……

It was working hours, and the factory grounds were deserted, with only the faint sound of spinning spindles drifting in the air, like thousands of hummingbirds chirping in unison not far away.

With such a large state-owned enterprise, he didn’t believe for a second that everyone was wholeheartedly loyal and flawless. In the textile-rich South, flipping fabric was nothing new; it was a bit rarer in the North, but there were definitely people doing it.

Suppressing his impatience, he smoked one cigarette after another, preparing to wait until evening to take a look.

In a flash, two hours passed. The sound of machinery gradually died down, the factory bell rang, and then, as if out of nowhere, hundreds upon hundreds of workers poured out of the workshops, all in uniform, taking off their masks, surging in a dark mass toward the main gate.

The workday was over.

Their complexions and spirits were better than most people of this era. They chatted and laughed as they picked up their children, bought groceries, or even went to a nearby restaurant for a couple of drinks.

At the same time, footsteps echoed from upstairs.

The man with the small eyes led a young woman downstairs. Seeing Brian Clark still lingering at the entrance, he whispered a few words to her, then came over on his own initiative.

“Still here, buddy!”

“Yeah, reading upstairs?” he replied casually.

“What would I be reading? Just went up to hang out.”

The man squatted down beside him and asked, “You’re not from around here, are you? Haven’t seen you before.”

“From Jincheng.”

“Here to find someone?”

“No, just handling some business.”

“Handling some business…”

The man looked him up and down, smiling meaningfully. Brian Clark met his gaze, felt a jolt inside, and quickly pulled out a Da Shengchan cigarette to offer. “How should I address you?”

“My surname’s Liu.”

“Brother Thompson!”

He lit the cigarette for him, trying to get friendly. “You look like someone capable. Not many people these days are good at billiards.”

“Ha, are you complimenting yourself?”

The man took a drag, unconsciously showing a bit of pride. “Actually, I’m not that capable, just know a lot of people.”

“Knowing people is a real skill!”

Brian Clark half-jokingly showed a hint of surprise. “I’m new here, was hoping to ask around…”

“Alright, I knew what you were up to the moment you arrived. I’ve seen plenty like you.”

The man cut him off, paused, then first held out a fist, then spread his fingers, waving his hand.

“Do you want this, or this?”

What the hell?

Brian Clark stared blankly at his gestures—was this some kind of code? How the hell was he supposed to know!

“Don’t get it? First time doing this?”

Brother Thompson saw his confusion and grinned even wider. “Alright, I won’t play riddles. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want to get some fabric scraps.”

Fabric… scraps???

As soon as the second word left his mouth, the other man’s smile vanished. “Damn, why are you being all mysterious about getting some fabric scraps? Wasting my feelings here!”

He thought for a moment, then said, “But since you’ve come all this way, I won’t turn you down. Here’s the deal: wait for me here at ten tonight, alright?”

“Of course, thanks, Brother Thompson.”

Brian Clark handed over the rest of the Da Shengchan cigarettes. The man pocketed them, then left with the young woman.

Chapter 10: The Venture Nearly Collapsed Before It Began

Tsk, a real streetwise guy!

“Just look at that drifting, rootless vibe—so different from ordinary folks, a real wanderer,” Brian Clark shook his head in admiration.

He hadn’t expected it either. He just figured anyone who could play billiards so well at the club must have some connection to the factory, and ended up finding the right person right away.

Of course, he stayed sharp, first scouting out the area, then finding a hotel far from the factory.

After dinner and a short nap, he set out a little after nine. He changed into old clothes, put on rubber shoes, wrapped his money in a handkerchief and tied it around his waist, and tucked a small knife into his pocket.

He slipped through the darkness to the club. The main gate was locked, and the street was lit by a dim streetlamp. The man surnamed Liu and three unfamiliar faces were chatting on the steps.

They were all older, probably in their thirties.

“Just waiting on you, hurry up!”

Brother Thompson called him over and said in a low voice, “Let me tell you all, do exactly as I say. Don’t make a sound, don’t ask questions, got it?”

“Got it, don’t worry.”

“We trust you, that’s all that matters!”

Brian Clark caught the tail end of their accent, with a peculiar upward lilt—a classic Liaoxi accent.

He said nothing, silently following the four of them. They first turned to a small door on the north side of the textile factory, standing in the pitch dark. Brother Thompson knocked, and there was a rustling sound inside. A shadow approached with a flashlight, revealing a wrinkled old face.

“Four of you? That’s a bit much!” The old man looked uneasy.

“The more people, the more you earn. Open up!”

“You’re not the one taking the risk…”

The old man grunted, but let them in. He wore a vest and a patched blue work uniform, and led the way with practiced ease.

The huge textile factory was eerily empty at night. He led them to a warehouse door. “Be quick, you can’t stay long.”

“Understood, understood!”

The old man took them inside, while Brother Thompson kept watch outside.