Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

The prefect didn't stop, heading first towards the restroom.

Sure enough, there was a queue of moderate length at the entrance, with wet stains and scattered trash on the ground.

The cleaning staff were engrossed in wiping the handwashing stations, but had no time to pay attention to the queue or the condition of the floor.

"Toilets are the face of a city," the prefect said to the stationmaster and deputy stationmaster in charge of logistics who were following closely behind him. "During peak hours, we need to increase the number of guides to manage queues and clean the floors promptly. We should also adjust the staffing and performance evaluation methods for cleaning personnel, ensuring they are responsible not only for cleaning the interior but also for the dynamic cleaning of the entrance area. We need to ensure that the supply of disinfectant, toilet paper, and hand dryers is sufficient and that the equipment is in good working order. If these small details are not done well, the first and last impressions of travelers to Yunshan will be diminished... Of course, this is extra work and we must pay extra."

Next, the prefect walked towards the waiting area for the regular trains.

The seats here were almost full, and some passengers were sitting or lying on the floor, with their luggage blocking part of the passageway.

Several large trash cans were overflowing, and there were also some fast food containers and plastic bags piled up next to them.

"You're professionals in capacity scheduling and passenger flow management, so I won't elaborate," the prefect told the stationmaster. "But we can be more proactive in managing the waiting environment. Increase the frequency of announcements and screen prompts to guide passengers to more spacious waiting areas or commercial areas. The frequency of trash can emptying must be increased, temporary trash collection points should be set up and clearly marked, and more personnel should be deployed to patrol and promptly clean up litter. Passageways must be kept clear; this is the bottom line for safety."

He then went to the vicinity of the security checkpoint.

This is the most crowded area, with passengers carrying large and small bags through the scanner. Occasionally, bags are opened for inspection, causing the queue to move slowly and making those at the back easily anxious and crowded.

"Security checks are of paramount importance and cannot be relaxed. However, efficiency can be improved." After observing for a moment, the prefect said, "Increase the number of guides to remind passengers in advance to take out their laptops, power banks, and water bottles, and to arrange their luggage properly. Add barriers to the queuing area to optimize the flow of people and avoid cross-traffic. Make more announcements to ease passengers' waiting anxiety."

We walked, looked around, and talked along the way.

The instructions are specific and detailed, pointing directly to the essentials.

……

Forty minutes later, the Prefect finally stood in the general command room on the second floor of the station.

Through the huge glass windows, you can overlook the entire station building and part of the plaza.

He stood by the window, silently watching the swarm of people flowing below like ants.

The command center was completely silent, save for the flickering monitor screens and the occasional hushed conversations between staff members.

The situation below has improved under strict orders: vehicles illegally soliciting passengers have been driven away, actors playing "historical figures" have been taken away, cleaners are working hard to clean, and the security checkpoints are more orderly than before.

But this superficial rectification did nothing to dispel the gloom in his heart.

There are less than two hours until that train arrives...

Every second felt like torture.

In the oppressive silence, the prefectural assistant, who had been standing beside the prefect with a similarly solemn expression, suddenly fixed his gaze on the several huge electronic displays and the propaganda images on the pillars in the hall.

He suddenly grabbed a man in charge of the train station's information desk next to him: "What! What happened?!"

The screens that were selected were several giant electronic screens hanging in the most prominent position in the center of the waiting hall.

At this moment, a carefully produced promotional video showcasing the city image of Yunshan City is playing in rotation:

The first frame shows the misty Cuiwei Peak, accompanied by the golden words: "Poetic and picturesque mountains, a place of peace of mind."

Then the scene shifts to a brightly lit, antique-style street, teeming with smiling tourists. The slogan reads, "Yunshan Ancient City - A Thousand Years of Cultural Heritage, A Glimpse of Time."

Then comes an aerial view of the modern industrial park, with robotic arms moving in unison, accompanied by a powerful narration: "Vibrant Yunshan, a hotbed for investment, a blessed land for business."

The final shot focuses on a group of actors dressed in brightly colored ethnic costumes singing and dancing, accompanied by the warm slogan, "Yunshan welcomes you! Feel at home!"

The visuals are exquisite, and the background music is uplifting; it's the perfect example of official propaganda.

The head of the propaganda department was startled by the prefect's sudden stern questioning and stammered, "Reporting to...Reporting to the prefect, this...this is a city image advertisement provided by the Municipal Bureau of Culture, Education and Propaganda, which is played as per usual practice. It aims to showcase the scenery of Yunshan and welcome guests from all directions..."

"Shut it down!" the prefectural official practically spat out the words. "Right now! Shut it down right now!"

The official in charge froze, thinking he had misheard, and stammered, "But...but that's an electronic display screen connected to the central signal. If it's turned off, the screen will go black...Besides, this promotional video was approved by the Department of Culture, Education and Propaganda, and the cost was..."

"Who cares what department approved it!" The prefectural magistrate, unusually losing his composure, interrupted the person in charge. "If it's hacked, it's hacked! Replace it with... replace it with a train timetable! Replace it with safety instructions! Replace it with public service announcements! Anything is fine, just not these!"

Seeing that the person in charge was still in a daze, the Prefectural Magistrate was both anxious and furious. He snatched the walkie-talkie from the other person's hand and shouted, "Broadcasting room! Monitoring center! This is the Prefectural Magistrate! I order that all promotional videos in the waiting hall be immediately cut off! Now! Immediately! Execute immediately!"

A hesitant confirmation came from the walkie-talkie. A few seconds later, the images on the most prominent giant screens in the center of the hall suddenly froze and went dark, turning into a monotonous dark blue background with only simple white text scrolling through the ticket information and safety notices for the next train.

The lively and uplifting music and narration abruptly stopped, making the hall instantly feel much emptier and quieter.

The prefectural magistrate did not give up, his gaze sweeping like a hawk towards the exit area downstairs.

There were also dozens of elaborately arranged display points, each adorned with roll-up banners and lightbox advertisements:

"Cuiwei Peak National Forest Park—a natural oxygen bar and a haven for health and wellness." (Photo: Lush green mountains and a waterfall like a ribbon)

"Yunshan Hot Spring Resort – Steal a Half-Day of Leisure from a Busy Life." (Photo: Steaming hot spring pool, comfortable reclining chair)

"A Glimpse into Yunshan's Local Delicacies—Welcome to Yunshan on Your Taste Buds." (Photo: A dazzling array of local snacks)

"Those below!" The prefectural magistrate spoke so fast it was like firing a bullet. "All those bearing promotional material for tourist attractions or the city's image, remove them all! Not a single one! Immediately!"

This time, he didn't need to grab the walkie-talkie; the quick-witted clerk beside him was already busy relaying the orders.

Soon, through the glass window of the command center, a small commotion could be seen at the exit downstairs.

A dozen or so staff members jogged over and hurriedly packed up the beautifully made roll-up banners and promotional stands.

In the rush, a roll-up banner was not held properly and fell to the ground with a thud. No one paid any attention to it, and it was simply dragged away.

The head of the propaganda department and the other officials in the command room looked on in bewilderment at this sudden turn of events.

Finally, a slightly overweight middle-aged official standing a little behind the prefectural magistrate couldn't hold back any longer.

He was the head of the Ministry of Revenue's Bureau of Finance, responsible for money and grain, some project funding, and had many dealings with cultural, educational, and tourism projects. His surname was Zhou.

Manager Zhou cautiously took half a step forward, a smile plastered on his face, and asked with a hint of doubt:

"Prefect... Forgive my bluntness, but these promotional materials were all meticulously crafted by our Yunshan Culture and Tourism Bureau and multiple other units. They are compliant with regulations and showcase our city's positive image and cultural and tourism resources. They are standard practice for public relations. In the past, this was standard procedure for welcoming inspections from higher authorities and for exchanges with other cities. The content is also based on real-life footage and accurate data, with absolutely no exaggeration."

"The provincial leaders came down with tight schedules and worked very hard."

"During the inspection, if we could also take a look at the highlights of Yunshan, such as the natural scenery of Cuiwei Peak or the historical charm of the ancient city, it would not only be relaxing but also provide another perspective on the overall development of our city. This might be an opportunity for us. If the leaders are satisfied, the atmosphere of communication will be more harmonious, and it will be easier to report on our work and seek support. Now that everything has been removed, isn't it... possible that we have missed a very good opportunity for presentation and communication?"

These words were spoken flawlessly, pointing out both the routine and necessity of publicity, and subtly expressing the unspoken rule in officialdom of "taking this opportunity to get closer to the leader."

"You son of a bitch!!!"

No sooner said than done...

The prefect, who was over fifty years old and had been in office for seven years, always calm and gentle, suddenly raised his leg and delivered a flying kick, sending the Zhou clerk flying several meters away in the blink of an eye.

63. Very happy.

16:35 PM.

Accompanied by a long, drawn-out whistle, train Kxx slowly pulled into Unsan Station.

Following the flow of people, Zhang Qiliang stepped off the platform, passed through the slightly old but exceptionally clean underground passage, and swiped his ID to exit the station.

Outside, the sky over Yunshan City was clear and bright, seemingly more expansive than the sky over my hometown. The sunlight carried the brightness of early summer in the Huai River basin, unlike the gentle, misty atmosphere of my hometown.

The air smells different too; it's less moist with grass and water, and more dry with the scent of the northern plains.

The plaza in front of the station was very clean, with almost no litter in sight, and the flow of vehicles was quite orderly. Even the usual shouts of touts were sparse, and several uniformed staff members patrolled back and forth with sharp eyes.

Stepping off the platform, Zhang Qiliang wandered aimlessly, soon ending up on a commercial street connected to the station.

The streets are narrow, and both sides are lined with shops catering to tourists, selling local specialties, inexpensive clothing, snacks, and handicrafts.

Most of the shop facades are quite old, with faded signs that give off an old-fashioned vibe, quite different from the increasingly trendy and brightly lit commercial streets of my hometown in recent years.

As Zhang Qiliang walked through it, his pace unconsciously slowed down, giving him the illusion that time itself seemed to flow more slowly.

Passing by a craft shop with a sign that reads "Yunshan Shiyun," I saw some small ornaments carved from a local bluish-gray stone displayed in the window. There were adorable little animals, as well as ornaments that imitated ancient coins or ruyi shapes. They were all polished smooth and not expensive.

Thinking of Station Master Li, Lao Zhao, Xiao Mao, and those fellow workers who often squatted and chatted together at the door, Zhang Qiliang stopped and pushed the door open to go inside.

The shop owner was an old man wearing reading glasses, engrossed in carving something. When he saw a customer arrive, he raised his eyes, nodded, and didn't say much.

After browsing for a while, Zhang Qiliang selected several small stone monkeys, stone fish, and a few stone plaques engraved with the word "peace".

The old man carefully wrapped it in rough kraft paper and put it into a paper bag printed with the shop's name.

When it came time to pay, the old man finally spoke: "Give it away? Keep it for yourself? If you're giving it away, this stone is solid, not flashy, and will last a long time."

"It's for a friend." Zhang Qiliang smiled.

"That's good, very good." The old man nodded and said no more.

Carrying a rather heavy paper bag, Zhang Qiliang continued strolling along the street.

Leaving the station area, the streets gradually become more lived-in, with vegetable stalls, fruit shops, and barbershops appearing, and pedestrians appearing much more relaxed.

Just then, a white pickup truck with the words "Urban Management Enforcement" painted on its body suddenly braked abruptly without warning, its tires screeching as it screeched against the ground, and came to a stop under a lush sycamore tree.

Almost the instant the car came to a complete stop, the passenger side and rear doors were flung open with a bang, and four or five urban management officers in dark blue uniforms jumped out of the back of the pickup truck.

Their target was very clear—under the sycamore tree, a large, robust dog with brown and yellow fur, which looked like some kind of mixed-breed wolfhound, was squatting on its hind legs, defecating.

The dog owner has disappeared.

Several team members were clearly a little nervous, quickly exchanging glances with each other.

Two of them grabbed a metal pole from the back of the car; the pole had a movable rope loop at the end.

The other person picked up a sturdy-looking catching fork with a locking mechanism.

Another person was carrying a small cloth bag, but seemed unsure whether to step forward or back.

The two men holding the lasso tried to approach from both sides, their movements somewhat clumsy, the rope swaying back and forth.

Sensing the threat, the dog immediately stopped defecating, made a low growling sound, lowered its body, bared its teeth, and adopted a clearly aggressive posture.

"Quick! Don't let it get away! And don't let it pounce on anyone!" A middle-aged team member who looked a bit older, probably the leader, shouted urgently, gripping a riot baton tightly as he stood on the outer perimeter.

The team member holding the capture fork mustered his courage and stepped forward first, attempting to use the fork to choke the dog's neck.

The dog was a bit fierce. It suddenly jumped to the side, dodging the fork, and then turned around and bit the fork handle, making a teeth-grinding "crunch" sound.

The team member with the fork was startled and instinctively shrank back.

Seeing this, the team member on the other side hurriedly swung the rope loop over, but due to nervousness, he did not control the force and angle well, and the rope loop only grazed the dog's back, which only made it more enraged.

The dog barked loudly, turned its body, and made a move as if to pounce on the team member.

"Hit!" Upon seeing this, the middle-aged team member could no longer care about anything else. He shouted sharply and took the lead in swinging his riot baton, smashing it towards the side of the dog!

Having found their leader, the hesitation of the other team members was immediately replaced by a momentary panic and the impulse to "follow orders." They used the lasso, fork, and half a brick they picked up to attack the dog, which was frantically biting and struggling from side to side because it was being surrounded.

The scene became chaotic at one point.

It was clear that the urban management officers were rather inexperienced; their enforcement was not only inaccurate but also rather clumsy.

The sticks and forks fell on the dogs, their legs, and occasionally even hit the ground with dull or crisp sounds—the unfamiliarity and fear made everyone strike with extreme force, completely lacking any sense of proportion.

The process was very short.

After several solid blows, the dog's movements quickly became sluggish, and its whimpers grew weaker.

Finally, someone struck it hard on the back of the head with a stick—perhaps unintentionally, or perhaps to end the fight quickly.

The dog's body stiffened abruptly, then it slumped softly to the ground, its limbs twitching slightly before becoming still.

Dark red blood slowly seeped from his mouth, nose, and ears, staining the dry ground beneath the tree.

The team members were all panting heavily, their faces pale, staring at the dog carcass on the ground, and for a moment no one spoke.

Someone's tools clattered to the ground.

Just then, a young woman with exquisite makeup and a good figure rushed out of an elegantly decorated women's clothing store on the street.

She had obviously heard the commotion outside and ran out just in time to witness the final, fatal blow, or rather, the moment her beloved dog collapsed.

The expression on his face instantly changed from confusion to extreme astonishment, followed by tearing pain and anger.

"My son—!!! You killed my son!!!"

A piercing scream shattered the silence of the street.

As if she had suddenly gone mad, the young woman, in her high heels, stumbled and rushed toward the few urban management officers who were still in a daze and hadn't had time to deal with the scene—or more accurately, toward the still-warm dog carcass on the ground.

The middle-aged urban management officer leading the team reacted quickly, stepping in front of the young woman and saying, "Madam, please calm down and do not obstruct us from performing our duties."

"Fuck your damn law!" The young woman burst into tears, her makeup ruined instantly. She raised her hand, pushing away the arm blocking her way, her eyes fixed on the dog on the ground. "You beasts! Executioners! You killed my son! Pay me back for my son!!"

"Who is your son?" The middle-aged city management officer frowned.

The young woman cried out, her finger trembling as she pointed to the clump of brownish-yellow fur: "My dog! My Mao Mao! He's my son! You have to pay! You must pay!"

“Okay,” the middle-aged team member nodded, “So, this is your dog?”

In her excitement, the young woman completely failed to notice that there is a difference between your dog and the dog you keep!