Nominal: Hou Liangping blocking the door? He was slapped away!

The reception room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The tactical tablet screen was lit up, and the SWAT officer's figure moved silently, frame by frame, in the night vision image, like a cat playing with a mouse.

Li Dakang sat on the sofa, his mind a complete mess.

Zhao Lichun, Qi Tongwei, Ouyang Jing, bribery, special police surrounding—these words were poured in one after another, too intensely, directly overloading the central nervous system.

His mouth was open and he couldn't close it.

With both hands on her knees, her ten fingers trembled uncontrollably, like a sieve.

His right hand instinctively reached for the thermos on the coffee table.

This has been a habit of mine for years: when something happens, I drink some water first to get my mind working. When my finger touched the cup, it slipped, the lid wasn't tightened properly, and I bumped into it.

"Bang—"

The cup lid popped open.

The scalding hot tea gushed from the rim of the cup, half of it flowing down the side and landing squarely on his crotch and thighs.

"Aww—"

Li Dakang jumped up from the sofa.

He was like someone whose tail had been stepped on; his waist arched, his legs kicked, and his buttocks left the sofa faster than a spring.

A dignified member of the Provincial Party Committee Standing Committee and the top official of Jingzhou City was jumping around in the military region's reception room, frantically slapping the water stains off his pants with both hands, hissing and gasping for breath, his face contorted in pain.

Those trousers were just picked out of the closet this morning—crisp, dark-colored dress trousers, paired with leather shoes, a briefcase, and the air of a provincial party committee member.

There was a large dark stain on his crotch, and steam was rising from it. He looked like he had wet his pants.

Shen Zhong sat opposite him, without moving.

The brass bullet casing rested on the armrest, the teacup was held in my hand, and white steam slowly rose upwards.

From beginning to end, there wasn't a single unnecessary movement.

Two military region staff officers delivering documents happened to pass by in the corridor outside the door.

The door to the reception room wasn't closed properly, leaving a crack, through which Li Dakang's scream came through.

Both staff officers paused for a moment, glancing through the crack in the door out of the corner of their eyes.

Saw.

Provincial Party Committee Standing Committee member Li Dakang was bending over and patting his crotch; his posture and expression were unsightly.

The two exchanged glances, turned their heads back almost simultaneously, quickened their pace, and walked silently towards the end of the corridor.

I didn't dare say another word.

After turning the corner, the young staff officer in front swallowed hard and lowered his voice.

"Secretary Shen...didn't lay a hand on anyone, nor did he curse at anyone?"

The older staff officer behind him shook his head and quickened his pace.

"Go, don't look back."

The two people disappeared at the end of the corridor.

In the reception room, Li Dakang was still struggling with his pants.

I patted it for ages but it wouldn't dry. The skin on my inner thighs was burning hot, and my pants were completely soaked from the waistband down, clinging to my legs.

After fiddling around for about ten seconds, my hand slowly stopped.

It's not that it doesn't hurt anymore.

It was a sudden realization of how embarrassing she looked.

Normally, at meetings held by the municipal party committee, a single slam of the fist on the table would silence dozens of department-level officials. But at a standing committee meeting, a single glare from the vice mayor in charge would immediately change his mind.

What now?

A provincial party committee member, on someone else's turf, got a cup of hot water poured over his crotch, and jumped around like a clown.

My legs went weak and my knees bent forward.

"thump--"

I plopped back into the sofa, leaving a water stain on the cushion.

The briefcase had fallen to the ground at some point, and when it was opened, two pages of documents spilled out.

The thermos rolled under the coffee table, and the lid spun twice on the floor before stopping.

Li Dakang leaned back on the sofa, his face pale.

I looked up and gazed across the street.

Shen Zhong remained in the same posture. His pine-green military uniform was perfectly wrinkle-free, the gold epaulets gleaming under the light, and he held a teacup in his hand, with steam still rising from the tea.

From the moment Li Dakang entered until now, this person has only said a few words.

There were no threats. There was no intimidation. There was no table-banging.

There wasn't even an extra expression.

It's about presenting the facts—your wife is going to be arrested, your political life is over, and Zhao Lichun is using you as a cannon fodder.

Then watch yourself break down.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but something was stuck in his throat, unable to come up or go down.

"Heh...heh heh..."

This is the only sound it can make, like it's choked on water.

How imposing he was when he first walked in! "You made me stand at the door for twenty minutes, you have to give me an explanation!"—Looking back now, the confidence and the demeanor he had when he said that are all laughable.

statement?

They've put a live broadcast of your wife's arrest right in front of you; that's the point.

The tactical tablet was still lit up.

In the split screen in the upper right corner, a sniper is adjusting the position of his gun, while an infrared dot moves back and forth along the edge of the curtain.

In the upper left corner, the three-person SWAT team had advanced to the wall on the first floor of the villa.

Ouyang Jing was still drinking red wine in the warm living room, chatting with Wang Dalu about random things, unaware that the outside world was already surrounded by an impenetrable fortress.

His own wife.

Li Dakang rested his hands on his knees, the veins on the backs of his hands bulging out.

I went over Shen Zhong's words in my mind again.

"Seven years ago, when Lincheng's deputy mayor got into trouble, your nomination for the Standing Committee was suppressed for two years. This time, it's not just a matter of being suppressed for two years; it means you're completely disqualified from advancement in officialdom."

Seven years ago, it was just a deputy mayor who got into trouble, and the person behind the scenes covered for him. In the end, he was only delayed in entering the Politburo Standing Committee by two years.

This time?

The wife of a provincial party committee member was arrested on the spot by special police for accepting bribes.

When the news reached Kyoto, no one needed to embellish it; the facts alone were enough to condemn him to the pillory of shame.

How can the higher authorities dare to use a Standing Committee member who can't even manage his own backyard?

Bright Peak, GDP, investors, quarterly assessments—forget about all of that.

Because people who think about these things might not even be able to sit in their seats on the Standing Committee tomorrow.

The water stains on my trousers had started to cool, and they felt wet and sticky against my skin, making me extremely uncomfortable.

But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the turmoil in his mind.

Those twenty minutes at the door.

If we had actually turned back then, the first notification on my phone the next morning would have been: "The wife of Provincial Party Committee Standing Committee member Li Dakang has been detained on suspicion of major bribery."

When the time comes, you won't even be able to find anyone to ask for help.

Shen Zhong placed the teacup back on the coffee table, the bottom of the cup lightly touching the glass surface.

This was the first new sound in the meeting room in several minutes.

Li Dakang's back was hunched, his head drooped, and his chin almost touched his chest.

The provincial party committee member who once held sway in Jingzhou, the iron-fisted secretary who could slam his fist on the table and send teacups flying, was now huddled on the sofa in the military region's reception room, his crotch soaked with water, unable to lift his head.

Shen Zhong stared at him for a few seconds.

He removed his right hand from the armrest and reached forward.

"Secretary Dakang."

His head slowly rose, little by little.

"Now, can we have a proper talk?"