Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

Some have neat edges with clear tool outlines; others are messy, mixed with traces of tearing and hitting.

They silently cling to these bewildered or numb bodies, forming a vague yet heavy backdrop for the story together with those faces that cannot accurately describe their past due to intellectual disability.

It was Chen Dayong who shook the iron railings under the middle bed.

"What's wrong?" Liu Junpeng walked over, his gaze sweeping over the glaring bruise on Chen Dayong's ribs before quickly looking away.

He had seen too much and had learned not to delve into the origins of every scar, as that would only make it harder for him to fall asleep at night.

Chen Dayong stopped shaking, turned his head, his eyes unfocused, but his expression was still fairly clear: "I'm hungry!"

"Okay, I'll go get it for you." Liu Junpeng nodded, his gaze sweeping over the others. "Is anyone else hungry?"

Above the door on the bed, Zhou Xiaohui stopped fiddling with the sheets, looked up, his eyes quickly sweeping over Liu Junpeng before settling back on the light-colored marks around his wrist. His voice was barely audible: "I...I'm hungry too."

On the other side, Wang Fugui seemed to be touched by the word "hunger," and with his mouth watering, he mumbled indistinctly, "Hungry...eat..."

The people on the other two beds didn't react.

One lay facing the wall, the crisscrossing whip marks on its back faintly visible under the thin blanket, seemingly asleep; the other curled up in the corner of the bed, tightly hugging its arm covered with dotted burn scars, staring blankly at the ceiling, oblivious to everything around it.

"Okay, I'll go get it." Liu Junpeng left the room and locked the door again.

The metal lock clicked shut, temporarily shutting out the wounds, the silence, and the unspeakable pain inside.

He returned to the duty room, took out three bags of bread from the cabinet, thought for a moment, and then bent down to pull out a large plastic bag from the bottom shelf of the cabinet.

The plastic bag was deflated. Liu Junpeng weighed it in his hand and estimated that there were only about ten paper cups left inside.

I'll have to mention it to the station manager tomorrow.

But it seems unlikely... The station's budget is limited, and the most common form of support from above is to "use it sparingly."

He took the bread and paper cups and went to the door again, unlocked it and went inside, giving each of Chen Dayong, Zhou Xiaohui and Wang Fugui, who were complaining of being hungry, a piece of bread.

Then he exited, locked the door, and walked to the other end of the corridor—where there was a slightly worn standing water dispenser that was clearly newly moved in.

The original machine was knocked over and broken by an emotionally unstable staff member the day before yesterday. This one was found by Liu Junpeng in a corner of the warehouse and was still usable. He dared not keep it in the room anymore and had to move it out for public use.

If this machine breaks down again, not only the shelter staff, but even Liu Junpeng himself will have to drink tap water.

He filled a glass with warm water, carefully carried it back, opened the door, handed it to Zhou Xiaohui who was closest to the door, and locked the door.

He came out, got another cup, opened the door, handed it to Wang Fugui who was staring at him expectantly, and locked the door.

Finally, I took the third cup, opened the door, and handed it to Chen Dayong, who had already torn open the packaging and was taking big bites of bread.

"Eat slowly, don't choke."

After doing all this, Liu Junpeng left the room again and turned to lock the door.

Just as he looked down to find the keyhole, he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of a young man standing quietly in the shadows at the end of the corridor, near the stairwell.

who!

Before she could even utter a gasp, the young man opposite her smiled—a truly gentle smile. "Working the night shift? You must be tired."

"Luckily, the manager left early, and the others are permanent employees..."

After saying a few words, Liu Junpeng sensed something was wrong.

Why would I tell this to a stranger?

Having regained his vigilance, or rather, his clarity of mind, Liu Junpeng said sternly, "This... comrade, how did you get in? This is a workplace, no unauthorized entry allowed. Please leave immediately."

In the past few days, due to the special nature of this incident and the widespread attention it has attracted after being exposed, the county shelter, which was once so quiet that it was almost forgotten, has suddenly become the center of the storm.

People of all kinds, with different purposes and emotions, came one after another.

During the day, there were almost always people outside the courtyard.

Ordinary residents from the county and even neighboring counties rushed over upon hearing the news. Most of them were middle-aged or elderly. They crowded outside the rusty iron gate, peering through the bars, their faces a mixture of sympathy, anger, and a certain indescribable curiosity.

People from above came in waves.

A joint investigation team was reportedly sent down by the municipal civil affairs department, relevant departments, and even the prefecture.

Dressed in neat shirts or jackets, carrying briefcases, and with serious expressions, they entered the dormitories of the resettled personnel, accompanied by the station chief and several regular employees, to inspect, inquire, and record information, occasionally exchanging opinions in hushed tones.

More often, it's the self-media and videographers who gather like hyenas drawn by the scent of blood, with their keen sense of smell.

Holding up their phones, gimbals, or small but powerful cameras, their lenses like searchlights, they captured any scene that might generate online buzz: broken doors and windows, makeshift beds, the bewildered eyes of the inmates, and even the weary face of staff like Liu Junpeng on duty.

Their questions are often direct and provocative, sometimes even deliberately designed to provoke staff in order to capture "conflict scenes."

The station had to assign special staff to repeatedly explain "no interviews," "respect for personal privacy," and "awaiting the official investigation results," leaving them exhausted from dealing with the situation.

In response to the surge of attention and potential chaos, the county coordinated efforts from all sides.

The SWAT team increased the frequency of patrols in the area, with police cars frequently parked nearby. Uniformed SWAT officers maintained order among the crowds to prevent congestion and excessive behavior.

People from the Emergency Management Office also arrived to inspect fire exits and safety facilities, even though no one here usually cares about these things.

The yamen (government office) even assigned special personnel to unify the narrative, guide responses, and strive to steer public opinion toward the conclusion that the matter was being actively and properly handled.

However, all this noise, attention, scrutiny, and vigilance has nothing to do with the late night.

The tide always recedes, and as dusk fell, the crowd gradually dispersed.

Self-media personnel carrying their equipment, having filmed enough material, leave satisfied or slightly disappointed; superiors, having finished their day's work, get into their official vehicles and speed away; and police cars from the express patrol team head to night markets or neighborhoods where they are needed more.

10 p.m. is a clear boundary.

The last county-level official who stayed until the very end rubbed his sore eyes, reminded Liu Junpeng one last time to "report any situation immediately," and then left with his briefcase.

The station manager and the other tenured employees also left soon after, leaving the long night and all the responsibilities associated with it to the regular shift workers.

"The front door was open, and I saw the lights were on inside, so I came in to take a look."

Liu Junpeng's heart skipped a beat, and he abruptly turned his head to look at the door at the bottom of the stairs.

It was a bit far away and the light was dim, so I couldn't see very clearly, but through the crack in the door... it seemed like light from the street outside was definitely getting in?

Holy crap, which beast forgot to close the door properly before leaving?!

Anger mixed with lingering fear welled up inside him.

If the inspectors or station manager find out, I'll get a good scolding, and they might even have my pay docked.

Liu Junpeng forced himself to look away and face the mysterious visitor again, his tone becoming more serious: "No matter how you got in, this is not reception time. I also do not have the authority to accept any inquiries or interviews. If you have something to do, please come back tomorrow during working hours, where a leader from the publicity department will be there to receive you."

"I'm just delivering some supplies. I don't need any instructions from the leadership, do I?"

Liu Junpeng then noticed a bulging white plastic bag with "Meiyijia" printed on it, lying in the shadows at the young man's feet.

"I heard that some people in need of help have been temporarily housed here. I bought some things while passing by a convenience store."

As the young man spoke, he bent down, picked up the plastic bag, took a few steps forward, stopped two or three meters away from Liu Junpeng, and opened the bag slightly.

By the light of the corridor, Liu Junpeng could see several cans of milk powder, more than a dozen packets of instant noodles, individually wrapped small bread rolls, and some fruits that keep well, such as bananas and apples.

They are all real things.

"Adding some food shouldn't violate your rules, right?"

"This... thank you, comrade," Liu Junpeng smiled, thinking that with these things, there shouldn't be any trouble tomorrow: "I can accept the items on your behalf, and I'll make a record of them later."

"As for the problem you mentioned..." the young man continued, "there is indeed a bit of that."

Liu Junpeng frowned and looked across at the other side.

Apart from plastic bags, the young man had empty hands and was wearing a simple T-shirt, looking nothing like someone with a camera.

Noticing Liu Junpeng's gaze, the young man reached into his pocket: it was empty, without any recording equipment.

"Just an ordinary citizen, a little curious." The young man's face showed that particularly gentle smile again.

"Sigh," whether it was the infectiousness of his smile or the fact that this lousy job was truly uninteresting, Liu Junpeng sighed, "What do you want to know?"

"Which brick factory hired these patients?"

"Yongli Brick Factory," Liu Junpeng replied. This was information that any media outlet could find, so there was no need to hide it.

"Do you know their boss?" the young man asked.

“Old Wu, Boss Wu, you know. And he has two capable men under him. The one in charge of the construction is called Li Qiang, who has a scar on his face; the other one is in charge of recruiting people, named Sun Fucai… In Xiwang County, everyone should know him by now.” Liu Junpeng smiled bitterly.

"Okay." With that, the young man turned around.

As if it were an illusion, the young man's figure swayed, and the next moment, he disappeared right before Liu Junpeng's eyes.

Holy crap! Holy crap!!!

Just a second later, the young man reappeared.

He held three people in each of his hands: "Are these the three?"

Holy crap!!!

"Yes." Liu Junpeng nodded, even more shocked: Shouldn't these three guys be in the detention center right now?

"Hmm... Regarding labor protection and the concerns of people with disabilities, which departments are responsible for this?"

67. Sword Heart Clarity

In the dead of night, they broke into a government institution and dragged three guys who should have been under strict guard in the county detention center away like chickens—at this point, even the slow-witted Liu Junpeng finally understood that the so-called "forgotten to close" door could not possibly have been an accident.

Cold sweat soaked through his thin uniform, sticking stickily to his back.

Faced with such a being that is completely beyond our comprehension, is there any other way but to answer truthfully?

I'm just a temporary worker!

“Specifically… there are many departments involved.” Liu Junpeng’s throat was dry, but he spoke fluently. “First of all, it’s definitely the Household Registration Department, and the Relief Institute under it. Yes, they are in charge of basic assistance and the review of resettlement sites… Then there’s the Disabled Persons’ Rights Protection and Education and Employment Center. The rights of disabled people are under their attention and supervision.”

"Going further up, or horizontally..." Liu Junpeng swallowed, then continued, "The labor bureau, and the counties below, are theoretically in charge of labor and wage payments. Oh, and also, things like illegal detention and assault fall under the jurisdiction of the express police station, the Embroidered Uniform Guard or the stationed police force. And... given the severity of the offense, the censor should have intervened early to supervise the investigation..."

Liu Junpeng rattled off names of five or six departments in one breath, and his presentation was remarkably clear.

"You're very knowledgeable." The young man looked at Liu Junpeng with a hint of surprise.

"No, no," Liu Junpeng quickly shook his head, "I've just heard it too much."

Logically speaking, how could a temporary night shift worker at a shelter be so clear about the division of responsibilities across departments?

However, in the past few days, a steady stream of reporters, self-media outlets, and especially department heads or clerks who came in person to "understand the situation" and "guide the work," have repeatedly emphasized this information countless times in their intentional or unintentional conversations, reports, or formal explanations in front of the camera.

Liu Junpeng had heard it so many times that his ears were practically calloused, and now, under extreme tension, he blurted it all out like spilled beans.

“Okay, that’s about what I know, but… we also need to hear the victims’ perspective.” With that, the young man reached out and pulled the three limp, muddy figures from the ground back up, then walked toward the dormitory where the mentally disabled were kept.

The young man stopped in front of the closed door, placed the three figures side by side on the open ground in front of the door, and slightly raised and lowered his arm.

What happened next sent chills down Liu Junpeng's spine.

Three men in their prime stood frozen in place, as if nailed in place by invisible nails.

Truly, it was like three trees that had been forcibly planted. Only their chests were still heaving violently with fear, and their eyes were darting wildly within a limited range, revealing extreme horror. Apart from that, they couldn't move even a finger below their necks.

This... this... could this be the legendary acupressure technique?

Liu Junpeng shakily pulled out his keys.

The door opened.

Several mentally disabled people turned their eyes towards them.

"Good evening," the young man said, raising his hand in greeting.

Good evening... Liu Junpeng was both scared and amused: These poor people are lucky if they can even understand eating and sleeping.

The mentally disabled person indeed did not react.

"Excuse me, everyone," the young man said, seemingly oblivious, continuing to speak to himself, "I'll be bothering you for a moment."

The mentally disabled person remained unresponsive.

"this……"

Liu Junpeng had barely uttered two words when he saw the young man raise his right hand.

The movements were slow, with a strange classical rhythm.

The thumb hooks around the middle and ring fingers, while the index and little fingers are slightly extended, forming a simple and aesthetically pleasing sword gesture.

???

What's going on now? Liu Junpeng was completely dumbfounded.