Volume One, Chapter Forty-Three: Director Lu Lin

Yadu was known as the "City of Jewels." The people of Tengchong were the pioneers of jadeite craftsmanship; over six centuries ago, their ancestors had already begun mining jade here, producing generations of master artisans. Yadu was also the crucial land route through which Burmese jade entered the heartlands. Jade traders from all corners of the country spontaneously formed merchant associations in Tengchong, transforming an old street into what became known as "Jade Street."

Apart from the exquisite jadeite carved from raw stone, there was also a wholesale market for uncut stones. In truth, this so-called wholesale market was nothing more than plastic sheets spread out in front of old houses along the street, piled high with rugged, oddly shaped stones of every size that to the uninitiated all looked equally strange.

In the late 1980s, as the entire nation embraced reform and opening, border trade here was particularly lively. On the other side of the frontier, Burmese who spoke Chinese smuggled raw stones across by every trick imaginable.

Records dating back to the Qing dynasty documented the long-lost practice of "stone gambling," which was now enjoying a resurgence. In chaotic jadeite markets like those in Ruili and Tengchong, crowds of stone gamblers flocked from far and wide in pursuit of fortune.

Wherever these profit-seeking merchants gathered, the white (drugs), yellow (prostitution), and black (gangs) industries naturally sprang up and flourished rapidly. Locals and outsiders mingled in a frenzy, seizing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to amass wealth by any means necessary.

Civilization did not progress in step with prosperity. On the contrary, lagging judicial systems and underdeveloped police forces, coupled with the region’s historically fierce character, only fueled more violent crime. Most criminal cases stemmed from money. The gap between rich and poor grew wider, drugs ran rampant, and a lack of fair justice bred an endless variety of crimes.

Wherever there was gambling, there was deceit. Kidnappings, assaults, and murders became commonplace.

Money truly was the root of all evil. With it came not only greed but also crimes of passion and revenge. Even when victims died in the most brutal fashion, the detectives handling the case would never tell the weeping relatives that the deceased was truly innocent.

Criminals roamed the country at will, and police investigations stretched nationwide. With the internet yet to be widely used, every region maintained special reception sites—places that facilitated communication and offered extra protection to visiting officers.

At two in the afternoon, Julie knocked on the door of a room in the Golden Shield Hotel. The face that appeared was Weasel’s, wearing his usual air of cynicism. He had already showered and changed into the sportswear Julie had bought for him. She handed him a synthetic leather satchel through the door; Weasel accepted it with an apologetic smile and closed the door without a word. Less than a minute later, he emerged, smiling broadly, the bag in hand.

Julie led Weasel across the street to the city police bureau—just a block away. Weasel stayed silent throughout the walk, peering about as if he were a country bumpkin in the big city. Julie could not figure out who this man was, making her boss all the more cautious.

As soon as he entered the office, Weasel greeted Director Lu enthusiastically. By rank, he already outranked this municipal police chief by half a step. Director Lu, long resigned to the intractable local drug problem, was not at all surprised that Beijing had sent someone like Weasel to investigate.

"As the saying goes, a Buddha relies on gold for splendor, a man on clothes. All cleaned up, you look like a different person. Hey, Julie treats you well—Nike sneakers and all," the director joked. He wore a black suit made in Shantou, the brand “Big Brother,” a bit too large for him, and a gleaming Goldlion belt.

Weasel waved his hand dismissively. "Fakes. Not just in a place like this—even in Beijing most Nikes are counterfeit."

Lu Lin smiled in agreement, then asked, "You’ve come downriver from the source—it seems you’ve stirred up something big in Mang City. But that’s not my jurisdiction."

Weasel waved again. "That’s not quite fair, Director. Aren’t all the drugs from abroad repackaged and distributed right here in your district?"

Lu Lin was caught off guard that he would mention Yanuo by name and stared at him in surprise. "You should know better than anyone—Southwest China is vast; I’m just a precinct chief, I can’t control it all. My principle is simple: you can do any business you like—just not drugs."

Weasel replied bluntly, "But your inaction, your willful neglect, is exactly why drugs spread from here across the whole country."

Lu Lin sighed. "I just called the Ministry of State Security. The message was clear: you’re not a narcotics officer. Sounds like you’re going after Yanuo? Don’t wade into that filthy water—crossing Yanuo is taking on both sides of the law in all of Southwest China. My place is small, I can’t afford any trouble. Please, don’t stir up problems for me here in Yadu."

Weasel shrugged, unconcerned. "Me, I need enemies to live. Without them, I can’t survive."

Lu Lin now understood that Weasel was not one of his kind. He shrugged. "Now that we’ve spoken plainly, I can’t guarantee your safety in Yadu." The director sighed, handing Weasel a locally supplied “Da Zhong Jiu” cigarette.

Weasel glanced at the world map hanging behind the director and laughed. "Director Lu, you’re in charge of this tiny speck of a place—why hang a world map on your wall?"

Lu Lin, displeased by Weasel’s mockery, replied, "You keep running your mouth; I could have an officer throw you in detention right now, believe it? In our lockup, dying is nothing special. People have died playing hide-and-seek, even doing push-ups."

"So the rumors are true."

Weasel dared not push further. He’d already called Beijing and knew a little about the director. He believed Lu Lin wasn’t bluffing; in a godforsaken corner like this, he could easily feign ignorance, order a few officers to arrest “an unregistered nobody” like Weasel, toss him in lockup, and arrange for some “cell bosses” to kill him without a trace.

Weasel dropped his flippant tone. "Director Lu, I won’t make things difficult for you. But your bank records have already been checked from up north—over a million. Protection fees? Mines? Karaoke? Casinos? We have files on your twenty-three mistresses."

Lu Lin fell silent, eyeing the cunning young man. In the system, there were no secrets.

Weasel continued, "These days, you count as one of the rare millionaires, though the money surely isn’t clean."

Lu Lin sneered, "Is there any clean money in this world?"

Now it was Weasel’s turn to be speechless.

He paused for a moment, then grinned wickedly and switched topics. Blowing a few perfect smoke rings, he said, "Director Lu, I’m genuinely curious. At your age, even at your best you could only manage three times a week, right? With twenty-three women and no rotation, that’s 120 times a year—so each woman gets less than six times a year."

He flicked the ash into the crystal ashtray before Lu Lin, leaned forward. "When those women are idle, what do you think they’re up to? Do you imagine they’re all ladies?"

Weasel was exposing Lu Lin’s secrets purely as a warning—not to lay a finger on him. In someone else’s territory, holding leverage was the only way to survive.

Seeing Lu Lin’s silence, Weasel, satisfied he’d made his point, went on, "Forget it, Director, I’m just joking, trying to break the ice. I barely escaped death these past couple of days, just want to relax. Honestly, only in movies are good and bad so clearly divided. Cops have to live too; they want good lives. In this world, if your hands are too clean, you get nothing. Sex and food are basic desires—I get it."

Lu Lin had no interest in chatting further with this irreverent youth; he had too many worries already.

Irritably, he said, "I never trust people from your department—none of your names are real anyway."

"Director, that’s a privilege," Weasel answered with a cheeky grin. "Your name is real—that’s why the files on you are so accurate."

"Better you mind your own business. Your department’s not about to give me any extra pension anyway."

"Heh, Director, let’s be honest—even if they did, it wouldn’t be enough to keep a single mistress."

Lu Lin took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Then I really don’t care. Just tell me what you want."

Weasel considered, then said, "I want a gun and some bullets."

The director glared at him. "Do you have any idea our homicide clearance rate is under ten percent? With so few officers, there are dozens more illegal guns in the streets than we have in the station, and probably a hundred times more criminals than cops. You want to cause me even more trouble?"

Weasel replied with a forced smile, "That’s exactly why I’m asking for a gun—the streets are crawling with killers. It’s mostly for self-defense."

Lu Lin didn’t believe a word. "If I were you, I’d have run faster than a rabbit. Why stay here and wait to die?"

Weasel hesitated. "I have other tasks. Best not to ask."

Lu Lin pressed on. "You just want to kill someone, don’t you?"

Weasel stopped pretending. "Of course! Why else would I be here?"

Unwillingly, Lu Lin turned to his bookshelf, a towering piece nearly two meters high. He gently pushed it to the left; it slid away on hidden rollers, revealing a doorway behind.

He opened the door, and a small room, furnished to resemble a hotel suite, appeared before Weasel. The space was less than fifteen square meters; to the right was a tatami bed, one and a half meters wide with a standard mattress, and a compact bathroom for bathing and toilet needs. Weasel smiled coldly and followed the director inside.

"This must be your secret rendezvous spot for you and your twenty-three lovers, huh?" Weasel clicked his tongue in mock admiration. "You should’ve told me sooner—would’ve taken a nice, comfortable bath here."