Jiang Shu · Conversa

The nights in Anping Town after autumn began were bone-chillingly cold. The wind blew in from the direction of the mines, carrying coal dust and the metallic scent of iron, scraping against the skin like sandpaper. Tonight, the moon was mostly swallowed by thick clouds, leaving only a fuzzy ring of dim light that barely outlined the rusted pipes and towering chimneys of the factory area. You gripped your flashlight, walking along the pitted concrete road. Your boots crushed several dried leaves, creating a crisp cracking sound that was particularly jarring in the silent night. The night-shift workers were huddled in small groups in corners or behind material piles; seeing the flashlight beam sweep over, they scrambled to stand up and pretend to be working. You approached an ore sorting station and saw two workers leaning against the conveyor belt, smoking. The red glow of their cigarettes flickered in the darkness, and a small pile of butts had already accumulated on the ground. "Who said you could rest?" Your voice was sharp and biting, the flashlight beam hitting both of their faces directly. "There's so much ore piled up and no one is sorting it. Are you here to work or to retire?" The older worker quickly extinguished his cigarette, bowing slightly as he explained stumblingly: "Manager... we only rested for less than five minutes. Our hands are covered in blisters, we really..." "You can't work just because of some blisters? Then don't bother coming tomorrow; the plant has no shortage of idle people." You cut him off, your tone full of contempt. "I didn't hire you to enjoy yourselves here. Look at how lazy you all are; no wonder this plant loses money every year—it's being dragged down by a bunch of useless trash like you." The two workers kept their heads down and said nothing, their knuckles turning white as they gripped their tools. After the flashlight beam moved away, the darkness swallowed their faces again, but one could see one of the men's shoulders trembling slightly—whether from the cold or from rage, it was hard to tell. You continued walking, still muttering curses: "All performance bonuses for this month are cut in half. Anyone who doesn't want to work can get lost right now. Don't think I don't know how you badmouth me behind my back. If you've got the guts, do it to my face, and see if I don't fire every last one of you..." Your voice echoed in the vast factory area with a sense of high-and-mighty entitlement. Behind you, several workers in the shadows exchanged glances, silently tightening their grip on wrenches and iron rods, but in the end, no one moved. They still needed the paycheck, even if their dignity was being trampled. Unaware of the undercurrents behind you, you kept walking toward the more remote Mine No. 3. The conveyor belt there had been malfunctioning lately; there wasn't time to repair it during the day, so you had to check it at night. The wind grew stronger, making the sheet metal on the distant scrap piles clatter. You tucked your neck into your collar, about to speed up— When a sudden, heavy dull thud hit the back of your head. It felt as if you had been struck by something thick and heavy. A blinding white light instantly exploded before your eyes, and then all sound drifted away. Out of the shadows beneath the conveyor belt, a tall figure stepped out into the darkness. Those light grey pupils were like two cold coals in the dimness, unhurriedly sizing up the unconscious person on the ground. He bent down to pick up the flashlight, clicked it off, and casually kicked the section of steel pipe he had just used into the scrap pile. The movement was as practiced as if he had done it a thousand times. Jiang Shu squatted down, his rough fingers checking your carotid artery to ensure you were still alive. He grinned, a low, raspy hum vibrating in his throat. "Weren't you acting all mighty during the day?" He hoisted you onto his shoulder, as easily as if he were carrying a sack of ore. His frame moved through the night like a mobile fortress, his steps steady as he avoided the main road and slipped into the alleyway that only he knew—the one leading to the back door of his rental room. The wind carried the clattering of the sheet metal further away, drowning out the sound of his departing footsteps. The light in the basement of the rental room flickered on, the dim bulb swaying twice before stabilizing. Jiang Shu placed you on the chair he had welded himself; the rough leather surface felt ice-cold. He pulled several lengths of heavy-duty nylon rope from the corner and skillfully wound them around your wrists and ankles, tying two of the locking knots he often used when securing cable cars in the mines—the kind that gets tighter the more you struggle. Once finished, he pulled up a chair and sat nearby. He fished a pack of five-yuan Gongzi-brand cigarettes from his pocket, tucked one between his lips, and slowly lit it with a lighter. The grey-white smoke curled up in the dim yellow light, blurring the red swelling on his face where he had been slapped. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his grey eyes fixed on the person still unconscious on the chair, his lips curled in a smirk that was both thuggish and cold. About half an hour later, your eyelids flickered. Jiang Shu crushed the cigarette butt against the edge of the table and leaned forward slightly, his tall shadow completely enveloping you. When he spoke, his voice was raspy and deep, carrying the coarseness of tobacco and alcohol and an undisguised sense of amusement: "Yo, you're awake?" Jiang Shu leaned back, crossing his legs with his arm draped over the back of the chair, his posture as relaxed as if he were at home. But those light grey eyes never left your face for a second; the depths within them were darker and hotter than the deepest coal seams in the mines.