Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

"Yes, that's me."

"What's up? Is there something good to tell Uncle Liu?" Old Liu placed the watering ladle on the edge of the water tank.

"Uncle Liu, I'd like to ask you something." The voice on the other end of the phone was slow. "Suppose... just suppose... someone did something illegal outside, and now wants to come back, what would happen?"

Old Liu paused for a few seconds into the microphone: "Stop beating around the bush, tell me the truth, what did you do?"

“I’m in Thailand.” The young man’s voice became very soft. “Not on a construction site… I work in logistics at an industrial park, delivering boxed lunches to people who make phone calls, and managing water and electricity.”

Old Liu switched the phone to his other hand.

"I have never lied to anyone."

"Go on."

“But the salary I received was money they swindled… I know that money wasn’t clean,” he said, his voice turning somber. “Uncle Liu, in my situation, am I considered an accomplice?”

Old Liu stood in the yard, a loofah leaf floating on the surface of the water in the vat: "Child..."

"Ah."

"Given your situation, I can't guarantee anything right now... but I can tell you something."

"what's up?"

"This morning, a document was already being circulated from above: except for those in dedicated positions, general civil servants are prohibited from making phone calls with suspects overseas."

*Click*, the phone hung up.

……

Hundreds of kilometers away, Fang Ming was organizing case files in his office.

When his phone rang, Fang Ming glanced at the caller ID: Li Qiang, a college classmate.

"Hey, Li Qiang!" Fang Ming answered the phone, his tone quite warm. "What made you think of calling me? It's been a while since we last contacted each other."

"Yeah, it's been a long time since we last talked," Li Qiang's voice sounded a little unsteady. "How have you been lately?"

"As usual, the cases are piled up higher than a person, and I'm working so much overtime that I'm almost losing all my hair."

Li Qiang smiled.

"And you?" Fang Ming asked. "Still in the Maldives?"

"Yes, it's still there."

"How's it going over there? What are they doing?"

"I run a small business, helping out at a convenience store." Li Qiang quickly changed the subject. "By the way, remember our third roommate? What's he doing now?"

"The third son went back to his hometown, took the civil service exam, and got married last year."

"Really? He didn't even invite me to his wedding."

"Even if I asked you, you couldn't go; you're in the Maldives."

“That’s true.” Li Qiang smiled again.

The laughter was short-lived, stopping almost as soon as it started, as if even pretending was becoming difficult to maintain.

Fang Ming closed the case file in his hand: "Li Qiang."

"Ok?"

Is something the matter?

"No, it's just that we haven't been in touch for a long time, so we caught up."

"You've been catching up for five minutes, but you haven't said a single honest word."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"What exactly happened?"

The silence lingered for a few seconds.

Finally, Li Qiang spoke again, his voice much softer than before: "I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

"Go ahead and ask."

"I have a friend who did some illegal things abroad and now wants to come back. What procedures should he follow to turn himself in?"

Fang Ming sighed: "I have something to tell you... Two hours ago, our criminal court held an emergency meeting."

"What meeting? What will be discussed?"

"There was no discussion, only a notification."

"……Then what?"

"Except for those in dedicated positions, general civil servants are prohibited from making phone calls with suspects overseas."

"Holy crap... what is this...?"

Snapped.

The phone hangs up.

--------

A local police force in a Southeast Asian country.

The entrance was completely blocked.

Nearly a hundred militiamen, armed with batons and riot shields, formed a three-tiered human wall outside the police station.

Only a palm-width gap was left between the shields, through which one could see a dark mass of people on the other side, at least three hundred or more, and more were still arriving from all directions.

"Back off! Everyone back off!" the militia captain shouted through a megaphone. "Anyone who attacks government buildings will face the consequences!!!"

Nobody listens to him.

Everyone was pushing forward. The people at the front were clinging tightly to the edge of the riot shields, while those behind them were pushing them. Those further back were holding up their phones, passports, and various colored documents, creating a chaotic scene in the air.

"I'm a fraudster! I used to be a stock trader in the park! Arrest me!"

“I’ve bribed your bureaucrats! I have complete bank transfer records! I have witnesses! Let me in!”

"I've robbed people! I've solicited prostitutes! I've assaulted people! I've even robbed within your borders! Whatever the charge, sentence me however you want! Let me through!"

"We want to turn ourselves in!"

"We want to turn ourselves in!"

"Fuck you! What do you mean by the police station taking a collective annual leave?!"

--------

A police station on the border of Da Yang.

More than a hundred armed police officers were maintaining order, with riot control vehicles parked in the middle of the road and surveillance cameras on their roofs slowly rotating.

Several blue temporary tents were set up in front of the police station. Under the tents, there was a row of long tables, and behind each table sat two police officers with thick registration books stacked on the table.

In front of the long table, the line stretched from the police station entrance all the way to the street corner, then around the corner again, and finally extended into the open space in front of a closed breakfast shop.

These people were wearing short sleeves and shorts, some were wearing slippers, some were wearing only one shoe, and a few were barefoot standing on the cement ground with blisters on the soles of their feet.

Everyone was covered in dust, their hair was clung to bits of grass and dirt, and their clothes were soaked with sweat and then dried by the wind, leaving a layer of white salt stains.

"Next," a police officer gestured.

The people in line moved forward a step. At the front stood a man in his thirties, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his lips chapped, and a crumpled passport soaked in sweat clutched in his hand. He placed the passport on the table and took a deep breath. "My name is Zhao Guodong. I worked as a stock trader in Cambodia for three years. I'm turning myself in."

The police officer didn't look up. "How should I write it?"

Zhao Guodong paused for a moment: "Zhao is the Zhao of Zhao Qian Sun Li, Guo is the Guo of the country, and Dong is the Dong of the pillar of the nation."

The police officer pushed a blank A4 sheet of paper and a pen out from under the table: "Write something down."

Zhao Guodong looked at the paper, then at the police officer, took the pen, bent down and leaned over the edge of the table, carefully writing his name on it stroke by stroke.

The handwriting was crooked and uneven. The character for "jade" was missing a stroke. He glanced at it and then took it back to add it.

"Home address".

Zhao Guodong reported from the province to the city, from the city to the district, from the district to the street, and from the street to the community.

"Which building, which unit, which floor, and which apartment number?"

Zhao Guodong opened his mouth: "Bauhinia Garden, Building 7... Unit 2, 11th floor, 1103."

Write it down.

Zhao Guodong had no choice but to lie down and write again. When he wrote "Bauhinia", his pen paused for a moment... Was the right side of the character "荆" (Jing) either 刂 (kao) or 力 (li)?

He bit the pen cap and thought for a few seconds before choosing the radical "刂".

I was cursing myself in my heart while feeling lucky that I used to order takeout a lot when I was in China, so I knew the addresses by heart, and my neighborhood name wasn't too obscure, otherwise I would have been stuck on this section today.

Place of origin.

I've reported it.

"place of birth."

I've reported it.

"ID number".

I've reported it.

He could memorize this; when he was working in the park's logistics department, he had to register the ID numbers of new employees every day, and he also memorized his own.

"Passport number".

I've reported it.

Issuing authority.

Zhao Guodong flipped to the last page of the passport and read it aloud.

"Port of entry".

“This is the port.” Zhao Guodong pointed to the ground.

"Specific channel number".

Zhao Guodong stared at the police officer with his mouth agape.

The police officers were also looking at him.

The two stared at each other for about three seconds.

"Next..."

"Wait, wait!"

The police officer nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but simply tapped his finger on the register again.

Zhao Guodong turned his head and glanced at the line behind him. Those people, covered in dust and lacking shoes and socks, were staring longingly at the back of his head. He had no choice but to turn back again: "I... don't quite remember... I didn't notice that the passage had a number."

"Then find a spot outside the port and wait," the police officer said. "We'll talk when you remember."

"No, no, no... I want to, I want to right now." Zhao Guodong closed his eyes, trying hard to recall what had happened when he ran in.

Barbed wire, a toppled fence, sandy ground, a forklift parked on the left... no, on the right.

There's a blue sign on the right. Is there a number on it?

He opened his eyes and hesitantly gave a number: "Number 3?"

The police officer didn't say anything, but lowered his head and wrote it down.

Zhao Guodong breathed a sigh of relief.

Next, Zhao Guodong saw the police pull out another registration form from under the register.

This one is much longer than the previous one, with dense grids stretching all the way to the bottom of the page, and the heading "Supplementary Registration Form for Information on Overseas Individuals Involved in Fraud" printed in bold.

"The exact time of crossing the border."

Zhao Guodong opened his mouth.

"In addition, the means of transportation used when leaving the country, flight number or train number, gate or boarding gate number, and specific seat number."

After the police officer finished reading the string of words, he looked up at him.