Chapter Twelve: Compensation of One Hundred Thousand

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Zhuo Nan had made a very good impression on Lan Qian. In her eyes, he was an endearing young man, merely the victim of a setup. Although Zhuo Nan shouldn’t have hit anyone, if things truly were as he said—if someone had harassed a female classmate first—then the situation took on a different light. In fact, what Lan Qian admired most about Zhuo Nan was precisely this: regardless of whether the girl was his girlfriend, his act of standing up for others, his chivalry, was commendable. Of course, violence could never be condoned.

That was why Lan Qian had summoned both families to the detective squad today, hoping to mediate and settle the matter privately. Wang Zhenguo sat grandly across from her desk, a cigarette between his fingers—though she couldn’t make out the brand, he seemed the type who wouldn’t settle for anything cheap. He blustered, “Officer Lan, I will not agree to a private settlement. He hit my son and must face legal consequences.”

Consequences? Over such a minor incident, you want to punish a mere child? Lan Qian felt her temper flare just looking at him. She’d already learned about both families’ backgrounds: Wang’s family were classic bullies. Beside him, Zhuo Wengang stood in silence, the very picture of honest simplicity, which stirred a pang of sympathy in Lan Qian—reminding her of Zhuo Nan in the detention cell.

“Put out the cigarette,” Lan Qian said, her voice cold as ice.

Wang Zhenguo didn’t catch it at first. Impatiently, he asked, “What did you say?” He’d been eyeing Lan Qian since he arrived, thinking what a pretty policewoman she was.

“I said put out the cigarette. Did you hear me clearly now?” Wang Zhenguo shuddered at the look in Lan Qian’s eyes.

He might be a factory director, but that only counted inside his own factory. Here at the detective squad, he dared not act out of line. Not seeing an ashtray on the desk, he glanced around. Zhuo Wengang immediately noticed one on a neighboring desk and brought it over, bowing as he offered it. “Director Wang, the ashtray.”

Wang Zhenguo didn’t even look at him, snorting coldly as he prepared to stub out his cigarette. Lan Qian, who had been watching everything with a frosty gaze, spoke up: “Put the ashtray back. Let him fetch it himself. Don’t try to curry favor in front of me.”

Zhuo Wengang was left holding the ashtray, unsure what to do. Wang Zhenguo’s cigarette hovered over it, suspended in midair. Now he understood—this pretty policewoman was picking a fight with him on purpose.

“Young lady, what’s your game? I’m friends with Chief Liu here. Can’t you show me a little respect?” Wang Zhenguo withdrew the half-smoked cigarette, took a leisurely puff, and blew a smoke ring.

Chief Liu was the head of the detective squad and Lan Qian’s direct superior. Ordinarily, with Wang Zhenguo invoking Liu’s name, Lan Qian might have been expected to relent. But Lan Qian was not one to be cowed by the likes of a mere team leader. The answer, of course, was a resounding no.

Wang Zhenguo had expected Lan Qian to apologize at once, but the outcome caught him completely off guard. “Mr. Wang Zhenguo, I’ll give you three seconds to put out that cigarette, or I’ll charge you with obstructing official duties—twenty-four hours in the holding cell, and there’s someone inside just waiting for you.” Lan Qian’s words were icy, especially the last part, which sent a chill down Wang Zhenguo’s spine.

He knew that when the police decided to make things difficult, there was nothing they wouldn’t try. Still, as the deputy director, he couldn’t just lose face like this. “Young lady, don’t push your luck. I’m calling Old Liu right now to file a complaint.”

Lan Qian watched coldly as he pulled out his brick-sized phone and dialed. As the call connected, Wang Zhenguo shot her a triumphant look. “Old Liu, it’s Wang Zhenguo. Where are you?”

“Oh, Old Wang, I’m out right now. Where are you?”

“I’m at your squad. What’s with this Lan Qian? She’s giving me trouble for no reason—come back and see for yourself, what’s going on here?” Clearly, Wang Zhenguo and Chief Liu were on familiar terms.

But Chief Liu, upon hearing this, was instantly weary. His eyes darted as he quickly thought of a plan: “Hello… hello… Old Wang, can you hear me? Hello… hello…” The line went dead.

He hung up, let out a long breath, and immediately turned off his phone, feeling a little sorry for Wang Zhenguo. “Old Wang, it’s not that I won’t help you, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Hello, hello… Old Liu, Old—” Wang Zhenguo cursed the lousy signal, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He dialed again, only to hear the automated message that the phone had been switched off. That deflated him considerably.

He forced himself to seem calm, turning to Lan Qian. “I’ve spoken to your Chief Liu. He’ll be back soon.”

Lan Qian stared at him coolly, utterly unmoved. “I’ll give you one more chance. Go put out that cigarette now.”

Pressure—real, crushing pressure. Deputy Director Wang had never been subjected to such an oppressive atmosphere. Though the weather wasn’t hot, sweat was already beading on his forehead.

Lan Qian gave him no time to stall. “I’ll count to three. If you haven’t put it out by then, you’re going to the holding cell. One… two…” Zhuo Wengang had already put the ashtray back; he realized this policewoman had it in for Director Wang, and couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration.

Just as Lan Qian was about to say “three,” Wang Zhenguo moved faster than her words. His rotund body shot up from the chair, and he rushed to the next desk to stub out his cigarette—so quickly he nearly tripped, but Zhuo Wengang caught him in time.

Lan Qian had put him in his place. Now he was much meeker, sitting across from her with none of his previous swagger. Lan Qian smiled to herself; sometimes, you had to remind people there was still law and order in the world.

“Master Zhuo, pull up a chair and have a seat,” Lan Qian said, feeling a bit bad that Zhuo Wengang had been standing all this time.

But Zhuo Wengang replied, “Thank you, officer, but I’m fine standing.”

Seeing how honest he was, Lan Qian said nothing further, though the little detail only deepened her contempt for Wang Zhenguo.

After confirming the facts with both parties, Lan Qian spoke: “Our squad’s recommendation is mediation—compensation for Wang Yu’s medical and nutritional expenses, with the specific amount to be negotiated by your families. If you insist on pressing charges, we’ll forward the case file to the court. But let me stress, this isn’t a serious matter. Even if it goes to court, the result will be the same. Our suggestion is for your sake—lawsuits cost both time and money.”

Wang Zhenguo now saw clearly that this policewoman was determined to help the Zhuo family—her attitude from the start and the mediation proposal made that obvious. Well, if that’s how Zhuo Wengang wanted to play, Wang Zhenguo was happy to oblige. He’d win the lawsuit easily enough—Zhuo Nan had indeed hurt his son—but this way, he could make things even more difficult.

If it was about money, then fine—he’d demand a hundred thousand up front. If Zhuo Wengang couldn’t pay, they’d go to court, where he’d get less, but at least that brat Zhuo Nan would spend more time inside. The thought pleased Wang Zhenguo immensely.

His mind full of schemes, Wang Zhenguo gave Zhuo Nan a wicked grin. Zhuo Wengang, seeing that smile, knew nothing good would come of it. “Wengang, since the officer has offered, let’s settle this privately. Medical, nutrition, and psychological damages—just give me a hundred thousand.”

He said it so lightly, it nearly made Zhuo Wengang collapse with shock. A hundred thousand—where would he get it?

At this moment, Lan Qian dearly wished she could kick Fat Wang, press a gun to his head, and shout, “You have the nerve to name such a price in front of me? Believe it or not, I’ll blow your brains out!”

But alas, Lan Qian could only imagine the scene. Not only was it against the law, but her own refined demeanor wouldn’t allow it.

She glared at Wang Zhenguo, wishing she could shoot him on the spot. Their eyes met, and she found him even more insufferable—especially as he kept sneaking glances at her, clearly a provocation. But since the idea of a private settlement had been hers, she couldn’t intervene in the compensation negotiations.

Zhuo Wengang hated Wang Zhenguo with all his heart. It was one thing to be bullied at the factory for being honest, but to be asked for a hundred thousand over a schoolyard fight—this was outright extortion.

No matter what, he had to negotiate. “Director Wang, don’t you think that’s a bit much? You know how hard things are for Liru and me, with both kids still in school.”

His words were sincere, and Lan Qian felt pity for him. Indeed, at first glance, Zhuo Wengang was clearly an honest man, the sort usually bullied. Now, it was happening again, but there was nothing Lan Qian could do—overstepping her authority was out of the question.

“Wengang, what do you mean by that? Are you saying it’s my fault as director that your life is hard?” Wang Zhenguo now displayed his officialdom.

“No, Director Wang, that’s not what I meant. Life really is difficult at home.”

“Your difficulties aren’t my concern. My son was seriously injured by your boy—one hundred thousand isn’t excessive. The college entrance exams are in three months. If this affects my son’s performance and he doesn’t make it into a good school, you couldn’t compensate me enough.”

“In your dreams. Your son’s not college material anyway,” Zhuo Wengang cursed inwardly. He was about to say more, but Wang Zhenguo cut him off: “That’s enough. One hundred thousand, not a penny less. Otherwise, we’ll see each other in court.”

Then he turned to Lan Qian. “Officer, we’re done here, yes? May I go?”

Lan Qian had long wanted to kick him straight to Iraq to be cannon fodder. She couldn’t even be bothered to look at him. “Yes, you may go.”

Fat Wang stood, patted Zhuo Wengang on the shoulder. “Wengang, that’s settled—pay up and I’ll drop the charges.” With that, he strode toward the door, lit another cigarette just before leaving, and glanced back at Lan Qian.

A blatant, naked provocation. Lan Qian clenched her petite fists, burning Wang Zhenguo’s name into her memory. “You lard-bucket, you’d better pray you never fall into my hands!”