The Beautiful Boss's Personal Bodyguard-Chapter 389

Someone on a bike entering through the gate saw that the person gathering at the duty room window was Zheng Dazhi’s father, kicked his leg back, jumped off the bike, and asked a question.

Seeing that someone recognized him, Zheng Sanpao’s face regained some confidence, and the awkwardness and unease he initially exhibited diminished greatly. The hand that had been tucked in his sleeve also emerged. He knew this person, who had drunk at his house before—a colleague of Dazhi’s, with very good relations between them. Zheng Sanpao knew his name was Laoqiang, because he was one of the few in the station authorized to carry a gun.

"It’s Laoqiang."

Laoqiang, being very polite, led Zheng Sanpao into the yard, "Uncle, let’s go inside to talk."

Zheng Sanpao followed him inside while Laoqiang, pushing the bike ahead, said, "Uncle, just take a seat inside for a bit. I’ll put away the bike, fetch the documents, and come over in a moment."

"Alright, go on with your work, don’t mind me."

Watching Zheng Sanpao enter the room, Laoqiang muttered to himself, "Big Ear Cheng has been griping about Dazhi these past few days. The uncle couldn’t have come for Dazhi this time, could he?"

Laoqiang took a file box from the front basket of the bike and headed for the director’s office at the back. You hardly ever see this guy, but come year-end, he’d be holed up here all day long, as if afraid that someone from above would come to inspect, causing the brothers below not to dare to leave their posts without permission.

He knocked on the door and heard Big Ear Cheng’s voice from inside, "Who’s it?"

"It’s me, Chief."

"Oh, come in."

He pushed open the door, and there was Cheng Gong, absorbed in reviewing documents. Next to the folders was a transparent ashtray filled with cigarette butts, red, yellow, purple, blue—tightly packed like a porcupine.

"Chief, here are the documents you wanted." ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

"Oh, just put them here."

Cheng Gong casually slapped an open spot on the desk without looking up. Laoqiang placed the document box there, and seeing Cheng Gong wasn’t speaking, felt like leaving since Zheng Sanpao was still waiting in the duty room. But just as he took two steps, he was called back by Cheng Gong from behind,

"Hey, that Old Li, haven’t seen Zheng Dazhi around these past two days. Is he sick? After you finish your shift, go check on him. After all, he’s a comrade from the station. You represent us with your visit."

Laoqiang felt suspicious, recalling how Cheng Gong had never shown such genuine concern even for minor ailments before, not to mention the last time an old colleague had heart surgery and he was indifferent. Why was he so concerned about Zheng Dazhi now?

"Chief, I don’t think that’s the case. His dad just came looking for him, probably not at home."

Hearing this, Cheng Gong’s brow furrowed, "His dad?"

"Yeah. He’s in the duty room right now, I was just going over to keep him company."

Cheng Gong’s eyes flickered, "You... know each other?"

Laoqiang laughed, "If we talk generations, I should call him uncle. And by relation, we’re actually distant cousins."

Cheng Gong put out his cigarette in the ashtray, gesturing with his hand, "Bring Uncle Zheng over; I have something to discuss with him about Dazhi. Oh right, and bring over a pot of tea...never mind, go fetch him; I’ll get it myself."

Cheng Gong picked up an aluminum pot and headed to the water dispenser to start filling it. Laoqiang’s mind was a bit muddled, finding the chief increasingly incomprehensible.

"Go on, what are you standing there for!"

"Right, I’m on it."

Seeing his displeased look, Laoqiang held his breath but put on an earnest and fearful expression.

Not until he was out the door did he throw a punch at the air, venting his dissatisfaction and grievances, although he knew that this would probably be his life for the foreseeable future. Still, he was wary of openly opposing or expressing his emotions. This was the inertia of hierarchical suppression developed over many years, and he couldn’t shake it off just yet.

"Uncle."

Seeing Laoqiang come in, Zheng Sanpao stood up from the sofa. There was another young comrade in the room, and although Zheng Sanpao didn’t know their positions, he could see there were only a few senior colleagues in the police station, who would probably retire in a few years, so he didn’t want to cause any trouble for Laoqiang.

Seeing him stand up, Laoqiang hurriedly gestured in the air, "No, no, uncle, please sit." He approached quickly, initially intending to ask Zheng Sanpao to sit, but remembering what Big Ear Cheng said, he changed his words, "Uncle, maybe don’t sit just yet."

Zheng Sanpao didn’t plan to sit anyway, and seeing Laoqiang’s look as if he had something to say, he asked, "What’s the problem?"

"Our chief asked for you to come over. You should go, it seems to be related to Dazhi. Oh, right, what’s Dazhi doing at home? Isn’t he feeling well?"

Zheng Sanpao slapped his thigh, "That’s exactly what I came here to ask you. He hasn’t been home for several days, and I can’t get through to his phone. I just can’t reach him at all!"

Sensing something was amiss, Laoqiang quickly stepped aside, "Right, you should hurry over then. Turn right at the door, the last room with ’Office’ written in red."

Zheng Sanpao hurried out, his earflap hat slightly askew.

Arriving at the office, he didn’t knock but just walked in, seeing a man with big ears and black-framed glasses deeply focused on documents.

"You’re Uncle Zheng, right?"

Officials carry an aura of authority, and although Zheng Sanpao was tough in fights, he was not without discernment; he surely knew this must be the chief, so he involuntarily stiffened, his anxiety turning into tight jitters.

"Chief... Chief, I’m Zheng Dazhi’s father. Hello, Chief."

Cheng Gong took off his glasses and placed them on the desk, rubbing his eyes, then pointed to the chair opposite him, "Uncle, please sit. I’ll pour you a glass of water."

Zheng Sanpao, his butt barely touching the chair, immediately sprung up at the offer, "No, no, no, I’m not thirsty!"

Despite his refusal, Cheng Gong still poured a cup for him and one for himself, "It’s quite cold outside; it’s good to warm up."

It was cold indeed, but Zheng Sanpao’s mind was far from thoughts of cold; ever since Dazhi hadn’t returned home, his heart had been uneasy, and his right eyelid started twitching incessantly. The old saying goes: left for wealth, right for calamity. Maybe this calamity had befallen Dazhi.

Seeing Cheng Gong’s hand gestures, Zheng Sanpao finally sat down slowly and listened to him speak.