Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

Sixteen hours?

Everyone was even more confused.

However... other people's children will die, as long as they don't go back to Y City, it's fine. The middle-aged man leaned back in his chair again.

The commander continued to worry: "That shouldn't be the case. The information we just received didn't seem to include anything related to Yingtian City, did it?"

The intelligence analyst quickly reviewed the data and confirmed: "No, among all the recently captured, marked, and suspected target-related search information, there are no hotspots directly related to Yingtian City."

“I understand…” a bureaucrat suddenly spoke up: “Thirteen years ago, the Shu Yu case…”

No one standing here is stupid; everyone in the command center instantly understood.

"So... he went directly to find the culprit? Then why did he take the old-fashioned green train?"

"Could it be... that the journey was too long and he didn't have enough stamina? After all, he just traveled more than 600 kilometers to Guangming City."

"Nonsense!" someone immediately retorted, pointing to the data summary that had just been generated on the screen. "According to the tracking and satellite infrared analysis just now, this guy ran from Y City to Guangming City, more than 600 kilometers, without breaking a sweat!"

"Then... could it be because the direction is too predictable and the straight-line distance is too long, and they're worried about encountering heavy weapons in the wild? So they chose a carload of hostages?" another person suggested a darker theory.

"That's even more ridiculous! Isn't our destination for this morning yet? Does he look scared at all?"

As everyone racked their brains, the middle-aged man, who had been leaning back in his chair, twitched the corner of his mouth slightly, as if he had grasped a kind of dark humor.

"They specially bought train tickets and deliberately took a slow train... This is telling us to quickly notify Yingtian City."

"What are you notifying us about?"

"Notify certain people to wash their necks clean immediately."

"What?"

Do you know what death row inmates fear most?

54. Wash clean

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was a little lower, and the light filtered through the gaps in the sycamore leaves, casting shimmering spots of light on the cement road.

Wang Sizhi—more precisely, the former Registrar of the Jiangzuo Circuit Judicial Commissioner's Office, and now the Sizhi of the Neighborhood Mediation Office under the Taipusi—finished his unwavering lunch break, wearing a loose, light gray Tai Chi uniform and soft-soled cloth shoes, and slowly strolled out of his apartment building.

Wang Sizhi's hair was dyed jet black and combed meticulously. His skin was smooth, with only the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and his slightly sagging jawline revealing his true age.

He is fifty-three years old this year. He is well-maintained and has not much excess fat. His lower abdomen is slightly protruding, which is a testament to his long hours sitting in the office, lack of physical labor, and refined diet.

Since that uproar thirteen years ago, he, who had been a clerk in the Criminal Division for nearly ten years, was transferred by a single order to the Imperial Stables.

From a "magistrate" who was in charge of reviewing criminal cases in a province, whose gavel still held considerable power and whose influence extended to many, he has become a "neighborhood mediator" who deals with everyday squabbles between cats and dogs, quarrels between spouses, and dripping water from laundry.

The yamen was moved from the main hall of the Provincial Judicial Commissioner's Office, which was located in the heart of the provincial capital and had strict access control, to the "Neighborhood Mediation Office," a small-faced place at the end of a noisy alley in the south of the city, where the smell of oil from the neighboring pancake shop wafted all day long.

Feeling lost?

Of course, those first few months were absolutely agonizing.

Even the lowest-ranking clerk in the Ministry of Justice, who delivers tea, still maintains a certain level of decorum when he leaves.

Although he was only a ninth-rank military officer, he handled important cases and documents reported by various prefectures and counties. Occasionally, he would also come into contact with some inside information that could not be told to outsiders. His colleagues were usually polite to him, and the officials from the prefectures and counties who came to the provincial capital on business were always given some gifts.

Those were truly wonderful days.

But so what?

Wang Sizhi walked with his hands behind his back on the stone path in the small park in the center of the community. He watched several elderly people chatting on the bench with their grandchildren, and his mind was already at peace.

Despite the huge public outcry, the fact that he managed to keep his official position, avoid being thoroughly investigated, and not be relegated to a remote and impoverished area as a lowly postmaster is a result of having connections above him and his own careful conduct over the years, leaving him with few weaknesses to exploit.

As long as I'm still within the imperial system, as long as I still wear this official hat, that's fine.

Moreover, for someone like him who has long since lost any ambition to climb the social ladder and only seeks a stable life, this position is practically tailor-made for him.

The "Neighborhood Mediation Office" sounds like a place to mediate disputes and maintain harmony, but in reality, the truly thorny conflicts in the neighborhood were already handled by the neighborhood head, the village elder, or directly reported to the county government.

These "peacemakers" and "mediators" only concern themselves with trivial matters that nobody wants to deal with:

A protracted argument sparked by the vibration of an upstairs jump rope shaking the downstairs ceiling; a near-fire fight between neighbors over haphazardly strung electric vehicle charging cables; accusations of "pollution" when Zhang's kitchen waste bag broke in Li's recyclable bin during garbage sorting; and the most classic, never-ending argument: "Your air conditioner's dripping water is driving me crazy..."

It's all just trivial arguments that the regulations can't cover precisely, and where everyone has their own version of the truth.

Throughout the year, there are only a few "serious" disputes that require invoking the provisions of the Household and Marriage Law or the Miscellaneous Law.

The peacemaking office in Renshoufang was extremely secluded. Apart from the peacemaker in charge, there was only an old clerk who was hard of hearing and had poor eyesight and was dozing off all day, and two young hangers-on who had been sent by the county government and spent their days sneaking off to watch people playing chess at the street corner.

There is no burden of official documents, no pressure from superiors, and no personal interactions.

Every day, I would clock in, brew a pot of tea in the duty room, read some leisurely books, and stamp a few seals; that was considered completing my duties.

In the afternoon, I can often slip away to go home, or like now, I can simply skip work and enjoy some leisure time.

Salary? It's true that he received less of the under-the-table income like ice and charcoal tribute compared to when he was in the Judicial Commissioner, but his basic salary and rice allowance were still the same. The court was considerate, and since he was a legitimate "lateral transfer" with no reduction in rank, he received everything he was entitled to.

It was enough for him to live a comfortable life in the house he bought in the suburbs of the provincial capital, which was neither too rich nor too poor.

After walking for about fifteen minutes, I was slightly sweaty and my muscles and bones were loosened up.

Wang Sizhi sat down on a stone bench under the shade of a tree and took out his phone.

As soon as the screen lights up, dozens of unread messages are displayed on the WeChat icon.

He wasn't in a hurry. He first opened the "Health and Wellness Exchange Group," where several old friends were discussing whether to eat mutton or duck for autumn nourishment, accompanied by links to various health and wellness articles, some genuine and some not.

Wang Sizhi smiled but didn't say anything. He simply saved an article about "protecting the lungs from autumn dryness" to his favorites.

I exited and then clicked on "Chu River and Han Border".

This group mainly consists of retired or semi-retired people from the same or several nearby communities.

It was a little after 2 p.m., the perfect time to organize a gathering.

"Old Li @ All members, we're one short for mahjong. Come quick to room number 3 in the card room! We're going to win back the tea money you won last month!"

Several echoing and urging messages followed.

Wang Sizhi shook his head and did not reply.

Playing cards is fun, but sitting for too long can hurt your back, and although the wins and losses aren't huge, the scheming and backstabbing can be quite mentally taxing.

At his age, all he wants is peace of mind.

Next up is the "Endless Fishing Fun" group.

A picture popped up, posted by the group owner "Fisherman": a large grass carp, estimated to weigh four or five pounds, lying in a bucket, its scales shimmering in the sunlight.

"How was your performance at the Wild River this morning? Haha! DM me for the location, same old deal, a drink together!" A string of likes and envious replies followed.

Wang Sizhi clicked on the picture and zoomed in to take a look. He felt a little tempted, but when he thought about having to get up early, bring a bunch of equipment, and wait for most of the day, he decided against it.

Fishing is a good way to cultivate one's character, but it takes too much time, and the sun is too strong in the wild for his carefully maintained skin to withstand.

There's also a "Bookish Gathering" group discussing a recently published memoir by an official; a "Neighborhood Mutual Aid" group complaining about the strong smell at the community's garbage sorting point; and a "Senior Citizens' Tourism" group recruiting for a short trip to an ancient town in a neighboring province next week...

Wang Sizhi browsed through the groups one by one, like an emperor reviewing memorials, with a leisurely smile always on his lips.

These groups became his main sources of social interaction and information after he stepped down from his frontline role; they were lively, mundane, but safe and relaxing.

Where should I go to kill this long afternoon?

Chess and cards? Too noisy. Fishing? Too tiring. Reading? You can read at home.

He swiped his finger and saw a group that was pinned to the top of his chat list—"Silver Balls Flying".

This is good.

Wang Sizhi's eyes lit up.

Playing table tennis is great! It's a moderate level of activity that helps you sweat and detoxify without being too strenuous and hurting your knees.

Moreover, it uses skillful force, emphasizing reaction and coordination, making it most suitable for middle-aged and elderly people like him who want to exercise but are afraid of getting injured.

There are two nice pool tables in the community clubhouse, with good air conditioning and a pleasant environment.

Health is the most important thing.

Wang Sizhi understood this principle well.

Good days are still long ahead. We receive our salary from the imperial court. Although there isn't much extra income right now, it's stable.

The greatest loss would be if one's health deteriorated and one collapsed prematurely.

With pensions increasing year by year and favorable policies constantly being implemented, it's painful to miss out on even one month's worth of pensions, let alone several or even more than a decade's worth.

We must take good care of our bodies and stay healthy in order to live this peaceful and prosperous life for a long time.

Thinking of this, he immediately sent a message in the "Silver Ball Flying" group: "Anyone planning to play ball this afternoon? I'll be there around 3 PM. @All Members"

Someone replied very quickly:

"Is Director Wang free today? I'll come!"

"Add one more, the same spot, table number two?"

"Okay, I'll go and reserve a table first."

Seeing the group chat getting lively, Wang Sizhi put away his phone with satisfaction, stood up, patted off non-existent dust from his training clothes, and turned to walk towards the community clubhouse.

His steps were unhurried, his back ramrod straight, and one could still vaguely discern the demeanor he had when he walked in the yamen of the judicial authorities back then.

However, there was no longer any trace of the anxiety from being overworked with paperwork or the caution of holding power between his brows; only complete relaxation and anticipation for the next two hours of table tennis activities remained.

The warm sunshine shone on my body, and a gentle breeze carried the lingering fragrance of osmanthus blossoms.

It's such a great day for exercise and taking care of your mind and body.

Wang Sizhi's steps quickened as he thought about it.

--------

The air conditioning in the community clubhouse's ping-pong room was on full blast, and the lights were bright.

Beside the dark green ping-pong table, Wang Sizhi had just finished a game, and fine beads of sweat were on his forehead, which he was wiping with a towel.

His racket has a carbon fiber blade, and the rubber is also carefully selected by him. Although his skills are not the best among his old partners, he never skimps on equipment.

"Old Wang, you're in good form today. That side spin was interesting." Old Liu, a retired cadre from the district education bureau, said with a smile as he picked up the ball.

"Just lucky, just lucky." Wang Sizhi waved his hand, his face flushed from exercise and with a slightly reserved smile.

Here, no one calls him "Director Wang" or "Peace Envoy Wang," but rather "Old Wang" or "Old Li," making everyone feel relaxed and at ease.

Old Sun, who was watching from the sidelines—a former member of the trade union at a state-owned enterprise—handed over a bottle of water: "Take a break, it's my turn. Old Wang, you're in good shape."

Wang Si rinsed his mouth with water, turned on the tap, took a sip, and was about to speak when suddenly—

An unusual noise came from outside the door.

The sound of rapid, hurried footsteps, mixed with the short static and brief commands from walkie-talkies, approached quickly from a distance.

You can still faintly hear the panicked cries of the club's front desk staff, "Hey, you guys..." which are quickly interrupted.

The seven or eight people who were playing, chatting, and resting in the table tennis and badminton room stopped what they were doing and looked at the closed door in surprise.

Although this community is not considered a luxury residence, many of its residents are current or retired public officials like them. It has always been known for its good security and strict management, and has always been a key security target. The property security guards have all undergone special training and have never seen such a scene before.

"What's going on?" Old Liu frowned. "The property management is conducting a fire drill? There was no notification."

“It doesn’t sound like…” Old Sun listened intently, his expression gradually changing. “These footsteps… there are quite a few people, and…”

Before he could finish speaking, the door to the ping-pong room was forcefully pushed open from the outside with a "bang".

Seven or eight people filed in.

The four men at the front were dressed in dark blue uniforms, with shoulder and armbands indicating that they were members of the rapid response team directly under the Municipal Bureau. They had stern expressions and sharp eyes that swept across the room.

Following closely behind were three middle-aged men dressed in navy blue jackets and white shirts, with serious expressions. Their meticulous attire and unapproachable aura made it clear that they were from the discipline inspection department.

Finally, two more people stood guard at the door, blocking the view from outside.

The room fell silent instantly, except for the faint sound of the small white ball bouncing gently on the dark green table.

The leader was a man in a jacket. His gaze was fixed directly on Wang Sizhi, and his voice, though not loud, was clear enough to send a chill down everyone's spine:

"Wang Debo?"

Wang Sizhi—Wang Debo—felt a sudden "buzz" in his mind.

This is quite a spectacle...

If this had happened a decade or two ago, when he was still in the Provincial Judicial Commissioner's Office, Wang Sizhi would probably have fainted on the spot if he had been approached like this.