"I did not do it on purpose!"
"Then apologize. Is saying sorry really that difficult for you?"
"For a tiny bump? What kind of apology do you want? Are you made of porcelain?"
"Damn you!"
"What, you want to fight?"
The four Embroidered Uniform Guards exploded into motion as if the argument had truly ignited something personal. Fists swung wildly, boots scraped against dirt, curses flew in all directions. They shoved, grappled, and howled like street toughs, drawing immediate attention.
Workers from every direction rushed over. Within moments a thick circle formed around the brawlers, dozens upon dozens of factory hands craning their necks, shouting encouragement, or yelling for them to stop. Dust rose. The noise swelled.
Commander Mi barked sharply from behind the chaos. "Move."
The Embroidered Uniform Guard who had been assigned the heaviest labor the previous day slipped out from his dormitory at once. Shielded by two comrades who staggered sideways as if trying to break up the fight, he dropped into a crouch and slid into the flowerbeds beside the building.
He crawled on all fours for several yards, dirt staining his sleeves, then rose behind the trunk of a broad tree. He waited half a breath, listening. No shout. No alarm. He lowered himself again and crept into a drainage ditch, using its shallow depression to conceal his advance.
In a few heartbeats, he vanished from sight.
Across the small copse of trees, one of Bin Sheng's Labor Models stiffened, his instincts prickling.
"This is not good," he whispered urgently to his companion. "I just saw three of them near the dormitory entrance. The commotion pulled my eyes away for a moment. When I looked back, there were only two."
The other Labor Model's expression hardened. "You stay here. I will search."
He dropped low and slipped into the woods, moving with controlled precision. Branches barely rustled as he circled toward the rear of the guesthouse.
By then, the Embroidered Uniform Guard had already reached it.
He examined the window quickly. No visible lock worth mentioning. With a practiced motion he eased it open and slid inside, landing silently on the wooden floor. He moved straight to the table.
Brush. Ink. Paper. Inkstone.
The writings were still there.
He gathered the pages and scanned them rapidly.
"The people are the foundation of the state. Governance must align with the people's will. Laws despised by the populace must not be enforced by force, lest resentment accumulate."
His eyes widened slightly.
"The rise of a nation depends on the people's support. Without trust, a person cannot stand. Without integrity, a business cannot endure."
His breathing grew heavier.
"Advanced productivity will determine the development of production relations."
He frowned in confusion, not fully grasping the terminology, yet sensing its significance.
"Igniting the enthusiasm of laborers is more effective than compelling them with blades. Those in power should understand this."
His fingers tightened around the paper.
"Clean governance cannot rely solely on moral exhortation. It requires institutional checks. Financial authority must be divided. The cashier handles funds, the accountant records them. The one who records must not control. The one who controls must not record."
His pulse began to hammer in his ears.
"The authority of a county magistrate is too concentrated. Power must be delegated. Legal advisors should be integrated into the official system to share authority and prevent monopolization. If so, is the emperor's power also too vast? Collective governance may need to be introduced…"
The Embroidered Uniform Guard felt as though thunder had struck him.
"This… this is not idle reflection," he muttered hoarsely. "This is the blueprint of rule. He is not studying governance for loyalty. He is planning to replace the one who governs."
In his mind the conclusion formed with terrifying clarity.
Zhu Yujian had raised troops before. Zhu Yujian was now surrounded by a massive ironworks factory capable of producing endless metal goods. Just yesterday he himself had transported a cart of iron plates.
Iron plates.
Armor.
Weapons.
An arsenal disguised as industry.
Cold sweat slid down his back.
This was no simple mission to monitor a deposed prince. This was treason. A rebellion in preparation.
And he was alone inside the lion's den.
He shoved the papers into his tunic without hesitation. There was no time to copy. No time to hesitate. He must bring this evidence back.
He pushed open the window and dropped lightly to the ground.
The instant his boots touched earth, he froze.
A Labor Model stood directly before him.
The man's expression was calm but his eyes were sharp.
"What are you doing here?" the Labor Model asked evenly. "This is the guesthouse. Guests stay here. You are a new worker. Why are you inside?"
The Embroidered Uniform Guard forced his voice steady. "I noticed the building looked different. I was curious."
The Labor Model's gaze lowered.
A sliver of paper protruded from the seam of the Guard's clothing.
The Labor Model's lips curved faintly. "Curious enough to steal documents? What did you take? What faction do you belong to?"
The Guard moved instantly.
His left fist shot forward toward the man's face. At the same time a small dagger slid from his right sleeve into his palm, reversing into a deadly grip. The blade followed the punch, aiming for the heart.
The Labor Model was already prepared.
His left hand snapped upward, striking aside the fist with a sharp crack. In the same motion, a dagger slipped from his own sleeve, thrusting toward the Guard's ribs.
Steel flashed.
Both men shifted their weight at the last possible instant, narrowly avoiding lethal contact. They separated by half a step, eyes locked.
A skilled opponent.
They reached that conclusion simultaneously.
The Embroidered Uniform Guard knew better than to shout for help. Commander Mi had been clear. If exposed, he was on his own. There would be no rescue.
The Labor Model, however, stood on home ground.
"Spy!" he shouted at full volume. "Get help!"
The word struck like a bell tolling doom.
The Guard did not hesitate. He hurled himself sideways, rolling hard across the dirt. In the midst of the roll, he slipped one sheet of paper from his tunic and rammed it into a narrow crevice between stones near the base of the building.
Another roll carried him upright. He bolted.
"Stop!" the Labor Model roared, sprinting after him with astonishing speed.
They tore across open ground. Shouts rose behind them. Workers dropped tools and gave chase. Security personnel converged. The alarm spread like wildfire.
Within minutes the fleeing Guard was overwhelmed, forced to the ground under sheer numbers. His arms were twisted behind him, rope biting into his wrists and ankles.
He struggled only once, then went still.
What none of them noticed was Commander Mi slipping quietly to the very spot where the Guard had rolled. He crouched as if examining disturbed earth, fingers probing the stones.
A folded sheet met his touch.
He retrieved it and moved away without attracting attention.
Back in his dormitory, he unfolded the page and read.
His breath caught.
"So his ambition truly reaches the heavens," he murmured. "This is no minor suspicion. This is open intent."
He lifted his head, eyes blazing with a mixture of fear and resolve.
"Our mission has changed," he told his men. "We are no longer here to apprehend Zhu Yujian. We must leave this place alive and carry this intelligence back to the capital. What we have uncovered is a conspiracy of rebellion."
The room fell silent.
"From this moment," Commander Mi continued, voice steady but grave, "your only objective is survival. If necessary, you abandon one another. If necessary, you discard pride. But you must live and return to the capital. The Emperor must know."
The Embroidered Uniform Guards straightened despite the tension gripping their chests.
"To repay the Emperor's grace," they answered in unison.
Commander Mi nodded once.
"Disperse. Escape by any means. Leave the Chang'an Automobile Factory. Leave Xi'an. Prove your worth now."
Outside, the factory continued its morning routine, smoke rising peacefully into the sky, unaware that beneath its orderly surface the gears of suspicion, fear, and impending collision had begun to turn.