31: Chapter 31 Traces

At three in the afternoon, Old Fourth stood at the entrance of Creative Park Zone C, lighting a cigarette.

He squinted at the staggered buildings before him—new structures with glass curtain walls stood next to old red-brick houses, and a trendy toy shop might be situated right beside a sign for a design studio. The foot traffic wasn't heavy, but everyone moved with purpose, their steps hurried.

President Wu Guodong's words still echoed in his ears: A man in a dark casual suit, in his twenties, who appeared at the studio yesterday afternoon around three o'clock.

The information was as scarce as searching for a single, specific grain of sand in a desert.

But Old Fourth didn't rush to move. After finishing his smoke, he pressed the butt into the sandbox above the trash can and stood quietly for a few more minutes. He mentally divided the area into sections: the buildings on the east side housed legitimate companies with fixed traffic; the middle was a mixed zone of businesses and studios, the most chaotic; the west end had more old buildings with several 'For Rent' signs, relatively quiet; and the studio was at the end of the branch road near the northwest corner.

He decided to start with the most conventional area, where the most people were.

The first stop was the front desk of a glass building closest to the entrance. The young woman wearing a fitted uniform listened to the description, a professional smile fixed on her face, and gently shook her head: "Sir, I'm sorry, many people came and went yesterday afternoon. The characteristics you described... are too common; I don't have a specific impression."

The second stop was the neighboring coffee shop. The busy clerk wiped down the espresso machine while trying to recall, ultimately shaking his head helplessly: "Quite a few people in suits come in for coffee, handsome. I really can't remember. Why don't you ask someone else?"

The third stop, the fourth stop...

Old Fourth changed his line of questioning a few times. "Looking for a friend who might have come to discuss cooperation," or, "Did anything unusual happen yesterday afternoon, or did you see anyone particularly noticeable?"

The answers were largely the same: a shake of the head, an apologetic smile. "Didn't notice." "I think so, not sure." "In a suit? The sun was quite nice yesterday, several people were wearing light jackets. It's hard to say if it was a suit."

He entered the open-plan studios and shared office spaces, asking the young people buried in their work or chatting during a break. The responses were more direct— "Brother, I was rushing a draft (editing a design/writing code) yesterday and didn't even look up, didn't see anything." "Sorry, didn't pay attention."

After circling around, time crept toward four o'clock.

A little frustrated, Old Fourth stood in the shade of a building and lit another cigarette. He inhaled the cool air mixed with the slight sting of nicotine.

Just then, a sanitation worker walked past him. He suddenly realized all his previous methods had been wrong.

He stubbed out his cigarette and quickly walked over.

He offered the man a cigarette and asked politely.

The uncle took the cigarette, tucked it behind his ear, but shook his head after hearing the description, pointing to the area he was responsible for: "Big brother, I only clean floors and wipe windows inside these few buildings. Further in, toward the studio, that's not my area to sweep. They have a dedicated person over there who manages the parking lot, the lawn, and that road. You need to find her."

"Do you know when and where that lady usually is?"

"At this time..." The uncle looked at the sky, "She should be tidying up near the parking lot over there, or sweeping leaves on the lawn. You can see her if you walk around; she's the one pushing the small green cart."

Thanking him, Old Fourth turned toward the northwest corner.

The parking lot wasn't large, with about a dozen cars parked. Next to it was a small patch of decorative lawn planted with several camphor trees.

Sure enough, a cleaner wearing a dark blue uniform, arm covers, and a sun hat was using a large broom to gather fallen leaves from the edge of the lawn and the walkway.

Beside her stood a green push-cart for cleaning supplies, holding a dustpan, a bucket, and a few tools.

He walked over, stopping two or three steps away to avoid startling her abruptly. "Ma'am, are you busy? Sorry to bother you." Old Fourth spoke in a calm voice.

The cleaner stopped working and turned around. She looked to be in her fifties, her skin somewhat dark red from the sun, with lines on her face from years of outdoor labor, but her eyes were clear. She sized up Old Fourth without speaking, waiting for him to continue.

"I need to ask you about a person." Old Fourth repeated the description he had already recited many times: "Yesterday afternoon, around three o'clock, while you were cleaning this area, did you see a young man in a dark casual suit, in his twenties? He might have been passing by or waiting for someone here."

"Yesterday afternoon around three?" The cleaner repeated the time, her brow furrowing slightly, as if sinking her consciousness into that afternoon yesterday.

She didn't answer immediately but subconsciously cast her gaze toward the direction of the studio at the end of the branch road.

A few seconds of silence passed, broken only by the faint sound of distant traffic and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

The cleaner's eyes brightened, as if she had dredged something up from a corner of her memory.

"Now that you mention it, I remember!" Her speech quickened slightly, carrying a sense of confirmation, 'Finally, it matches up.' "Yesterday afternoon, right around three o'clock! It wasn't quitting time then, so there were fewer people moving around here."

She paused, seemingly organizing her words to ensure accuracy.

"Over by the studio," she raised her hand and pointed, her tone certain, "there were several people coming out, grumbling. They were carrying things like camera rigging and boxes, and none of them looked happy. I was sweeping the parking lot right then, so I saw clearly."

Old Fourth nodded subtly, signaling that he was listening.

The people who came out were likely the ones who extorted Wu Mengyao.

The cleaner didn't stop talking; following that clear memory, she groped toward the edges of it.

"Not long after." Her tone shifted from certainty to slight hesitation as the clarity of the memory faded, "a young man also came out from the direction of the studio... and then walked down this road toward the main road."

She gestured with her hand to indicate the direction—the way the branch road merged into the main park road.

"Could you see his appearance clearly? Or which direction he went?" Old Fourth asked.

The cleaner shook her head, a trace of apology on her face: "I really didn't see his face clearly; he was a bit far away. I just remember he was a young man in a dark suit, quite tall, but he wasn't walking fast. He came out from over there, got onto the main road, and whether he turned left or right after that, I didn't pay attention anymore."

She looked at Old Fourth and explained naturally: "Because it wasn't regular quitting time, there were already few people coming from the studio. Two groups in succession—one noisy and one quiet but formally dressed—stuck in my mind. But anything more specific, I really can't say."

Old Fourth didn't show disappointment; instead, he nodded seriously.

"Walking from the studio to the main road," he clearly repeated and confirmed the most crucial piece of information, "the time was around three in the afternoon, right after those people finished making a scene, one right after the other. Can you confirm that sequence and time?"

"I can confirm that," the cleaner replied firmly.

"Understood." A hint of gratitude appeared on Old Fourth's face. "Ma'am, this information you gave me is a huge help. Thank you."

"It's nothing, I'm glad I could help." The cleaner waved her hand and picked up her broom again.

Old Fourth didn't disturb her further and turned to leave.

He didn't walk out along the main road but followed the direction the cleaner had just indicated, slowly strolling to the intersection where the branch road met the main road, and stopped.

He stood there, lit a cigarette, and calmly scanned the road before him, the buildings on both sides, and the direction of the park entrance/exit further in the distance.

This information was enough.