale glow of the fluorescent lights, which made everyone's faces look as if they were covered with a layer of gray.

The table was covered with materials—contracts, acceptance reports, payment vouchers, meeting minutes, stacked up like a small mountain.

He didn't sleep a wink last night.

It's not that I don't want to sleep, it's that I can't fall asleep.

He could see Meng Qingshan's eyes as soon as he closed them—not just looking, but confirming, confirming that he was guilty.

Fang Zhiwen's task today is simple: to address each of the problems discovered by the audit team.

A one-time payment of 3 million yuan was made, and a meeting minutes were to be prepared, stating "decided by the town party committee" and dated March 2023. The attendees were listed as all members of the town leadership team, and the host was listed as "Fang Zhiwen".

The acceptance report was signed with the wrong ink, so a new copy was printed and signed again with blue-black ink, with the date still written as December 20, 2022, the same as before.

The bidding period for the wastewater treatment project was irregular. A supplementary "Explanation" was required, stating that "due to the tight project schedule, the bidding announcement period was shortened with the approval of the superior."

Who is the superior? (Not specified.)

Who agrees? (Not specified.)

The production dates of the cement in the warehouse did not match. A supplementary "Supply Note" was issued, stating that "due to a shipping error by the manufacturer, a new batch of cement was mistakenly sent to our town. Our town has requested the manufacturer to rectify the situation." The date should be written before the audit team discovered the discrepancy.

He went over these statements in his mind again and again, scrutinizing each sentence repeatedly, trying to make them sound reasonable, credible, and able to withstand scrutiny.

But upon closer examination, even he himself found it to be false—every single one of these statements was an attempt to say "it's not our fault," every single one was a way of shirking responsibility, and every single one couldn't withstand scrutiny.

But he had no other choice.

Fang Zhiwen picked up the phone and dialed the landline number for the Party and Government Office.

It rang twice, then the call was connected.

"It's me. Fang Zhiwen."

"Secretary Fang."

The person who answered the phone was Wu Xiaoqi, the director of the Party and Government Office. His voice was slightly nervous—Fang Zhiwen rarely called the Party and Government Office directly; he usually had someone relay his messages.

"Could you prepare a few documents for me? The first one is the minutes of the Party Committee meeting in March 2023, which discusses the payment of funds for the wastewater treatment project in the Economic Development Zone. The format should follow the standard: list all members of the town leadership team as attendees, and write my name as the chairperson. Date it as March 15, 2023."

"Secretary Fang, this summary..." Wu Xiaoqi hesitated, "I don't think this meeting was ever held, right?"

"Can't it be repaired if it hasn't been opened?"

Fang Zhiwen's voice turned cold.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, it can be fixed. I'll get it done right away."

"The second document is an explanation of the bidding process for the wastewater treatment project in the Economic Development Zone. It should state that due to the tight project schedule, and with the approval of higher authorities, the bidding announcement period was shortened. Do not specify who was consulted; simply write 'with the approval of higher authorities.'"

"it is good."

"The third document is an explanation regarding the cement batch issue at the Economic Development Zone building materials warehouse. It states that due to a shipping error by the manufacturer, a new batch of cement was mistakenly sent to our town, and our town has already requested the manufacturer to rectify the situation. The date is listed as last week."

"Okay. Secretary Fang, when do we need these materials?"

"Deliver it to my office this afternoon, before you leave work."

"Okay, I'll hurry."

Fang Zhiwen hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

He didn't know if these materials could be used to fool people.

Maybe yes, maybe no.

Meng Qingshan wasn't stupid; he could probably tell at a glance what the supplementary meeting minutes, the later signatures, and the fabricated explanations were all.

But he had no choice but to try anything, even if it seemed hopeless.

Fang Zhiwen picked up the ballpoint pen on the table again—the kind with blue-black ink, the kind he had specially asked someone to buy, exactly the same as the ink required by the county in 2022.

The pen was new, the ink was new, but the date he had to sign was December 20, 2022, almost two years ago. The pen he used back then was long gone.

The chemical composition of new ink is different from that of old ink, which can be detected by handwriting analysis.

The date of a signature can be forged, but the chemical age of the ink cannot be faked.

He knew all this, but he still had to make up for it.

Because he had no other choice—if he didn't make up the missing materials, it would be a "missing material" situation; if he did make up the missing materials, at least there would be something on paper.

Whether these things are real or fake is a matter for the next step; let's take the first step first.

Fang Zhiwen signed the acceptance report.

The three characters Fang Zhiwen were written slowly, stroke by stroke.

He deliberately imitated his handwriting from two years ago—back then his signature was more neat, unlike his current flamboyant style.

He wrote very carefully, controlling the force of each stroke. When he wrote the last stroke of the character "文", he paused for a moment, and the tip of the pen lingered on the paper for a moment, leaving a small ink dot.

He stared at the ink spot for a few seconds, then put the acceptance report aside and continued writing the next one.

One serving, two servings, three servings.

His hands started to tremble when he signed the last document.

It wasn't fear, it was exhaustion—after more than thirty hours without sleep, my body had reached its limit.

His hands were shaking, but his handwriting remained steady.

Having navigated the treacherous waters of officialdom for so many years, he had long since learned to write steadily even when his hands were trembling—when in meetings, when facing superiors, when undergoing inspections, no matter how turbulent his mind was, he had to keep a steady face and steady hands.

Fang Zhiwen put down his pen and neatly arranged the signed documents, one stack at a time.

Meeting minutes, situation reports, supply instructions, acceptance reports—each document was arranged in order, clipped together with binder clips, and placed on the left side of the table.

Those are for the audit team to see.

On the right side of the table are the original materials—those yellowed, curled-edged, and faded originals.

The contracts, acceptance reports, and payment vouchers all bear his signature, and each one records the actual time and content.

Two stacks of materials, one on the left and one on the right, one new and one old.

The new ones look like they just came out of the printing factory yesterday, shining white; the old ones look like they've been buried in the ground for years, yellowish-brown.

Fang Zhiwen looked at the two stacks of materials and remained silent for a long time.

He was thinking about a question that everyone knew the answer to—would Meng Qingshan not be able to see it?

Would someone who has worked in the provincial audit office for more than 20 years not even be able to distinguish between new and old paper?

He knew the answer, but he had to take a gamble.

I bet Meng Qingshan won't compare the old and new pages one by one, I bet the audit team won't take every contract to be dated, I bet Fang Mingyuan's network of connections in the provincial capital can find a breakthrough within three days, and I bet this storm will eventually stop.

Every word "gamble" is like walking on a knife's edge.

Suddenly, the phone on the table vibrated.

Fang Zhiwen picked it up and looked at it—it was Qian Cheng.

He answered the phone, but before he could even speak, Qian Cheng's voice came from the other end, filled with obvious panic.

"Secretary Fang, something has happened."

Fang Zhiwen's fingers tightened slightly, but his voice remained completely calm.

"What is it?"

"The audit team is comparing my signature. They put together the materials we submitted in previous years and the ones we recently submitted, and said my handwriting doesn't match."

Fang Zhiwen leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He had already thought of the inconsistency in handwriting, but he didn't think the audit team would investigate that closely.

It's just a signature; who cares if the handwriting you wrote this year is exactly the same as last year's?

But Meng Qingshan cared.

"Secretary Fang, they brought three documents—one original from 2022, one supplemented when the county audit team came last time, and one I re-signed after the provincial audit team came this time. They put the three together and said the handwriting was different each time, suspecting that they were signed at different times."

Fang Zhiwen did not speak immediately.

He was thinking—three documents, signed at different times, with different handwriting.

This is not "doubt," this is "confirmation."

The audit team wasn't stupid. Handwriting analysis can determine the order in which signatures were made, what kind of pen, ink, and pressure were used, and even the emotional state of the person signing.

"Let's do the comparison, what's the panic?"

"Secretary Fang, handwriting analysis can determine if they were written at the same time. If the analysis shows that these signatures are not from the same period—"

"Then let them do the analysis," Fang Zhiwen interrupted him. "So what if they do the analysis? Of course, you didn't sign them at the same time. The first signature was in 2022, and the second was last month. There's a two- or three-year gap, so it's normal for the handwriting to be different. What are you afraid of?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Both of them knew what Qian Cheng was afraid of.

The audit team wasn't checking the handwriting; they were investigating "why a replacement signature was needed."

If the acceptance report was signed at the time, why did it need to be signed again two years later?

This isn't a matter of inconsistent handwriting; it's a matter of "this report never existed in the first place."

"Secretary Fang, what should we do?"

Fang Zhiwen remained silent for a few seconds.

"Organize all the materials—whether they're real or fake—and bring them all to my office."

"All of them? Original documents included?"

"all."

Qian Cheng hesitated for a moment.

"Secretary Fang, what if the audit team sees the original document—"

"I didn't tell the audit team I wanted to see it," Fang Zhiwen's voice turned serious. "Send it to me."

"it is good."

Just as Fang Zhiwen was about to hang up, Qian Cheng spoke again.

"Secretary Fang, there's one more thing."

"What?"

"Zhou Min...didn't come to work today."

Fang Zhiwen's fingers paused for a moment.

"She took the day off?"

"No. I called but no one answered, and I sent messages but no one replied. I asked the people in the office next to her, and they said she wasn't here yesterday afternoon and hasn't come today either."

A thought suddenly flashed through Fang Zhiwen's mind—Zhou Min was not here yesterday afternoon, and she didn't come today either.

Where did she go?

Fang Zhiwen recalled Zhou Min's condition these past few days—she spoke less, looked unwell, and always kept her head down as if she was thinking about something.

He thought she was just scared by the audit team and that she would be fine in a few days.

"Secretary Fang? Secretary Fang, are you listening?"

"I'm listening." Fang Zhiwen's voice returned to calm. "Something might be wrong with her. Have someone go to her house to check on her."

"it is good."

The phone hangs up.

Fang Zhiwen placed his phone on the table and stared at the screen.

Zhou Min didn't come to work. She didn't answer her phone or reply to her messages.

What is she doing?

Should I hide at home, or—

He dared not think any further and stared at the phone on the table for a long time.

He hesitated whether or not to make the call.

Fang Mingyuan has not contacted him since he returned from the provincial capital yesterday.

It wasn't like this before—every time Fang Mingyuan went to the provincial capital before, he would call him as soon as he returned to tell him that "things have been taken care of" or "you'll have to wait a little longer."

But this time, Fang Mingyuan didn't say a word.

Fang Zhiwen picked up his phone and found Fang Mingyuan's number.

He stared at the word "brother" on the screen for a long time, then pressed the call button.

The phone rang three times before being answered.

"Zhiwen".

Fang Mingyuan's voice came from the other end of the phone, nothing unusual—still that calm, unhurried tone, as if he were talking about something very ordinary.

But Fang Zhiwen sensed something was off—he answered the phone too quickly.

In the past, if you called Fang Mingyuan, he would only answer after the phone rang at least five or six times, because he would check who was calling, whether he should answer, and whether the other party was qualified to let him answer.

But now, he answered after only three rings.

He was waiting for a phone call.

Whose call is he waiting for?

Fang Zhiwen didn't know, nor did he ask.

"Brother, how's it going in the provincial capital?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

That silence wasn't because Fang Mingyuan was thinking about how to answer; it was because he simply didn't want to answer.

Fang Zhiwen waited a few seconds and asked again.

"Brother, what did Lao Nie say?"

Fang Mingyuan finally spoke.

"Zhiwen." His voice was hoarse. "Old Nie has cut ties with us."

Fang Zhiwen's mind went blank for a while, as if something had exploded, from his forehead to the back of his head.

Cut it—

He had heard this word from Fang Mingyuan, but he never thought it would be used on Lao Nie.

Old Nie was their strongest connection, their most reliable source of information in the provincial capital, and their greatest reliance.

But it's been cut now.

"Brother, what do you mean?"

"He simply doesn't want to have anything to do with us anymore."

Fang Zhiwen understood the weight of those words.

Old Nie's severing ties wasn't just a temporary respite; it was a complete cleanup—past accounts had to be settled, past dealings destroyed, and past friendships erased.

From this day forward, Lao Nie no longer recognizes Fang Mingyuan, nor does he recognize Fang Zhiwen. Their network of connections in the provincial capital is severed.

"Then... what do we do?"

Fang Mingyuan fell silent again.

Fang Zhiwen could hear the breathing on the other end of the phone—rapid, suppressed breathing, as if someone was trying to control their emotions.

Fang Mingyuan would never let him hear that kind of voice on the phone. He always hid his emotions very well, laughing when he should and being serious when he should, and never letting anyone see his panic.

But now, his breathing betrays him.

"I'm trying to figure something out."

Fang Zhiwen suddenly laughed.

"elder brother."

"Um."

"You don't need to lie to me anymore."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"You're helpless. I'm helpless too. We're both finished."

Fang Mingyuan remained silent.

There was only silence on the other end of the phone—a long, heavy, suffocating silence.

Fang Zhiwen held his phone, looking out at the sky.

He wanted to say, "Brother, I've always remembered how you fought for me when we were kids," he wanted to say, "No matter what, you're my brother," and he wanted to say, "Don't worry, I won't betray you."

But he didn't say anything.

Because he knew that saying anything now would be meaningless.

All the meaning was destroyed by his own hands over these ten years, destroyed by the contracts he signed, destroyed by the money he approved, destroyed by the tacitly approved forgery.

"elder brother."

"Um."

"Hang up."

"it is good."

Fang Zhiwen hung up the phone, put it on the table, picked up a pen, and opened a new notebook.

He wrote the date on the first line, slowly, emphasizing each number.

October seventeenth.

Then he started writing.

"My name is Fang Zhiwen, born in 1969, and I am currently the Party Secretary of Liuhe Town, Qingshun County."

"The following are the main violations of rules and regulations I was involved in during my tenure in Liuhe Town."

"First, from 2019 to 2024, I approved the expenditure of public funds on multiple occasions in violation of regulations, involving a total amount of approximately 1240 million yuan..."

"..."

He wrote slowly, but very steadily.

Every stroke of the pen was steady—steadier than signing a document at a meeting, more steady than reporting during an inspection, and more steady than answering questions in front of Team Leader Meng.

Because he wasn't making things up, he was writing. Making things up requires using your brain, while writing only requires recalling.

His phone lit up, and he glanced down at it—it was a message from Qian Cheng.

"Secretary Fang, the materials are ready. Shall we send them over now?"

Fang Zhiwen replied with two words.

"Send it here."

He placed his phone face down on the table, put down his pen, and looked at the half-written notebook. It wasn't finished yet, only half-written, but it was enough—enough for the disciplinary committee to file a case, enough for the procuratorate to prosecute, enough for him to never have to worry about anything again for the rest of his life.

Fang Zhiwen leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He wondered if he could go back ten years, back to the day he first came to Liuhe Town, would he make the same choice?

In order to develop Liuhe Town, will they tacitly condone those illegal operations?

Could they allow local businesses to evade taxes in order to achieve political achievements?

Could it be that, in order to save money, the construction team will start work first and then complete the formalities later?

Could the statistics department be instructed to manipulate the data in order to meet targets?

Could it be that in order to protect the Fang family's interests, they transferred the 1160 million yuan out of the finance office?