Volume One, Chapter Forty-Six: News from Reckless City

South Garden Agricultural Market was bustling with life on the busy market day, a sea of voices and crowds weaving through the stalls. Musang parked Lu Lin’s Santana five hundred meters away from the market, opened the trunk, rummaged through the toolbox, and pulled out a crosshead screwdriver.

Li Xiaowen, the general manager of the Municipal Supply and Marketing Company, parked his own Santana at the market. He had arranged to meet Mr. Zhang from the Tobacco Company there. Slung across his shoulder was a faded military satchel, and a hefty ring of keys hung from his belt, jingling with every step—a collection of keys to over a dozen company offices and his home.

Yadu had a long and storied history of tobacco cultivation. Records indicate that as early as the fourteenth year of the Hongwu era (1381) through to the thirteenth year of the Zhengtong era (1448) during the Ming dynasty’s western campaigns against Luchuan (modern-day Ruili), Ming soldiers were reported to “smoke to ward off miasma,” a testament to the fact that by then, western Yunnan was already growing and consuming tobacco. Today, tobacco has gradually become the cornerstone of Yadu’s economic development. Even major tobacco corporations, from Saro China Tobacco to Hunan and Nanjing China Tobacco, have established long-term trade ties with Yadu.

The state enforces a monopoly over tobacco, and the consumption tax accounts for the lion’s share of retail revenue. Despite the region’s treacherous transportation routes, Saro has earned the envy of other provinces with its tobacco revenue.

The Cultural Revolution interrupted Yadu’s tobacco cultivation. In those years of scarcity, crops intended “for bourgeois consumption” were politically condemned and strictly forbidden. With the dawn of the commodity and market economy, the government began promoting and supporting a transition back to tobacco in the late 1980s.

After the implementation of the household responsibility system, each farming household was allotted just two acres of arable land. Staple crops yielded little profit; previously, farmers would plant peas in spring and corn in summer, eking out no more than two hundred yuan per acre annually despite their best efforts.

Now, tobacco yields nearly a thousand yuan per acre. Every farming family in Yadu has become a tobacco farmer. Yadu’s tobacco leaves, praised for their “clear, sweet, and fragrant” qualities, are golden and orange in appearance, with little difference between the upper and lower surfaces of the leaf, a vibrant sheen, loose texture, moderate oil content and thickness, and a high degree of maturation—making them premium material for flue-cured cigarettes. The growing region lies in the southern section of the Hengduan Mountains in Saro, nestled between the Gaoligong and Nu Mountains, with elevations ranging from 500 to 1,900 meters—conditions that foster robust tobacco growth.

By 1994, Yadu’s tobacco acreage had reached 400,000 acres, and tobacco revenue accounted for 30% of the city’s total fiscal income.

In recent years, unusual weather patterns have dealt a heavy blow to tobacco cultivation, slashing yields. This year, the rainy season arrived early, and rainfall surpassed all previous records.

Tender tobacco seedlings, barely grown, have been saturated for too long; by harvest, it’s estimated that only half will remain in the fields. The farmers are anxious, and the local authorities even more so. Most of the businesses in South Garden Market deal in wholesale tobacco. Li Xiaowen and Mr. Zhang had come to listen to the concerns of farmers and merchants.

Besides the devastation to the crops, the relentless rains and heightened humidity spelled disaster for tobacco storage, especially with the widespread adoption of early harvesting and curing techniques, which extended the period tobacco leaves had to be kept at home.

Li Xiaowen and Mr. Zhang spent considerable time educating and guiding farmers on how to properly store their cured tobacco, ensuring smooth transactions come autumn.

Their survey lasted more than two hours. When Li Xiaowen saw that they had gathered enough information and dusk was falling, he invited Mr. Zhang to join him for a meal of braised chicken at a nearby restaurant.

The restaurant, right at the market entrance, was suffused with the mingled scents of fresh vegetables and animal droppings. Local officials had long grown accustomed to it, as if this aroma was simply the scent of the world.

Outside, villagers continued to stream by, though most were leaving now. All manner of poultry was crammed into bamboo cages. The oversized cages, tied to the narrow backseats of bicycles, were packed with chickens, ducks, and geese, all stretching their necks and screeching in protest. The strongest geese managed to poke their heads through the gaps, their slender necks dangling helplessly outside.

Many villagers herded pigs in and out of the market. Sows were destined for slaughter, while the boars and a few fortunate sows were kept for breeding. Those proud boars strutted in with an air of disdain, but when it was time to leave, they were so exhausted they had to be dragged onto hand tractors.

Crowds of people and animals blocked the view at the entrance, so no one noticed what was happening with the Santana. After their meal, Li Xiaowen and Mr. Zhang got into the car and drove off at a leisurely pace.

Li Xiaowen had no inkling that both the front and rear license plates of his Santana had been swapped for another set—Lu Lin’s plates.

As Musang labored to screw Lu Lin’s plates onto Li Xiaowen’s car bumper, the phone on Lu Lin’s desk began to ring.

He was napping in a secret room—his dissipated lifestyle had left him hollowed out, and he needed more sleep and nourishment to recover. Who could be calling at this hour? Some stupid subordinate? Or perhaps one of those troublesome mistresses? Whoever it was, he was ready to roar at them, shuffling out in his slippers, grumbling under his breath.

“You’re Director Lu Lin, aren’t you?” The woman’s voice was low and melodious, immediately dispelling the suspicion that it was one of his clingy mistresses.

But the question itself was odd.

What Lu Lin didn’t know was that Yu Wen’er, freshly returned from four years of study in England, spoke Chinese with the cadence of English grammar.

Suspicious, Lu Lin replied, “I am. Who are you, and how did you get this number?”

“You’ve probably never heard of me, but my father has met you.” She paused, as if giving him time to search his memory. “In our family’s big compound in Mangcheng.”

At once, Lu Lin knew who it was. Who else but the Yan Nuo family would dare refer to their own home as “the big compound”?

Though Mangcheng was at the heart of the drug trade, Lu Lin tried to avoid contact with that world. He barely knew Yan Nuo. The “big compound” was a place he’d visited three years before, escorted by the chief of the Deze Public Security Bureau.

Yan Nuo had subtly hinted at a desire for a deeper connection, but this powerful figure had made no particular requests, and Lu Lin had remained noncommittal. As a parting gift, he’d received a brown “Goldlion” leather briefcase containing two hundred thousand yuan in cash. It was called a “greeting gift,” but since then, they’d had no further contact. Such a windfall, unearned, had left a lasting impression.

Now the favor was being called in. Lu Lin uneasily calculated how much the money was worth, all the while thinking of Musang.

He answered politely, “Ah, I remember Mr. Yan well—a most respectable elder. You must be his daughter, Miss Yan?”

The woman replied, “You may not be familiar with the Dai people. My name is Yu Wen’er.”

Lu Lin hastily corrected himself. “Ah, Miss Yu.” He heard a faint, dismissive “tsk” from the other end.

Yu Wen’er continued, “My father was gravely injured a few days ago and is still in critical care. That’s why I’m calling personally, to ask for your help.”

“That serious? Did it happen in my jurisdiction?” Lu Lin’s voice betrayed his anxiety.

He immediately realized how pointless his question was—if something so major had happened on his turf, there’s no way he wouldn’t have known.

Yu Wen’er replied, “It happened in Mangcheng. It wasn’t an accident; it was the work of a killer.” Her tone remained even, betraying no emotion. “You must be shocked. In the hometown where my father was born and raised, in the kingdom he built, where our family is loved and protected by the people, such a heinous crime could take place. More than twenty of our employees were also harmed, to varying degrees.”

“That must have been some formidable assassins,” Lu Lin said, realizing that Musang was likely one of the fugitives.

“It’s not as you imagine, Director Lu. There was only one killer.” Yu Wen’er paused again, letting the shock sink in. “We know that the ruthless murderer is now in Yadu. It’s said he even visited your office—and that you lent him your car.”