Rebirth 04: Starting from Taking an Unconventional Approach

Chapter 156 Life or Death

A door slammed shut with a loud bang. Yang Zheng woke up, blinked in the darkness, yawned, and breathed through his nose. He heard the sound of a key turning, then the sound of quick footsteps fading into the distance. He blinked again, feeling tears roll down his cheeks, dissolving the salt left by his previous tears. Saliva no longer flowed into his throat, leaving his mouth dry and stiff. The tattered burlap sack, reeking of pungent chemicals, was still over his head. Where was he? He knew nothing since the blow to the neck.

He tried to lift his tongue, to stick it behind the gag, trying to push it out. He needed to breathe, he needed air, but to no avail. He knew the pain was coming, slowly approaching with the sluggish pulse and the throbbing of blood in his brain.

How long was he unconscious? What will those people do to him? Judging from the attackers' methods, this doesn't seem like a spur-of-the-moment threat, but rather a pre-planned operation. But they're just running an illegal business, not murderers. The crimes of killing a journalist and printing pirated magazines are completely different; they might not dare to kill him. Besides, someone knows he's here. The editor-in-chief knows. As long as he gets through this night, they'll be even less likely to make a move after dawn.

But did he know too much? He was the only one who could prove that those people intentionally harmed and illegally detained him. If those people decided to move their hideout overnight and take him with them, or dump him in some more remote place, then he would truly disappear from everyone's sight. Even his body wouldn't be found.

The pain flashed for a moment, but it was enough for him to taste a little of the inevitable agony.

He listened to his own terrified breathing and blinked rapidly into the darkness.

No, he has to do something.

If he gets out alive, this report will be the pinnacle of his career; if he doesn't, it will become his epitaph.

He pressed his arms to the ground, which was wet and sticky, soaked with his sweat. He pushed himself up with his elbows and stood up.

He hopped forward, one small step at a time, until he hit the wall. He pressed his arm against it, sliding it along the wall until he touched a rough, uneven surface. It was a wooden door. He pushed the door, but it wouldn't budge. The door was locked from the outside. Of course it was locked. How could he be so foolish? Was that laughter he heard? Or was it just his imagination? Where were they?

He couldn't just sit and wait to die; he had to think of something quickly. For him to think clearly, he first needed to remove the rag from his mouth and then take the tattered sack off his head; the lack of oxygen and darkness were driving him nearly insane. He tried again to push the rag out of his mouth with his tongue and pressed his head against the door, attempting to rub the sack off, but to no avail.

He suddenly coughed and felt short of breath, which made him panic. He realized that the air inside the sack was getting increasingly stuffy and hot, and that he would soon be in danger of suffocating.

He pounded his head against the wooden door. He tried to scream, but the gag muffled his voice. He gave up again, leaned against the wall, and listened intently. Did he hear careful footsteps outside the door? Was someone listening to his every move? Or was the sound he heard just the vibrations of blood flowing through his ears? He calmed himself and endured the pain.

We can't just sit here and wait to die; we need to think of a solution quickly.

The editor-in-chief. The editor-in-chief is the only one who knows he's here. But it's the fucking middle of the night.

He slid down the wall and sat down on the ground. Cold, damp air seeped up from the concrete. He tried to scream again, but no sound came out. Silence. Utter silence.

He should speak his true feelings to the people he loves, instead of saying meaningless things to unimportant people to fill the silence.

There was no way out, only him and this unbelievable pain. His head was exploding.

The same thought kept swirling in his mind: How long had he been here? An hour, three hours, or twenty minutes?

He tried to scream again, but it turned into a sob. He blinked repeatedly, but no more tears fell.

Of course, there were many things he regretted not doing. He should have advised Wu Ying more properly, or at least taken another photo of her. But he didn't regret coming to this place, even though he desperately wanted to survive. If given another chance, he would still choose to come undercover. He only regretted not digging these guys out sooner; it was that simple.

He closed his eyes.

Then he heard the first siren.

The rescue team has arrived.

Four J-class vehicles were parked at the entrance of Beizhuqiao Village, their blue warning lights flashing incessantly. Various long-lens cameras protruded from the chests of a group of men crowded at the crossroads. Jiang Shi got out of an Iveco van and walked straight towards a man holding a walkie-talkie at the crossroads. The two exchanged identification.

"Section Chief Jiang, how did your publishing bureau get the news so quickly?" the man said. "We just received a report that there was illegal detention here, but the person who reported it didn't leave their name."

"We had previously received a formal report from Qingniao Publishing House, and this address was listed as a suspected illegal publication den in their submitted materials. Tonight, President Han of Qingniao called me and said that Yang Zheng, a reporter from Xinmin Evening News, went missing after coming here for an undercover investigation. I was worried that it was the same group of people, so I immediately contacted you and the Cultural Enforcement Team."

"So you're sure this place involves illegal publications?"

"Confirmed." Jiang Shi took out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. "This is the receipt for the complaint materials submitted by Qingniao Publishing House. Our preliminary review has determined that 'Stories of the People' is an illegal publication without proper documentation. This den is very likely the source of its production."

The walkie-talkie in the man's hand crackled, and his voice came through.

"Excuse me, everyone!" the man said, stepping into the intersection while issuing orders via walkie-talkie.

The group of reporters reluctantly made way. The clicking of cameras was incessant, and flashbulbs went off non-stop.

"Section Chief Jiang," the man said after returning, "there are lights in the yard, and I can see shadows moving around. There are at least five to eight people, and possibly dogs too. Your men shouldn't go in yet. We need to control the scene and ensure the safety of the hostages. Once we have them under control, you can go in to conduct the publication authentication."

"Okay," Jiang Shi said. "But I need to remind you that the core of this case is not just illegal detention, but more importantly, the illegal publishing den. So if a large number of suspected illegal publications and printing equipment are found at the scene later, I need you to note the situation in the arrest record and the scene investigation report."

The man nodded: "I understand. We'll follow procedure. We'll handle the criminal part, and you can decide on the administrative part. Once inside, I'll have my men subdue the suspect and rescue the hostages. Meanwhile, your men will follow behind us to conduct a preliminary examination of the publications at the scene and secure evidence."

Just after 8:30 a.m., Wang Hongxin, General Manager of the Guangdong Mobile Data Business Department, arrived at the company. Today was a pleasant day, one he had been eagerly anticipating. The reason was obvious: Qingniao Reading was finally launching in Guangdong today.

He took the elevator to his office, and with a celebratory air, swung his legs onto his desk. He took his first sip of coffee and began to read today's *Shanghai Morning Post* intently.

His attention to local Shanghai newspapers stemmed from two main reasons. Several media outlets had reported on Qingniao's successful bid for Guangdong in the past two days. Another reason was Qingniao's involvement in a lawsuit. At this crucial juncture in the collaboration's launch, he needed to obtain firsthand information from the source of public opinion, assess the risks associated with his partner, and ensure the smooth implementation of Guangdong Mobile's new business.

The front page of the *Shanghai Morning Post* featured a distant photo of law enforcement breaking down a door, with the headline: "Our reporter kidnapped while investigating an illegal publication den." The subheading read: "President of Qingniao Publishing House urgently appeals for help late at night; police and the publishing bureau join forces to rescue him; nine suspects arrested, hundreds of thousands of illegal publications seized."

The article begins with how a reporter named Yang Zheng became acquainted with Qingniao through a report, and it fills four pages, continuing until Yang Zheng was rescued after encountering danger.

In the "Emergency Rescue" section, the article states that after learning of Yang Zheng's disappearance, Han Fei, the president of Qingniao Publishing House, immediately contacted the publishing bureau and the police, providing crucial clues for the rescue.

"Without the detailed report from Qingniao, it would have been difficult for us to pinpoint the location in such a short time," an enforcement officer involved in the operation told reporters.

Wang Hongxin's gaze moved downwards to the "Looting Site" section, where he saw the Press and Publication Bureau's assessment of the magazine *People's Stories*: its content heavily plagiarized popular novels by Qingniao, and it lacked a publication number, publishing unit, and price list, making it a typical illegal publication with no such information. Even worse, the magazine used violence to forcibly distribute its products in towns and villages like Songjiang and Qingpu, threatening legitimate businesses.

In the "Further Comments" section, industry insiders praised Qingniao as "a benchmark enterprise that dares to declare war on black market activities and maintain industry order."

Wang Hongxin looked up from the newspaper and nodded. Good heavens. This Han Fei, he's made such a fuss without making a sound.

He flipped through several Guangdong newspapers, but there were no reports about the incident. That was normal. Something that happened in the early hours of the morning wouldn't reach Guangdong so quickly. He turned on his computer, moved the mouse, and first habitually checked his email to make sure there were no urgent emails. Then he opened his browser, went to the Sina News website, and saw the distant photo of the police breaking down the door on the homepage's headline.

The title and text were very similar to those in the *Xinmin Evening News*. He scrolled down, skipping the text, and entered the comments section.

He doesn't usually read the comments when he reads the news, but today was different; he really wanted to know how ordinary people viewed this matter.

The first comment has already received over three thousand likes.

"I'll support Qingniao, a publisher with a conscience, with ten yuan a month! Those who pirate should be arrested!"

Hmm, not bad.

"Well done, President Han! He still thought of saving people in the middle of the night. The content produced by someone like him won't be bad."

"I'm from Songjiang. A few days ago, those kinds of shoddy magazines were being sold in our town. The covers were disgusting, I threw them away on the spot. It turns out these are the people who did it! Good riddance!"

"I used to think that short story novels were all scams, but after reading the news, I realized that there are legitimate publishing houses making them. I just subscribed to Y's post to support Qingniao!"

He scrolled down the page, quickly scanning the densely packed comments, and could hardly find a single negative one.

Occasionally, someone would raise the question: "Is this just a publicity stunt by Qingniao?"

Someone immediately retorted: "The club president was saving someone in the middle of the night, what were you doing in the middle of the night? Trying to get attention?"

Someone else said, "The Press and Publication Bureau has already issued a certificate of confirmation, and you're still spouting conspiracy theories?"

Public opinion is overwhelmingly in favor of the government.

He then opened the homepages of NetEase and Sohu News, and sure enough, he saw similar reports. The headlines were slightly more restrained; for example, Sohu's headline was: "Illegal Publication Den Busted in Shanghai, Reporter Rescued." But the articles still mentioned Qingniao and Han Fei's names. He scrolled to the comments section.

"I'll remember this President Han. I'll buy every issue of his magazine from now on."

"I work on Fuzhou Road Cultural Street and pass by Qingniao Publishing House every day, but I never knew what they did. I only found out today, and I was surprised to learn how amazing they are."

The screen is filled with text. There's a next page. And another next page.

Wang Hongxin exited the page, put his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and made a satisfied grumble.

What does this mean for a company that is about to launch its SP (Service Provider) business on a large scale in Guangdong? It means that the trust threshold of many users has already been lowered by public opinion.

If an ordinary user who receives a push notification sees positive reports about Qingniao on Sina News this morning, and the comments section is full of support, subscription, and praise for being a conscientious company, then when they see the message "Reply Y to subscribe," the time they hesitate will be reduced from three seconds to one second, or even less.

Wang Hongxin glanced at his watch, stood up, stepped into the corridor, and headed towards the technical department. Business supervisor Xiao Chen and a young man in a suit approached from the other end. The young man had a buzz cut, his hair unevenly styled. He hurried forward, looking down at the documents in his hand. Before Wang Hongxin could react, the man bumped into him.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry, Mr. Wang," said Xiao Chen, quickly pulling the man away. "Don't you watch where you're going? This is Mr. Wang."

The man looked up and gave an apologetic smile: "Hello, Mr. Wang! I'm Lu Hai from Qingniao Publishing House. I'm here to pick up the contract."

"It's nothing, it's nothing. From Qingniao?" Wang Hongxin chuckled a few times. "Your President Han is on the front page today."

"Headline?" Lu Hai asked, his eyes blank. "What headline?"

Wang Hongxin smiled slightly, then suddenly realized that this kid had come straight from the hotel early in the morning, probably without even having touched a newspaper.

"Go back and see for yourself. Anyway, it's not a bad thing."

Lu Hai opened his mouth slightly and nodded: "Okay, Mr. Wang. I'll take a look."

"Did you get the contract?"

"I got it."

"Okay, as long as the contract is fine."

Wang Hongxin said, "Let's keep moving forward."