Anti-gang campaign: Female bureau chief

Jiang Ruolan did not press the matter of the note further.

She changed direction, opened a document in front of her, and spoke in a flat tone, as if reporting the weather:

"Geng Changxi, 41 years old, with four prior convictions, was released from Yi'an Prison on the 15th of last month after serving his full sentence. On the same day, another person released was Ding Youtian, nicknamed 'Frog,' who was your cellmate."

Ma Biao, nicknamed "The Cripple," was released two months before you, and he was also your cellmate. There was another one named Luo Dayong, who was released at the end of last year. He used to work with you under Ren Pengfei.

These four men are all in Yi'an now, and none of them have proper jobs. When you went to see Lao Feng the night before last, he was with a man whose left ear was missing. Who was that man? Ding Youtian, Ma Biao, or Luo Dayong?

Geng Changxi's eyes flickered.

He tried to hide it, but his pupils clearly contracted at that moment—it was an instinctive bodily reaction.

He turned his head away, looked at the security camera in the corner, and said in a very soft voice:

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What about Song Baogen? Liao Guangcheng wrote very clearly in the mine log that Song Baogen was a colleague of Liu Zhenguo and He Dayong. Back then, in the Chenjiagou mining area, he was one of Ren Pengfei's men, just like you."

When you were working as a henchman for Ren Pengfei, he was a safety officer at the mine next door. You'd known each other for at least fifteen years. After you got out of prison, you went to the scrap yard to find him, trying to recruit him. He refused.

You poured caustic soda on his face and then slipped a note into his pocket with some kind of internal gang number written on it. Who was this note for? Ding Youtian or Ma Biao?

Geng Changxi's breathing became noticeably heavier.

His fingers began to scratch the iron tabletop unconsciously, his nails scraping against the metal with a harsh sound.

But he still didn't speak, his lips pressed tightly together, as if he were struggling with himself.

"We've finished discussing Song Baogen's matter. Let's change the subject—how have you been making a living in the month since your release from prison?"

"I haven't eaten, I'm hungry."

Geng Changxi snorted.

"Your bank statements show that starting three days after your release from prison, you received weekly deposits of between two and three thousand dollars. The remitters were from a scrap metal recycling company. You don't have a job, so where did the money come from?"

Geng Changxi's lips twitched, but he didn't reply.

"You don't have to tell us. We're checking all the owners of the scrap yards in the east of the city, asking them one by one. Eventually, someone will get scared and come to tell us what happened before Song Baogen died."

And your accomplice with the missing left ear, I've already issued a notice for assistance in his investigation. He'll be arrested if he shows his face at any checkpoint in the province.

"When he's sitting in the interrogation room next to you, do you think he'll take the blame for you? Would Ding Youtian? Would Ma Biao? Would Luo Dayong?"

Geng Changxi's expression finally changed.

That slick indifference gradually faded from his face, revealing something more real underneath—not fear, but anger.

An anger that has been cornered.

His breathing became heavy, his nostrils flared, and his lips began to tremble slightly.

Jiang Ruolan pressed closer, her voice still steady, but every word precisely targeting his psychological defenses:

"Back in Fengmao, you were just a low-level thug. Ren Pengfei would tell you who to beat up, and you would tell him who to collect debts. When something went wrong, you were always the first to step in, and you were the one who ended up in jail."

Who do you think you're taking the blame for? Ren Pengfei is in jail, and Shen Wangshan is dead. You're taking the blame for a dead man; do you think he'll pay you in the underworld?

Let me tell you how Song Baogen died—he worked in the mines for twenty years, just wanting to survive.

You poured caustic soda on his face, and he rolled on the ground in pain, tears streaming into his corroded skin. The last thing he saw before the caustic soda burned through his eyes was the plastic bottle still falling from your hand.

He was no longer in anyone's way, but you killed him. Is this the life you wanted? To continue working for someone who has already been executed?

"Don't mention Shen Wangshan to me!"

Geng Changxi suddenly erupted.

He suddenly leaned forward, and the handcuffs slammed against the iron table with a loud bang, making the air in the interrogation room seem to freeze.

His face flushed red, the veins on his forehead bulged, and his jaw muscles twitched from clenching his teeth. "Shen Wangshan is dead, I don't owe him anything!"

He owes me! I served more than two years in jail for him, and when I got out, no one even came to pick me up. His son lives in a mansion abroad, while I have to borrow from my fellow inmates to buy a pack of cigarettes!

You think I don't know what kind of person Shen Wangshan is? He's a bastard! But even though he's a bastard, he taught me one thing—in this world, no one will make decisions for you; you can only rely on yourself!

Song Baogen refused to join us; it was his own choice, I didn't force him! I told him it was either join or get out of Yi'an. He won't leave, and he still won't join, so he can't blame me. Our line of work doesn't need people who hesitate.

"What's your line of work? Which line of work?"

Jiang Ruolan stared into his eyes, her voice turning cold.

Geng Changxi was panting heavily when he suddenly realized that he had let something slip.

He abruptly shut his mouth, turned his head away, and stared at the gray wall in the corner, his chest still heaving.

A long silence filled the interrogation room before he spoke, his voice hoarse and low, as if he were talking to himself:

"It's no use me saying anything. You arrested one of us, but there are still three more. You arrested four of us, but there will be others. The scrap metal business in Yi'an has been like this since Shen Wangshan's time. Do you think no one will do it anymore now that Shen Wangshan is gone? You're naive."

"Tell me, who's doing this?"

Geng Changxi turned his face and looked at Jiang Ruolan with a very complicated expression.

There was hatred and fear in his eyes, but more than anything, there was a stubborn pride unique to low-level thugs.

Then he laughed, a very soft laugh, like air leaking from a broken bellows:

"Director Jiang, you're a real man—no, you're a woman even more remarkable than a real man. It's my life to arrest you, I accept it."

But if you ask me to betray someone, then I'm not Iron Head. Iron Head isn't a name I earned for nothing. I was beaten with an iron pipe in jail for three days without uttering a single word. Do you think you can make me talk?

You women are just too patient, always thinking you can persuade people. Let me tell you, some people you can't persuade, and some you can only subdue by force.

Shen Wangshan couldn't subdue me back then, so he made me do the dirtiest work. You don't need to convince me; if you have the evidence, just sentence me directly.

Jiang Ruolan looked into his eyes and slowly closed the folder in front of her.

She stood up, walked to the door of the interrogation room, glanced back at him before opening it, and calmly said something that left Geng Changxi stunned for several seconds:

"You didn't kill Song Baogen. You know the method of scalding someone with alkali, but you didn't even dare to kill a chicken."

You were only responsible for writing the notes; the one who poured the caustic soda was the one with the missing ear. That's why you wrote Song Baogen's number wrong on the note, because you didn't know the rules at all.

Geng Changxi, you've always been just a nobody at the very bottom.

Geng Changxi's expression changed drastically in those few seconds.

He wanted to argue, but his lips trembled for a long time before he could only manage to squeeze out a few indistinct syllables.

Panic flashed in his eyes—not because Jiang Ruolan saw through him, but because she had accurately bitten him where it hurt the most.

He spent his entire life at the bottom of society, being used as a tool by others—this was the humiliation of his entire life.

Jiang Ruolan didn't give him time to organize his thoughts and pushed open the door to leave the interrogation room.