Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

Zhao Shanhe stepped out of the car quickly, his shoes crunching on the snow, each step seeming to touch Li Defu's heart.

Li Defu huddled inside his officer's overcoat, watching the dark figure approach step by step in the bright light of the searchlight. He trembled like a sieve, his mouth agape but unable to utter a single word.

Just as he was about to collapse, a sharp police whistle rang out in the distance.

Two railway police officers carrying rifles and wearing red armbands were running from the other end of the platform.

Upon seeing those two blue uniforms, Li Defu's previously shattered courage miraculously resurfaced.

He suddenly jolted awake, and with a sudden surge of hysterical strength, he stood up, gripping the cold iron door.

"Officer! This is over! Someone come quick!"

Li Defu shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice distorted by the wind and snow.

He pointed at the truck that had crashed in and roared at Zhao Shanhe, "What are you doing?! How did you suddenly drive in like that? You don't have a pass for the freight yard, this is vandalism! This is robbery!"

As he cursed, he trembled as he pulled the approval slip stamped with the provincial government's official seal from his pocket, which jingled loudly in the wind.

"I am Li Defu, deputy director of Hongxing Factory! This is a legitimate foreign trade transfer! Officers, these vagrants are barging into the train station with weapons, arrest them immediately!"

With these two uniforms as his backing, Li Defu's originally pale face actually flushed with a sickly red, and his official demeanor returned to his distorted old face.

Zhao Shanhe stopped three steps away from him.

He stared expressionlessly at the old fox who had been trembling one second and then throwing a tantrum the next, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

Zhao Shanhe looked down at him, his voice completely flat: "Are you Deputy Factory Director Li Defu?"

Li Defu, steeling himself, forced himself to adopt the airs of a cadre: "It's me! Who exactly are you?"

Zhao Shanhe nodded: "That's good."

Before he could finish speaking, Zhao Shanhe suddenly swung his arm and delivered a vicious slap to Li Defu's old face.

"Snapped!"

The sharp sound was particularly jarring in the wind and snow.

The slap was powerful and heavy, sending Li Defu spinning half a circle before he crashed heavily into the mud and slush.

Several blood-tinged molars flew out from the corner of his mouth.

Li Defu covered his swollen, rapidly turning purple cheek, his eyes filled with disbelief, terror, and anger.

He lay prone in the snow, screaming hysterically, "Who...who are you! How dare you hit a state cadre! I'm the deputy director of the Red Star Factory, I'll..."

Zhao Shanhe didn't even lower his eyelids, completely ignoring his shouts in the snowdrift.

He turned his head directly to look at the man next to him who was holding a long-handled hunting fork.

"Dazhuang, go and break down the train door."

"Check if any of our factory's machines are inside."

"Okay, bro!"

Da Zhuang spat into the snow, picked up the gleaming hunting fork, and swaggered toward the Soviet broad-gauge freight car.

The stevedores who were still unloading goods on the platform were so frightened that they all stepped aside, instantly making way for each other.

Li Defu lay sprawled in the mud, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat as he watched Da Zhuang's iron fork about to pierce the car door's keyhole.

You can't open it! If you do, you'll get shot!

Ignoring the excruciating pain on his face, Li Defu, like a mad dog whose tail had been stepped on, scrambled out of the snowdrift using both hands and feet, and clung tightly to Dazhuang's leg.

"What do you want to do!"

Li Defu screamed hysterically, his voice tearing through the wind and snow, "Don't touch that carriage! This is legitimate trade with our Soviet friends! By smashing the doors, you're sabotaging Sino-Soviet diplomacy! This is treason!"

Da Zhuang frowned in disgust, just about to kick the old bastard away.

Li Defu suddenly turned around and yelled at the other end of the platform, "Where are the railway police! Where are the security officers?! Someone is robbing a foreign trade train at gunpoint, and you just stand by and watch! If this becomes a transnational crime, who among you can take responsibility?!"

This label of "undermining diplomacy" is far too heavy a burden.

The two railway police officers, who had been intimidated by the menacing aura of Zhao Shanhe and his gang, suddenly shuddered.

If a foreign guest's special train were vandalized right under their noses, the two men would be stripped naked and thrown into jail tomorrow.

The piercing sound of the police siren instantly cut through the night sky.

Two patrol officers drew their Type 54 pistols from their waists and sprinted over through the snow, their dark gun barrels pointed directly at Dazhuang and Zhao Shanhe.

"Stop it, all of you! Stand back!"

The lead patrolman was drenched in cold sweat, his hand gripping his gun taut. "This is a national railway hub! This train car is on an international trade line! Without the railway bureau's approval, anyone who dares to touch the door will be treated as a counter-revolutionary sabotage officer on the spot!"

With the patrol officers' guns pointed at him, Li Defu grasped at a straw and scrambled to hide behind the two policemen.

He covered his swollen face, gritted his teeth, and pointed at Zhao Shanhe, yelling, "Did you hear that! It's a special train for foreign affairs! If you dare touch it, even the city bureau chief won't be able to protect you!"

Zhao Shanhe stared expressionlessly at the gun barrel blocking his way, coldly observing Li Defu's smug face.

Just when the two sides were on the verge of exchanging blows, it was a critical moment when tensions were running high and a fight was about to break out.

"Bang!"

The metal door of the dispatch room was kicked violently, and the hinge of the door snapped open.

With such a commotion outside, and even guns being pulled out, Ivanov's heart nearly stopped beating inside.

This is a million-dollar piece of heavy equipment!

If the local police forcibly open and inspect his bag here, the forged Far East Customs permits and counterfeit invoices inside will be immediately exposed.

At that point, not only will he lose his money, but KGB agents could also shove him into an ice cave in Siberia!

This is going to kill him!

"Sukabul!"

Like a mad Siberian brown bear, Ivanov, accompanied by two towering Russian bodyguards, stormed out of the dispatch room with bloodshot eyes.

He yanked open his coat, drew his Tokarev pistol from his waistband, clicked the safety, and swept the gun across the entire area.

"This is a one-million-dollar state heavy industry contract from the Great Soviet!"

Ivanov's face twitched violently as he roared hysterically in broken Chinese, "Who gave you the audacity to intercept my special train! I am a legitimate transnational businessman! If this door is opened today, not only you, but even your city police chief will be in the International Court of Justice! Get out! All of you, get out!"

Taking advantage of his large size and status as a foreign guest, he rudely shoved aside the railway workers and police officers blocking his way and charged aggressively to the front of the crowd.

Li Defu, as if seeing his savior, leaned against the car door and shouted, "Mr. Ivanov, this is the thug who tried to smash your car!"

"This is an atrocity!"

Ivanov roared in broken Chinese, slapping down a series of accusations: "This is an insult to the merchants of the Great Soviet! You barbaric thugs, I will lodge a formal protest with your diplomatic corps! I will have you all court-martialed!"

He cursed and, taking advantage of his bear-like size, roughly pushed aside the railway workers and police officers watching, and charged aggressively to the front of the crowd.

His large, gloved hand was already reaching for the Soviet-made pistol at his waist.

However, the moment he squeezed through the crowd and finally saw the situation clearly, his footsteps froze on the snow.

Under the stark white beam of the searchlight.

The young man in the military overcoat was standing still, without even a knife or gun in his hand.

He stood there, a cold, ambiguous smile playing on his lips, calmly watching the furious Soviet bigwig.

Ivanov's gray-blue pupils contracted to their limit in an instant.

The arrogant anger on his face seemed to be extinguished by a bucket of cold water mixed with ice shards.

His hand, which was reaching for the gun, froze in mid-air as if electrocuted. His lips, which were holding a cigar, trembled violently, and he uttered a single word in utter astonishment.

"Zhao?"