Chapter 6: The Village Security Patrol Team

Hearing the tall man mention “us” meant that there were more people present than just the two of them.

Jiang Fan looked around and saw six boys not far away, squatting with their heads in their hands.

He was astonished—such a place as a graveyard still had so many drifters seeking shelter for the night.

What startled him even more was that one of the security men was pulling a young man and woman out from an empty burial vault less than five meters away, one without a headstone.

This tomb, almost two meters high, was surrounded by moss-covered foundation stones, and the spot where a gravestone should have stood had been deliberately wrecked, leaving a gaping hole straight into the tomb.

From its imposing appearance, it was clear that the owner of this somewhat old, grand tomb had been someone of considerable status—only someone wealthy could afford such a luxurious resting place.

Yet it was precisely because it displayed such wealth that, after the owner's death, his final refuge had been defiled by human hands.

Those who desecrated the tomb, much like these security men checking documents, did so for the sake of squeezing a little more money, engaging in shameless acts.

“How could she be here?”

Jiang Fan’s surprise was not only at a factory-uniformed girl spending the night in a graveyard with a boy. What shocked him more was that this girl was the one with dimples, whom he had met yesterday when he went to the Jilong Toy Factory to look for his senior. She had kindly told him that without knowing the department, it would be difficult to find anyone.

Now, seeing the dimpled girl, terrified, disheveled, and in tears, formed a stark contrast with the lively, smiling face he remembered from the day before. As Jiang Fan watched her, he couldn’t help but notice the man who emerged from the tomb with her.

The girl with dimples stood about 160 centimeters tall. Her innocent face made it clear she was not yet of age. She was sweet and adorable, with bright, expressive eyes that naturally drew people in.

The man, in contrast, was much older—at least twenty-six or twenty-seven. Though his looks were decent, his shifty, cunning eyes betrayed ill intent.

He showed no concern for the sobbing girl beside him, focusing all his energy on flattering the security man who had forced them out of the tomb.

Witnessing this, Jiang Fan briefly forgot his own predicament and wanted to step forward to ask the girl if there was anything he could do to help.

Suddenly, the short man barked at him menacingly, “What? Trying to run? Get down and squat with your hands on your head, now!”

A small hill, yet surrounded by more than ten security men.

Jiang Fan was confident he could fight his way through these men and escape, but he was unsure whether resisting like that would be considered breaking the law. With this worry in mind, he complied with the short man's order and squatted down obediently.

The security men gathered everyone together. The one the lackeys called Brother Qiu, the short man, announced, “No temporary residence permit? Fifty yuan fine each. Pay now and you can go.”

Counting Jiang Fan, the security team had caught nine people in the graveyard. Only one boy, under twenty and speaking with a strong Henan accent, timidly pulled twenty yuan from his pocket and handed it respectfully to Brother Qiu, pleading, “This is all the living money I could borrow from my fellow villagers yesterday. Please, let me go!”

Brother Qiu slapped his hand away. “We’re here to maintain the village’s security, not beg for handouts. Fifty is fifty, not a cent less. If you don’t have enough, we’ll take you to the security office and your folks will have to pay to get you out.”

Still squatting, Jiang Fan glared up at Brother Qiu, seething with indignation: “Look at you, a walking skeleton—if a gust of wind blew, you’d be gone. The only reason you made it into the security team is because the men of Shangsha Village have all left. We’re here just to avoid pests like you, sleeping in graveyards because we’re not thieves or robbers. What kind of security are you maintaining in a graveyard? You’re nothing but leeches feeding on migrant workers. If I ever get the chance, I’ll make sure your ancestors pay for this.”

Raised in the mountain valleys, Jiang Fan’s speech was often peppered with rough Sichuan slang, but it was usually just habit—rarely did he curse someone so directly.

Brother Qiu didn’t notice Jiang Fan’s angry glare, but the burly security man who had earlier offered him a cigarette did.

Wanting to ingratiate himself with Brother Qiu, who was both a local and the deputy captain, the burly man kicked Jiang Fan in the head as he squatted and snarled like a rabid dog, “What are you staring at my boss for? Do it again and I’ll blind you.”

Jiang Fan shot him a glance from the corner of his eye, suppressing his anger without a word. He was unwilling to part with so much money and lowered his head in silent resentment.

No one handed over the fifty-yuan fine, so Brother Qiu ordered the security men to march everyone back to the security office, where they were all shut up in a huge house of over three hundred square meters.

This place had once been the village committee’s office, but the village had grown wealthy and built an impressive new building, leaving this one abandoned.

Now, the holding room for detainees was the old village meeting hall—dilapidated, missing its main doors, someone had thought to install a one-meter-high iron barrier at the entrance, making it look just like a livestock pen.

Inside, they’d set up makeshift bathrooms for men and women, but food, drink, and all bodily needs took place in the same room, rarely cleaned, so the air was thick with the stench of urine and the rot of dead rats.

The security team clearly didn’t consider these migrant workers human. They assigned a girl to sit at the door to handle registration, then herded the detainees into the big room like cattle.

The so-called registration was only so those caught could leave contact information for relatives or friends to bring ransom money. The detainees wrote down their contacts themselves. The girl provided paper and pen, collected the slips, and also handled payments.

The security team would use the information to contact people, their only aim to get as much money as possible.

Those detained would be held for one day. If no one came to pay their ransom, the men would have their heads shaved in a humiliating style, while the women fared a little better, but all would be sent to the Zhangmutou Detention Center for forced labor, their work covering the cost of being sent back home. Even then, friends or family could go to Zhangmutou to pay and redeem them.

Men given the shaven “plague head”—even if ransomed from Zhangmutou—would have to remain bald, making it impossible to find work quickly, as every factory had a rule not to hire anyone with a shaved head.

Back then, migrant workers mocked this crude “plague head” inflicted by the security guards, dubbing it: All Roads Lead to Rome.

Jiang Fan, with no family in sight, could only give the telephone number Hao Meng had left him. Entering the room, he saw that it was already filled with a hundred or two detainees.

The huge room had only the iron gate and three windows for ventilation. The security team wouldn’t let anyone near the door, so the foul air made the windows the most crowded spots.

Jiang Fan deliberately hung back behind the dimpled girl, observing her and the man she was with.

She clung to the man’s arm, stopping near a window, and after hesitating, spoke with some timidity, “A Biao, if I can’t get out today, the factory will definitely fire me. Then both of us will be left with nothing, and that will be trouble. I only have six yuan on me. Can you give me back the fifty I gave you yesterday? I’ll go look for someone at the factory to borrow enough to ransom you. If I can get enough, I’ll come get you at lunchtime. If not, you’ll have to endure a few more days. When payday comes, I’ll fetch you from Zhangmutou.”

A Biao glared at her angrily and complained loudly, “The fifty you gave me—thirty went to my friend, fifteen I spent, leaving only five. I told you to stop sending money home for two months, to help me rent a room and get a residence permit, but you wouldn’t listen. Now we’re in trouble—are you happy? You’re a girl, and skilled too. If the factory fires you, you’ll still have an easier time finding work than me. If I don’t get out in time and end up with a plague head, how will I find a job? Figure out a way for me to get out first. Once I’m out, I’ll find a way to save you.”