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

Silence fell again on the other end of the phone.

All that could be heard was Ivanov's heavy, rapid breathing, like a Siberian bear that had bumped its head all over.

"Sukabul!"

A vulgar Russian curse came crashing down the phone line.

Ivanov let out a cold laugh, his voice laced with a helpless gritted-teeth resentment: "Zhao, you're a complete madman! Why waste the perfectly good path on this muddy water that leaves nothing but dregs!"

He took a deep breath, and his tone finally softened.

"Fine, we're brothers who've been through thick and thin together!"

Ivanov gritted his teeth and rattled off the key information in rapid succession: "I don't know exactly where Old Scar is hiding right now. But I happen to know the details about the smuggler who's responsible for getting him into the mountains to cross the border."

"Who?" Zhao Shanhe asked calmly.

"Scarface Liu".

Ivanov replied coldly, "But that bastard Scarface Liu just came back from the mountains yesterday and was caught red-handed on the road. Right now, he's being held at that abandoned locomotive marshalling yard on the outskirts of the city, being interrogated by a bunch of people through the night!"

Zhao Shanhe's brow twitched slightly: "Who are the people in the marshalling yard?"

"The leader is called Wang Biao."

"The biggest black marketeer in your area, with connections everywhere. This old fox usually only cares about money and won't part with it, but this time is different; he's completely gone mad. When Old Scar killed Chen Jianguo's son a few days ago, Wang Biao's only son was right there, and he was also slit in the throat by Old Scar!"

A heavy breathing sound came from the other end of the phone.

"Wang Biao is now willing to go bankrupt to dig out Old Scar and burn him alive. He has dozens of desperados under his command who have fled from the Northwest, and they are all armed with real weapons. What's worse, tonight, the police and joint defense teams in that area were all deliberately transferred away by Wang Biao and Chen Jianguo using their connections at higher levels."

Ivanov gritted his teeth and gave one last piece of advice: "If you're going alone, you'd better think carefully about whether you have the life to lose!"

Zhao Shanhe silently gripped the black bakelite receiver, the veins on the back of his hand slightly subsiding.

Thanks.

Zhao Shanhe's tone remained completely calm: "I'll remember this favor."

"You'd better come back alive to repay my favor!" Ivanov cursed irritably on the other end of the phone.

Zhao Shanhe didn't respond.

Just as he was about to hang up the phone, the image of the bloodied, mangled body on the stretcher in the emergency room, and Director Li's pale, trembling face flashed through his mind.

His gaze traveled through the dimly lit corridor, fixed on the tightly closed wooden door of the treatment room at the far end.

"Oh, and there's one more thing you could look up for me while you're at it."

Zhao Shanhe abruptly changed the subject, his voice turning as cold as ice: "There's a director in the emergency department of our city hospital named Li. He said he has a nephew named Li Qiang."

"Use your informants to investigate immediately. Focus on finding out if Li Qiang even exists."

"Li Qiang?"

Ivanov on the other end of the phone was visibly taken aback; his previously tense emotions were momentarily disrupted by this abrupt and nonsensical explanation.

"A nephew of a doctor at the city hospital? Why are you suddenly asking about this? Does it have anything to do with Old Scar's matter?"

Zhao Shanhe did not offer any further explanation.

He slowly loosened his grip on the white-tipped bakelite receiver, his gaze returning from the depths of the dark corridor.

"It's nothing," Zhao Shanhe said calmly, his tone revealing no emotion. "It's just that an idea suddenly popped into my head."

He casually grabbed half a box of matches from the triage desk and stuffed it into his pocket: "Find out the details for me. I need a definite answer before dawn."

After saying that, before Ivanov could speak again, he decisively slammed the receiver back onto the landline's fork spring.

With a muffled "click," the line was completely cut off.

Zhao Shanhe was not in a hurry to leave.

His gaze swept over the messy information desk, and he casually tore off half of a blank prescription sheet, pulling a chipped fountain pen from a faded plastic pen holder next to it.

The pen tip made a scratching sound as it scratched across the rough paper.

He quickly scribbled a few lines, then neatly folded the note twice and pressed it onto the glass tabletop.

He raised his eyelids and looked at a night shift nurse who was carrying an enamel tray and passing by not far away. He then tapped his fingers twice on the table.

The crisp knocking sound was particularly loud in the empty hall.

The nurse stopped and turned her head somewhat timidly.

Zhao Shanhe looked at her and asked, "Nurse, what time does your shift end?"

The young nurse paused for a moment, then honestly answered while gripping the edge of the tray, "Shift handover is at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

Zhao Shanhe nodded and pushed the folded prescription along with the two banknotes across the glass counter.

"Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, when you get off work, give this to a guy named Dazhuang in the hallway."

The nurse glanced at the large ten-yuan bill on the table, swallowed hard, and her throat bobbed.

She quickly clutched the money and the note tightly in her hand: "Okay. But what should I say if he asks where you went?"

Zhao Shanhe looked away and put his hands into the pockets of his coarse cloth coat.

"Just say I had to go out."

After giving his last words, Zhao Shanhe turned around, but did not walk straight to the door.

He glanced quietly into the depths of the emergency room corridor, following the dim light.

The cold, drafty terrazzo corridor was filled with a pungent smell of Lysol and a strong stench of blood.

Old Hei and several of his brothers, their faces covered in coal dust and mud, were huddled haphazardly on a row of dilapidated wooden benches in the corridor.

They were completely exhausted and fell into a deep sleep, leaning against each other against the mottled green paint on the wall, emitting heavy, tired snores.

Zhao Shanhe stood in the shadows at the corner of the corridor, looking at his brothers who had their lives on the line.

He didn't go over to say hello or make any sound; he simply clenched the half-box of matches in his right hand, which was in his pocket.

After a while, he looked away.

Zhao Shanhe turned around and strode towards the glass doors of the outpatient building, his military rubber boots making a dull thud on the empty ground.

The night wind outside carried a biting chill, causing the half-open glass door to sway back and forth, creaking under its strain.

He reached up and pulled up his collar to block the cold wind from getting into his neck, then pushed open the heavy wooden door with one hand.

Braving the biting wind, Zhao Shanhe plunged into the rolling darkness without looking back.