Cen Xiao wasn’t in a hurry to visit Meijiang Pharmaceuticals for an on-site investigation. He knew that the Blue Pivot’s internal network likely included informants from Meijiang Pharmaceuticals. The company would be aware of the Ghost Eye Group’s movements—when they planned to visit and who would go—allowing them to erase any traces in advance.
For the next two months, Cen Xiao focused on interviewing victims of Yuanhesheng’s deleted reviews.
However, his own schoolwork restricted his mobility, so he had to rely on his team of five to frequently travel for these interviews.
The process was grueling. Even with addresses and contact details provided by Jian Fu, many victims had already passed away. Their complaints, fury, and grief had disappeared with them, and the internet had erased their final cries for help.
Some victims had long since relocated. Tracking down their new addresses was another arduous journey. Moreover, under Han Jiang’s leadership, the Ghost Eye Group had grown increasingly removed from ordinary people, creating a vast chasm between them. Many had never even heard of the Blue Pivot District Nine or the Ghost Eye Group, assuming Cen Xiao’s team were scammers and refusing to communicate.
Others were unwilling to revisit the matter, as their loved ones were gone, leaving them with no emotional attachment. Years of toil had left them physically and mentally exhausted, and they were unwilling to spend more energy on a cause with no personal benefit. Some remaining patients remained unaware of the issues; the families neither could nor wanted to intervene. “If one cannot help oneself, one cannot demand justice from others.”
Even more were resigned to the reality that “the arm cannot wrestle the thigh.” Though angry and pained, they lacked legal knowledge, had no evidence preserved, and were left with nothing but frustration and complaints—none of which could stand in court. Meijiang Pharmaceuticals could even counter-sue for defamation.
Others, silenced and restricted online, had struggled for months before giving up. As public attention waned and onlookers were distracted by fresher scandals, the remaining victims were abandoned to solitude, stranded as if at the world’s end. Even Jian Fu could only access their last online traces—many of which were outdated or incorrect.
This grim reality allowed Meijiang Pharmaceuticals to rake in profits with impunity, keeping Yuanhesheng, a drug long under scrutiny, in circulation.
If not for Han Jiang’s bruised ego and his insistence on investigating Meijiang Pharmaceuticals, the Ghost Eye Group wouldn’t have been involved at all. In the sea of humanity, the victims would have been buried without a trace.
***
Inside District Nine’s Conference Room
Yu Fuyan rubbed his tired eyes after poring over documents. “Captain, I heard Captain Du went to Meijiang Pharmaceuticals.”
Du Mingli’s investigation progress was tightly sealed, and Yu Fuyan only learned of the visit after his return.
Cen Xiao had already anticipated this. “Yes.”
He knew Du Mingli’s trip would be fruitless. The other side had prepared in advance, treating Du Mingli to a series of extravagant banquets and even attempting to drag him to a nightclub. Enraged, Du Mingli stormed back to the city.
Leaks were inevitable.
Even though Du Mingli doubled down on restricting information upon his return, he still had to report to Han Jiang and coordinate with other auxiliary groups in District Nine. As information changed hands repeatedly, leaks were unavoidable.
Meijiang Pharmaceuticals wasn’t counting on making money during these few months; they were simply biding time until the Sixth District’s restrictions expired, freeing them from the Blue Pivot Association’s regulations.
By then, if Du Mingli revisited, he might not even get an invitation to dinner, let alone find evidence.
Cen Xiao couldn’t guarantee that his own investigation hadn’t been compromised, but during these two months, Meijiang Pharmaceuticals’ CEO, He Dayong, a prominent figure in Yangshi’s business circle, had attended numerous events. These included the National Pharmaceutical Exchange Conference, the Drug Development and Future Prospects Forum, the Entrepreneurial Genesis Salon, and the “Civilized Technology, Ethical Progress” Expo.
At every event, He Dayong posed confidently for group photos. His bloated frame inevitably occupied a conspicuous portion of the image, and these photos were proudly displayed on glossy honor walls to signify the events’ success.
Judging by his demeanor, it was clear that the Ghost Eye Group’s investigation hadn’t fazed him. On the contrary, he seemed to silently mock them with his victorious stance.
Geng An burst into the conference room, striding in with a sweaty brow and bloodshot eyes from sleepless nights. “The drug test results are in—they comply with regulations.”
Geng An had sourced Yuanhesheng samples from various hospitals, collecting twenty in total for testing. The results, however, left him disappointed.
But Cen Xiao wasn’t surprised.
If the tests had shown irregularities, Du Mingli would have taken decisive action long ago instead of returning empty-handed.
With Sixth District President Jiang Zhong in the mix, Meijiang Pharmaceuticals would have been warned well in advance, ensuring the latest batches were flawless. Once they weathered this storm, they could resume cutting costs and reducing quality without oversight.
Based on the internal information they received, Meijiang Pharmaceuticals had slashed two production lines for Yuanhesheng since September of last year, drastically reducing output. Only one line remains operational, seemingly as a token gesture rather than a full withdrawal from the market.
This indicates that, in their view, Yuanhesheng is no longer profitable, and reducing production is merely a strategy to minimize losses.
In reality, Yuanhesheng only exposed a fragment of Meijiang Pharmaceuticals’ non-compliance with drug quality standards. Now, even that fragment has been meticulously patched up.
Yu Fuyan sighed as he looked at the test results. “Clearly, the new batch of drugs meets the standards. If Meijiang Pharmaceuticals could always maintain this level of quality, it would be acceptable.”
But evidently, they cannot. The vortex of profit is the most fearsome, capable of grinding any conscience to dust.
Geng An leaned on the table with one hand, rubbing his increasingly receding hairline, and suddenly brightened up. “Old stock! We can test last year’s old stock. They couldn’t possibly have retroactively fixed those!”
Before Cen Xiao could respond, Li Rong’s voice came from the computer screen in front of him: “Old stock is indeed non-compliant, but Yuanhesheng has a one-year shelf life. Since they cut down two production lines last September, the remaining batches are compliant. Any old stock would now be expired, and its substandard efficacy can easily be blamed on the active ingredients degrading over time.”
Only then did Geng An notice that Cen Xiao had been on a call with the handsome younger student the entire time, and that the progress of their investigation was being closely monitored by him.
Yet, Cen Xiao had never reported Li Rong’s involvement in the investigation to Han Jiang.
Initially, when Geng An learned that Li Rong had just entered A Universitynd was in Zhang Zhaohe’s class, he found it unbelievable.
However, after working together for some time, he discovered how knowledgeable Li Rong was. Without his guidance, they would have wasted much more time on basic research about the industry.
With his years of corporate instinct, Geng An felt that Li Rong’s expertise exceeded that of some of his own college peers. How could someone like him end up in Zhang Zhaohe’s class? Had A University raised its admission standards significantly in recent years?
Sighing, Geng An instinctively addressed Cen Xiao’s computer. “But it’s hard to find old stock now. Expired drugs are usually disposed of by hospital pharmacies. They might only be available in remote towns or shady pharmacies.”
Yu Fuyan adjusted his glasses, looking worried. “Does that mean we’re out of options?”
Li Rong was silent for a moment before responding slowly. “We still need to find old stock for testing. Even if it doesn’t serve as the strongest evidence, we need to determine just how non-compliant it was.”
Rubbing his sleep-deprived, swollen face, Geng An added, “I’ve visited several hospitals and asked classmates still in the industry, but none of them have last year’s Yuanhesheng. If it comes to it, I’ll search the small pharmacies in the suburbs. But prescription drugs are hard to get.”
Li Rong suggested, “Patients. Some patients are bound to have kept some. Even if it’s expired, elderly family members often hesitate to throw it away.”
Cen Xiao asked, “How’s the search going for the others?”
Suddenly, Yu Fuyan sat up straight, his eyes lighting up.
He pushed his glasses and slid his computer over to Cen Xiao. “Brother Yan just sent an email. They’ve found a new victim who works in education and has preserved all the evidence, including old Yuanhesheng stock!”
Li Rong paused for a moment. “Forward it to me.”
Standing in the corridor, leaning against the windowsill, Li Rong listened to the faint hum of wind blowing through the window frames, mingling with the faint sounds of a lecture from a nearby classroom—an ordinary afternoon soundscape.
The victim’s name was Hu Qijiang, a well-educated teacher who graduated from a prestigious university.
Diagnosed with a hereditary mental illness two years ago, he began taking Yuanhesheng under his doctor’s guidance. However, his condition didn’t improve; instead, it fluctuated. His wife, unable to cope, divorced him, and his school, citing concerns for student safety, gently let him go.
Devastated by blows to both his personal and professional life, Hu Qijiang searched online and discovered numerous complaints about Yuanhesheng’s ineffectiveness, all of which had been deleted.
Naturally, he suspected the drug was to blame for his misfortunes. His anger drove him to post radical comments online.
Unexpectedly, Meijiang Pharmaceuticals sued him for disrupting business operations and malicious defamation, and their formidable legal team succeeded in getting him fined 30,000 yuan.
Crushed mentally and financially, Hu Qijiang’s condition deteriorated, pushing him close to a breaking point. Fortunately, a fellow patient recommended a slightly more expensive alternative drug, which finally stabilized his condition.
Experiencing the effectiveness of another medication only confirmed his belief that Yuanhesheng had serious issues.
He considered suing Meijiang Pharmaceuticals but knew he couldn’t match their legal team. Unable to afford a renowned lawyer and dissuaded by others about his chances, he chose not to pursue the matter.
Despite recognizing his limitations, he kept all his evidence, unsure of when it might be useful.
Brother Yan’s email included photos of two boxes of old Yuanhesheng. Both were unopened but past their expiration date.
Hu Qijiang, having heard of Blue Pivot District 9 and the Ghost Eye Group, decided to trust them and handed over his evidence to Brother Yan.
In a few days, Brother Yan would return with the old stock for retesting.
Li Rong placed his laptop on the corridor balcony, bending over to zoom in on the photos of Yuanhesheng’s old stock.
Yuanhesheng, a tablet medication, was relatively stable compared to liquid drugs. Its one-year shelf life seemed unusually short, as two to three years would have been normal.
The packaging, a blue-and-white box, stated that each box contained 20 oval-shaped tablets, about the size of a fingernail. According to the drug’s instructions, patients were to take one tablet daily.
Victims on the internet claimed that sometimes even taking three pills daily didn’t work. Of course, everyone initially suspected the problem laid with themselves.
Cen Xiao picked up his phone and sent a voice message to Jian Fu in their small five-person group chat: “Meijiang Pharmaceuticals has always had a professional public opinion monitoring team capable of promptly handling unfavorable information. If you’re free, look for other deleted comments, even ones unrelated to Yuanhesheng. See if you can find a new breakthrough.”
[Jian Fu: …..Brother, to be honest, District 1 almost thinks my dad has abdicated his position to me. They’re about to start reporting to me weekly.]
[Lin Zhen: Keep it up. In the scripts we practice, every crown prince eventually treads the path of seizing power.]
[Jian Fu: And every usurping prince has an unscrupulous minister or a favored concubine by their side.]
[Ji Xiaochuan: Brother Lin, what role do you usually play?]
[Jian Fu: The favoured concubine.]
[Lin Zhen:…Get lost.]
Cen Xiao asked calmly, “You’re still in class, right?”
When he talked to Jian Fu, his tone was decisive and cool. But when he turned to Li Rong, his voice softened involuntarily.
Li Rong, who had been tense, felt more relaxed after watching Jian Fu and Lin Zhen banter in the group chat.
Putting down his phone, Li Rong turned his attention back to the computer screen. His gaze unconsciously focused on a particular spot, and he furrowed his brow.
Li Rong enlarged the photo several times and leaned closer to the screen for a careful look.
“Cen Xiao! Look at the Yuanhesheng pills—is there something printed on them?”
The packaging box had a clear image of the pills, though small and not easy to notice.
Only upon close examination could one spot the galloping horse logo on the oval pills.
Cen Xiao, alerted by Li Rong, also put down his phone and carefully examined the screen.
Yu Fuyan and Geng An, still puzzled, also opened their computers to scrutinize the two ordinary pill packaging boxes.
Indeed, there was a horse logo printed on the pills. Upon closer inspection, both boxes had identical horse designs, but there were subtle color differences.
Cen Xiao spoke in a deep voice, “One box has a white logo that’s almost invisible, while the other has a gray one that’s slightly more distinct.”
Yu Fuyan nearly pushed his glasses into his face, but after staring for ages, he remained confused. “I can’t see anything.”
Geng An added, “I can see it, but if I weren’t paying close attention, I’d think it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.”
Li Rong replied seriously, “Different people have varying sensitivity to colors. Ask Hu Qijiang over there if there’s any price difference between these two pills.”
After two months, Yu Fuyan and Geng An had come to treat Li Rong’s words as equivalent to Cen Xiao’s commands.
Yu Fuyan quickly called Brother Yan.
Brother Yan, already en route to the airport with evidence, promptly contacted Hu Qijiang upon hearing Yu Fuyan’s explanation.
After a while, Brother Yan relayed a message:
“There’s no price difference. Hu Qijiang himself didn’t even notice the logo’s color variation. He bought both boxes at the same time, so it might just be a difference in production batches, causing slight discrepancies in the pills.”
But Li Rong felt it wasn’t that simple.
Pharmaceutical production lines are typically standardized, and since patients don’t judge pills by their appearance, there was no reason for Meijiang Pharmaceuticals to create two different versions.
Li Rong glanced at the time.
He’d used a stomachache as an excuse to leave for nearly an hour; any longer would be hard to justify.
Li Rong said, “Let’s put this aside for now and wait for the old drug testing results.” He hesitated briefly, then softly reminded Cen Xiao, “This period’s lecture is by the department chair—I have to get back to class. Don’t forget to eat.”
Cen Xiao had been too busy to eat lunch and had worked non-stop into the afternoon.
Li Rong closed his laptop, placed it in the canvas bag he carried, and reentered the classroom through the back door.
The department chair was holding a laser pointer, enthusiastically explaining on stage:
“In this field, as everyone knows, persistence is key if you want to continue. After all… wages are what they are, right? You must prioritize your dreams and persevere. Believe me, salaries will eventually improve.”
The classroom erupted in laughter.
These newly minted college students hadn’t yet developed a sense of career crisis and didn’t perceive the bitterness hidden behind the professor’s joke.
Seizing the moment of high spirits, the department chair gestured for calm and added, “Of course, persistence matters, but integrity is even more important. In the future, you must not sacrifice ethics for a little extra money.”
It was at this moment that Li Rong walked down the aisle of the classroom.
However, he didn’t return to his original seat but instead sat beside He Changfeng.
He Changfeng, overweight and sweaty, preferred sitting alone in the corner, occupying three seats by himself.
When Li Rong sat down, He Changfeng was surprised but made room for him anyway.
He didn’t even know when Li Rong had left earlier. He only knew that Li Rong didn’t seem interested in their field of study, often skipped class, and rarely studied.
But Song He, sitting in the front row, always kept a close eye on Li Rong. The moment Li Rong entered, Song He turned to watch him, his gaze lingering on Li Rong when he sat near He Changfeng.
Song He pursed his lips tightly, unsure how he felt.
He Changfeng, meanwhile, muttered under his breath, “It’s not like this industry is that underpaid. Why does every teacher make it sound like we’ll be begging on the streets after graduation? If you can’t make money, it’s just because you lack ability.”
Hearing such a naive remark, Li Rong couldn’t help but give a perfunctory smile. “Hmm, making money isn’t that hard. Didn’t the professor just say that you can earn more if you’re willing to sacrifice your ethics?”
He Changfeng, initially speaking casually, frowned upon hearing Li Rong’s somewhat skewed comment. “Doesn’t that feel disgusting? I can’t understand people who would sell their integrity for petty gains. It’s all just because they lack real ability and resort to underhanded tactics.”
Li Rong turned to take a serious look at He Changfeng.
He Changfeng’s round face was full of disdain. Arrogant and self-assured, he looked down on the incompetent and even more so on those who earned dirty money.
Growing up in a privileged family, he never had to worry about money, so he couldn’t comprehend the struggles of making a living.
Li Rong chuckled lightly. “I didn’t expect you to have such a strong sense of justice.”
He Changfeng snorted. “I just despise useless people. Talented PhDs earn high salaries—half a million a year is totally achievable. My dad’s hires get paid that much.”
“Sounds like a good salary. Meijiang Pharmaceutical must be a model enterprise,” Li Rong remarked casually, his fingers lightly tracing a small dent on the edge of the desk.
He couldn’t help but wonder how He Changfeng would react one day if he learned of He Dayong’s dirty dealings to amass wealth.
He Changfeng was haughty but righteous and simple. He Dayong had created an impeccably sheltered world for his son, leading He Changfeng to believe the world was pure and orderly, where success and a carefree life awaited anyone who wasn’t a “failure.”
This worldview, maintained for over a decade, was like a sturdy, grand dam. One day, however, it would collapse from the tiniest crack. How would He Changfeng rebuild his beliefs then?
Perhaps due to their proximity, or maybe because of He Changfeng’s agitation, beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.
He Changfeng shook his leg impatiently, tugging at his collar and fanning himself with his shirt.
“When does this class end? It’s stifling.”
He loosened his collar, revealing a prominent red mark on his thick neck caused by friction.
It was only then that Li Rong noticed the silver chain He Changfeng wore. With his movements, a small cross beneath the chain became visible.
Li Rong raised an eyebrow. “You believe in this?”
He Changfeng froze for a moment, then followed Li Rong’s gaze to his neck, his double chin instantly becoming three layers.
He frowned and hurriedly clarified, “I don’t. My dad does. He insists I wear it. But hey, it’s solid silver and cost a few thousand—it’s decent, not tacky.”
Li Rong nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Your family really is devoted to goodness.”
His grandmother also held strong religious beliefs and kept various scriptures and pamphlets at home. Li Rong was somewhat sensitive to these things.
His grandmother, though stubborn and timid, and often rigid in her thinking, refrained from doing wrong because of her faith.
Li Rong found it ironic that someone like He Dayong, who made dirty money, could also adhere to a faith that preached goodness.
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