A tractor wobbled down the village road, the driver clenching a pipe between his teeth. While controlling the steering wheel with both hands, his cheeks puffed and shrank, matching the rhythm of smoke puffing from both his nose and the engine.
Occasionally, he'd pass villagers heading home with farming tools after finishing fieldwork. When they waved and called him "Big Smoking Gun," he'd respond with a lukewarm nod, putting on airs more than the mayor inspecting the countryside.
Big Smoking Gun was lazy since childhood. During the times when the brigade earned work points, he often slacked off, earning less by year-end than a new mother did with her newborn.
Back then, his parents supported him. They toiled bitterly, nurturing their unruly son and even arranged a marriage for him with a widow.
But soon after he had a son, his parents fell ill and died, and without their labor, life became unsustainable.
Before his wife could leave, Big Smoking Gun fled first, moving to the county, claiming to seek wealth. He barely returned twice a year, and eventually, his wife left their child and remarried.
Though his father was unreliable, the child was pitiful. Little Smoking Gun grew up fed by the villagers, and as he matured, he repaid them in every way he could. Petty theft and burglary were frequent, and being in juvenile detention felt like home.
Upon reaching adulthood, lamenting the high costs of crime, his long-absent father miraculously returned.
Big Smoking Gun and Little Smoking Gun embraced, bawling, reuniting perfectly.
Afterwards, their lives took a turn for the better; Big Smoking Gun bought a tractor. Unwilling to lend it to villagers or undertake construction work, he went out for long hauls only once or twice monthly, spending the rest of the time indulging at home, and then enjoying themselves together at town massage parlors, often becoming close friends.
"Dad, shall we have a drink at home?"
Little Smoking Gun sat at the back of the tractor, covered in straw.
"Better not, smelling of alcohol won't be good. Our good life depends on this job."
"Just one sip, I'm craving. This job loaded too many bags, taking forever; can't hold it anymore. Plus, won't get inside until late night later."
Big Smoking Gun glanced at his trembling right hand, moving it off the steering wheel, the shaking persisted.
"Alright then."
Big Smoking Gun drove the tractor into his yard.
Little Smoking Gun went inside, bringing out wine and leftover cooked food, setting a table in the yard.
Big Smoking Gun went to the back of the tractor, uncovering straw to reveal four burlap sacks. Sensing the outside commotion, the sacks began moving, emitting muffled sounds.
"Heh heh."
Seeing the goods were fine and still capable of moving, Big Smoking Gun felt at ease, covering the sacks back with straw and joining his son for drinks.
"Slap!"
A whip cracked through the air; Big and Little Smoking Gun felt their necks tighten, their faces forcibly pressed against each other.
Underneath several wraps, their heads became hive-shaped.
Yin Meng walked in, ready to strike again but was halted by Tan Wenbin's reminder:
"Spicy Girl, don't be reckless."
Yin Meng paused, pulling salted plums from her pocket and tossing one into her mouth.
Tan Wenbin said, "White Crane, check the goods."
"Got it."
Lin Shuyou went to the back of the tractor, uncovering straw to find the four burlap sacks.
Lowering his head then raising it, his face automatically revealed a white crane mask, concealing his true identity.
The sacks were tightly knotted, too troublesome to untie, so Lin Shuyou lifted a golden mace, striking each sack with perfect force, breaking them without harming the "goods" inside.
The "goods" emerged: two young men and women, hands bound behind, legs and mouths wrapped thickly with black tape.
Lin Shuyou said, "Brother Zhuangzhuang, goods are fine."
Tan Wenbin replied, "Okay, Spicy Girl, you can be reckless now."
Yin Meng folded the plum bag back in her pocket, stepping before the father and son.
Their heads were wrapped together, but arms and legs still squirmed in struggle.
Yin Meng bent to pick up the whip's end, boot pressing where their heads joined, forcefully pulling the whip.
Intense suffocation overwhelmed them, and they fiercely struggled.
"Ptui."
Yin Meng spat out a plum shell.
The father and son simultaneously kicked, strangled to death.
The whole process was calm; after all, it was human traffickers being killed, more joyous than slaughtering the year pigs.
Tan Wenbin said, "White Crane, move them inside."
Lin Shuyou moved the tractor's four people inside two by two, intentionally turning their backs to everyone.
Once inside, he first freed their original bindings, then tied them with his own ropes.
Partway through, a girl pleaded with Lin Shuyou for mercy, promising anything if he spared her.
Lin Shuyou ignored her.
One boy tried to flee immediately after being freed, but Lin Shuyou reached out, pulling him back, seating him firmly on the ground, pain bringing tears.
All four were bound by one rope, the other end knotted by Lin Shuyou, anchored on the opposite side, below standing a lit candle.
It's the Corpse Recovery Diver's usual Yin-Yang knot, linking oneself with Deadman tied together, releasing one end loosens the other.
