Courtyard House: A Start with Black Gold Swallowing 100,000 Silver Dollars

Soon, Qian Zhuangfeng arrived at the branch office in person. His elder brother, Qian Zhuangpeng, was on duty in another city and couldn't come back immediately, so he had to go in person.

Jiang Aimin, the director of the branch office, personally led the way, bringing this powerful figure in charge of the capital's finances into a hastily arranged interview room.

"What's the bureau's explanation?"

Qian Zhuangfeng lowered his voice to a whisper as he glanced at Jiang Aimin.

Jiang Aimin was his sister's husband's cousin, a trusted relative.

"Keep it strictly official."

Jiang Aimin only answered with four words, without saying anything more.

Qian Zhuangfeng's brows furrowed immediately, and his face darkened.

The phrase "handling official business strictly" sounds formal, but it is actually the most rigid approach—meaning no leniency and no room for compromise.

Has Shao Yong really messed up this time?

They've messed with someone who's no ordinary family.

He met with his nephew with heavy thoughts in his heart. He was even able to talk to him alone for half an hour, which was a privilege afforded by their close relationship—for others, even a visitation permit might not be granted.

Half an hour later, Qian Zhuangfeng had a better understanding of the situation.

The one who took action was most likely Li Guoxian, the head of the security department of the textile factory who had been ousted by Shao Yong's scheme.

This good-for-nothing nephew dared to lay a hand on the Li family? And with such a stupid method!

His face darkened immediately, and he gave Qian Shaoyong a severe dressing-down.

After you've finished yelling, you have to quickly make amends.

The remedial action involves three steps: First, visit the victim to apologize, offer compensation, and seek forgiveness—this is the lifeline. Second, keep the witnesses quiet. Third, find out Li Guoxian's background, then try to make contact and persuade them to sit down and talk.

If these key parties can be stabilized, there might still be room for maneuver in the case.

As they left the consultation room, Qian Zhuangfeng asked Jiang Aimin, "Has the injured person woken up yet?"

"He's awake. He had a stab wound to his right chest, but it didn't damage his heart or lungs. He had surgery yesterday and opened his eyes this morning. He's currently at the People's Hospital."

—That stab was Yan Li's own doing. If it had been half an inch to the left and pierced his heart, he would have died on the spot.

Jiang Aimin added, "The one who did it was a police officer from the local police station named Yan Li. Since it was an active-duty officer carrying a weapon, the nature of the crime is even more serious."

"I know."

Qian Zhuangfeng's Adam's apple bobbed, and his jaw tightened even more.

Difficult. Really difficult.

When police officers knowingly break the law, it's tantamount to slapping the entire public security system in the face. The bureau's "handling matters strictly by official procedures" attitude is entirely reasonable.

Fortunately, the case is still in the stages of filing, collecting evidence, and taking statements, and there is still some time before prosecution and judgment. Qian Zhuangfeng still has time to maneuver.

But the first group they tried to deal with—the Yan family—received a cold shoulder.

……

In an old courtyard house with three entrances and three exits in the west of the city, there are blue bricks and gray tiles, and jujube trees leaning against each other.

"There's absolutely no room for negotiation!"

The stern father stood on the threshold of the main room, slamming his hand on the doorframe, causing the copper bells on the eaves to ring softly. "My son is lying in the hospital, with tubes in his chest! If your son were stabbed like this, could you swallow this anger? Could you just let the person go as if nothing happened?"

His voice wasn't loud, but every word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth: "Before committing the crime, Xiao Li revealed his identity—he was a police officer from the local police station! But the other party still raised his knife and stabbed him! People who have no regard for the law and no sense of restraint deserve to be shot!"

Qian Shaojian smiled ingratiatingly, leaning slightly forward, carrying two boxes of bird's nest and a packet of tea: "Uncle Yan, listen to me—my family has some connections. As soon as Xiaoli is discharged from the hospital, we'll promote him to director; plus five hundred yuan, not a penny less, delivered to you personally. What do you say?"

He is Qian Zhuangfeng's second son and Qian Shaoyong's cousin, who came specifically to "put out the fire." As long as the Yan family relents and writes a letter of forgiveness, the sentence will be much lighter—even if it's classified as "negligently causing serious injury," they'll still have to serve several years.

"Will it work?"

The stern father sneered, turned around, and walked inside. "No way."

"Not even the slightest leeway?"

"No."

"My son almost died! You want me to spare the man who attacked me with a knife? Dream on!"

Before he could finish speaking, he pointed outside and said, "Let's go!"

"Get out of here!"

Qian Shaojian was kicked out of the door and stood in front of the screen wall, covered in dust and dirt, without moving his feet for a long time.

A moment later, there was another knock on the courtyard gate.

"Thump, thump, thump!"

"I won't agree! Don't come back!"

The stern father roared through the door, thinking it was Qian Shaojian pestering him again.

"Uncle Yan, it's me, Xiao Fo."

"Oh... Little Buddha."

The door creaked open a crack, and the stern father, seeing who it was, pushed the door open completely.

"How's Xiaoli?" Xiao Fo asked as soon as he entered the room.

"It's nothing." The strict father waved his hand, poured a cup of hot water and handed it to him. "He's trained with me a few times since he was little. He's tough and resilient. This little injury will heal in a few days."

"That's good." Xiao Fo nodded, looking a little more relaxed. He didn't go to the hospital because he was afraid of attracting gossip—after all, he now manages several businesses in the Li family and needs to avoid suspicion.

He added, "Uncle Yan, Xiao Li has been a great help this time. Young Master Guoxian will remember this. We'll take care of the compensation later."

"Don't mention this." Father Yan waved his hand, his voice suddenly lowering, carrying a hint of the solemnity of the past. "Back then, my life was saved by Master Li. Now that someone is trying to harm Young Master Guoxian, the Yan family will not say a word—if anything really happens to my son, I will accept it."

That's right. Thirty years ago, he was one of Li Wenguo's personal bodyguards. Now his children have stable jobs, his grandson is studying at a top middle school, and he stays at home tending to his flowers and playing with his grandson. This peaceful life was all inherited from the Li family.

So when he heard that Li Guoxian had asked someone to come to his door and ask his son to help, he didn't hesitate at all. He called Yan Li home that day and explained the whole story to him.

"Father, the Yan family absolutely refuses to budge."

Qian Shaojian's hands hung limply, his voice weak. "I went there three times, and even went to the hospital to stay with Xiaoli. I talked until my lips were blistered, but they wouldn't even let me have a sip of tea. They said they would definitely sue to the end and wouldn't let me get a single word out of them."

He was truly out of options.

Qian Zhuangfeng turned to look at another young man standing under the eaves: "Shaoshan, what about you? Did you see Li Guoxian in person?"

"I did see him..." Qian Shaoshan sighed, rubbing his dry lips. "But he rolled his eyes and said, 'What? I don't know.' I repeated myself three times, and he just asked me if I was out of my mind, and pointed to the door telling me to get lost."

He spread his hands, looking helpless: "I've talked him until his lips are thin, and drunk three thermos flasks of water, but he didn't even lift an eyelid."

Qian Shaoshan frowned, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the seams of his trousers.

He looked up at his father, his voice low but firm: "Dad, how's the investigation into the Li family going? And what about that new factory manager at the textile factory—Li Guowei?"

Qian Zhuangfeng was drinking water from an enamel mug when he heard this. His Adam's apple bobbed, and before he could swallow, he put the mug down. The bottom of the mug tapped softly on the coffee table. All the relaxation on his face vanished, and his eyelids drooped heavily, like two dark clouds covering his eyes.

"The Li family... is not to be trifled with." He paused, his voice tightening. "Several old comrades and colleagues, the moment those two words are mentioned, they stop talking. If pressed, they just say, 'Don't touch the Li family.' They won't utter another word."

The two brothers exchanged a glance, neither of them uttering a sound. The room was so quiet that the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock could be heard.

Qian Shaoshan slowly let out a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly: "This time, Shaoyong probably really can't escape it."

Qian Zhuangfeng waved his hand, ignoring the remark, and turned to his two sons, his tone steady yet carrying an undeniable force: "Remember this well—Beijing may seem peaceful on the surface, but it's full of undercurrents. People you don't recognize might be influential; people whose surnames you can't recall might have ancestors who stood guard around the Forbidden City for three generations. Don't think you can do whatever you want just because you're wearing an official's uniform."

That's what they say, but the Qian family did indeed grow up in a government compound, with a high social standing and powerful connections; ordinary people would give them a wide berth. However, this time, the sighs and hesitant words from his old friends on the phone had significantly diminished his confidence.

Qian Shaoshan and Qian Shaojian both nodded, neither giving a perfunctory answer nor interrupting. The example right before their eyes was a living proof—Qian Shaoyong was picking out ties at Xidan Department Store one moment and had his head shaved the next in the detention center.

"I'll ask someone to make another trip," Qian Shaoshan said, his voice a little hoarse. "Every penny saved is a penny earned."

As expected of the head of the Finance Bureau, he managed to pull all the strings and exhaust all the favors he owed in just ten days. The original sentence was life imprisonment, but he was ultimately sentenced to forty years.

The case itself was too conspicuous: Yan Li immediately identified himself as a police officer, but Qian Shaoyong not only didn't stop, but also kicked over a stool and yelled "Kill him!" He actually attacked, only being stopped by bystanders to prevent a murder. The motive was ruthless, the methods were vicious, and the attitude was arrogant. In addition, Duan Tianming from the Public Security Bureau and Lin Guoze from the Procuratorate secretly pushed for a more severe case, which almost sent him to death. Later, someone passed on a message and a note, and the sentence was reduced.

Qian Shaoyong is twenty-nine this year, and sixty-nine in forty years—white-haired, hunched over, and all his teeth gone, what can he do?

It's completely ruined.

—The prison iron gate slammed shut with a clang.

Qian Shaoyong, sporting a stubble of hair, carried a faded red plastic bucket filled with a thin blanket, an enamel cup, and a broken wooden comb. His steps were unsteady, as if he were walking on cotton, as he was led to the cell door.

"Bed number ten, go ahead." The prison guard gestured with his chin.

He moved over and sat down next to the bunk.

Forty years.

Tears fell silently onto my knees, spreading into dark spots.

He kept asking himself: Why did I have to scheme against Li Guoxian?

Why would you do this when you know that the other person's older brother is the deputy director of a textile factory, managing hundreds of people and wielding real power?

Why insist on refusing to believe in evil and reaching out to bite that tough nut?

He couldn't understand it, yet he seemed to understand it all at the same time—all these years had been smooth sailing, no one dared to contradict him, no one dared to stand in his way. He had long forgotten how to write the word "fear."

"Tap, tap, tap..."

The sound of slippers sliding around came from afar.

He paused, then looked up.

A dozen pairs of feet stopped in front of him, their plastic sandals covered in mud and grime, with black grime stuck between their toes, and some even cracked.

He instinctively shrank his neck back.