Chapter 125 Counterattack (Completed)...
Vakim is finished.
The moment Trotsky appeared alive before everyone, Vakim's reputation, career, wealth, and social status all vanished like snowflakes falling into lava, disappearing in the blink of an eye, along with all his attacks and accusations against He Changyi.
If Vakim dared to fabricate a murder case out of thin air, who would believe that he only told this one lie?
A journalist who blatantly lies is less valuable than a dung beetle.
All of Waqim’s past reports have been re-examined, and sometimes they have been completely rejected without any review.
Especially those negative news articles he wrote under different pseudonyms targeting He Changyi; it was only at this point that people realized the defamatory and slanderous intent hidden in the articles.
"I never imagined that the news in the newspapers was all fake!"
"...Is this the first time you've learned you can't trust what's written in the newspapers?"
"I've said it before, Jong-kook's company is very good, and Jong-kook's boss is also very good. It's surprising that not everyone has the ability to think independently."
"That Vakim should be sentenced! He misled the public!"
"He's probably going to go bankrupt. That partner will definitely hire the best lawyers to hold him accountable for what he did."
Everyone in Irbuyat was talking about this. "Vakim" and "He Changyi" were mentioned frequently. Incidentally, there was also the unfortunate Trotsky. Who would be happy to have their death announced in the newspaper while they are still alive, especially that fake funeral photo, which was really ugly, just as unsightly as he was.
Waqim was finished, and the reputations of the newspapers he contributed to were also ruined.
Even though they all ignored Trotsky's "birth announcement" and pretended nothing had happened, unsold newspapers don't lie.
The newsstand owner grumbled, "Those idiots at the newspaper! I'd be better off stocking up on toilet paper; at least toilet paper is more useful than this garbage—"
He dusted off the unsold, expired newspapers and said angrily, "I'm going to take them back to where they were originally, and they'll only be worth 20% of the original price!"
An old customer comforted him, saying, "At least you can recover some of your costs. Listen to me, stop believing these swindlers' sweet talk and go sell some newspapers that tell the truth."
The newsstand owner muttered, "A newspaper that tells the truth? I'd rather go look for nuclear submarines in the desert!"
A loyal customer enthusiastically recommended it: "Perhaps you could learn about 'True Lies.' My whole family reads it. To be honest, this newspaper is really good; they even dare to tell the truth..."
Among a host of newspapers with dismal sales, a new newspaper called "True Lies" has emerged as a dark horse.
Unlike traditional newspapers, True Lies uses a sharp and humorous style, with colloquial and easy-to-understand language. While other newspapers remained silent about Trotsky's supposed resurrection, True Lies used humor to tear away the veil of the mastermind behind it all.
[If any reader still believes that Vakim is blatantly lying out of stupidity and arrogance, then please close this newspaper. You are suited to living in a world of lies; facing the truth is far too difficult for you.]
[He Changyi, a Zhongguo businesswoman who pays taxes in Eguo, what is there about her that warrants public criticism? Or rather, besides fabricated lies, what other flaws does she have that can be attacked?]
In fact, she certainly has flaws; they are as glaring as the sun.
She made too much money; she infringed upon the interests of certain people.
They didn't care whether she obeyed the law, whether she paid taxes, or whether she created local jobs. They only saw their own interests being violated; they saw her taking money from them (money they wouldn't have had a chance to earn anyway).
This is her original sin.
[Vakim is just the beginning. We will see more Vakims, and more murdered "Trotskys." But next time, the "Trotskys" won't be so lucky; their bodies will be hung directly from the clock tower in the city center, each chime a death knell for the entire city.]
Let us pray for the future, and let us pray for ourselves.
Once this news was published, it was more powerful than a manifesto, directly blocking the path for the next Vakim.
The local rentiers are in a dilemma. They certainly want to get rid of He Changyi immediately and then swallow her business, but she is just too difficult to deal with.
As an outsider, this damned Chinese woman is expanding too fast, targeting oil companies. What's the difference between this and stealing meat from their pot? She's not just stealing meat, she's trying to steal the pot too. Who can tolerate that?
What's even more infuriating is that the cunning Chinese people left no loopholes for attack, not even the obvious tax evasion, which makes things very difficult.
Physically eliminate her; she has a security team of over a hundred people, all veterans, well-equipped and armed, capable of breaching the city hall in half an hour.
She framed him, and not long ago she turned the tables, sweeping away Vakim, a pawn she had painstakingly cultivated, from the game.
As for attracting the iron fist from the sky—
Mayor Smolensky sat high on the referee's bench, seemingly with no intention of taking sides and appearing neutral. But it was clear that he had made his choice between the local forces with whom he had a long-standing relationship and the newcomers.
Sometimes, not helping either side is another form of helping.
"That stubborn old man, he must be desperate to go to Moscow!"
"Then what do we do? Are we just going to stand by and watch that Korean woman take over the oil company?"
"No, that won't do! There must be some way to get rid of her... Think, think of everything!"
“I received intelligence that she bought a lot of scrap steel from military factories in Kovrov, including complete tanks.”
You mean—
"She must be a Chinese spy who stole military secrets! If Smolensky still chooses to stand by her side, then he is a traitor!"
“Report this to the Federal Security Service and let those KGB agents investigate her. If there’s enough incentive, they’ll find ‘evidence’ that she’s a spy.”
A new wave of attacks was gathering strength in the darkness.
As local rentiers began fabricating evidence of espionage, He Changyi was also struggling with how to deal with this resurrected evidence.
"I beg you, please don't let me go back. I have realized my mistake, God has forgiven me, please forgive me too!"
Trotsky burst into tears. Hearing the noise, the bodyguard peeked in, then with a complicated expression, withdrew.
He Changyi rubbed his temples and said with annoyance, "Trotsky, we agreed that if you stay in the monastery for three months, Mayor Smolensky will no longer pursue the matter of your affair with his wife. You can walk openly in Irbyat as before, without worrying about being assassinated or having to run away."
Trotsky said sadly, "I would rather never set foot in Irbyat again than go to a monastery again!"
He looked much thinner, like a gaunt old snake, with drooping skin on his chin, even looking somewhat pitiful.
He Changyi said firmly, "No, you must go. This is my promise to Mayor Smolensky."
She called out to Lermontov and asked him to take Trotsky back to the monastery.
Lermontov grinned mischievously as he helped Trotsky up: "My lord, let's go. The monastery is still quite a distance from here."
Trotsky cried out in despair, "No, no, you can't do this to me—"
Before he was dragged out, He Changyi shrugged: "I said, let God decide whether to forgive you."
After Trotsky's screams completely subsided, Mikhail walked briskly into the office and said in a lively tone, "Mr. Trotsky should thank you. His high cholesterol has been effectively improved. I think in a while, even the doctors who performed the medical examinations will be applauding his health."
He Changyi praised, "You really found a good monastery for Trotsky. I heard that the people in charge of looking after him are ascetics?"
Mikhail said cheerfully, "Yes, he is an ascetic, just like you think, who likes to take ice baths, likes to whip himself, and likes to wear a leather belt with metal barbs."
He Changyi said, "It seems that the ascetics must have taught Trotsky a lot about how to atone for his sins and how to obtain God's forgiveness."
Mikhail slyly remarked, "Mr. Trotsky should have a completely different view on this."
He Changyi said, "Really? At least I saved his life, and his testicles too. It's a real shame, why would the mayor refuse to keep a trophy specimen? Is it because it's too small?"
Mikhail's smile was somewhat stiff.
"I don't think any man would like this kind of collection..."
Before He Changyi could speak, he quickly steered the conversation in a safer direction.
“Those guys have come up with new tricks again. They’re really annoying. If you agree, I can take care of them right away.”
He Changyi raised an eyebrow and asked, "To simultaneously cause several deaths from heart attacks?"
Mikhail said slyly, "It could also be suicide or an accident. Who knows? Fate is always unpredictable. A flowerpot blown away by the wind, a car with malfunctioning brakes, or even a bathtub falling into exposed electrical wires..."
He Changyi bluntly stopped him from speaking.
"That sounds boring."
Mikhail exclaimed in surprise, "Boring? I have many more tricks up my sleeve that I haven't told you yet, you'll definitely be interested!"
He Changyi countered, "Did the Cheka school only teach you how to destroy the enemy's body?"
Mikhail closed his mouth, his brown eyes darting around nimbly.
He Changyi slid the unopened Vakim file across the table, and Mikhail caught it and held it to his chest.
"Let's get to the old KGB stuff."
She looked at Mikhail with a half-smile: "Let me see your special skills."
Mikhail jumped up from his chair and dramatically tipped his hat.
"Then so be it, Your Majesty."
What is the KGB best at?
Assassination, seduction, torture, infiltration, hand-to-hand combat with James Bond, or driving a taxi?
Mikhail said to the generic faces, "It's finally our turn to appear!"
Last time, He Changyi easily solved the problem with just one photo, and the guy who delivered the photo even made a small profit. Before they could even make a move, Vakim couldn't wait to stick his neck into the noose of the gallows.
Aside from offering up Vakim's name and getting him to admit to using all his pseudonyms, they did nothing to help.
The generic-looking guys were itching to show their skills: "It's finally our turn!"
"Luckily, she still needs us, otherwise I'd really worry about losing my job again. I'm not willing to give up this high-paying, easy job..."
"She handled the newspaper issue herself last time, so this time it's finally our chance to show our abilities."
"I really hope the boss isn't so capable, otherwise we seem completely useless except for collecting our salaries."
Mikhail tossed Vakim's file aside like trash and distributed a stack of slips of paper with names on them to the crowd.
"Alright, that's them. I need all the complete, authentic, and irrefutable evidence. Even in court, no lawyer could raise any objections."
After reading the note, the generic-looking men casually took out a lighter and lit it. The flames engulfed the entire piece of paper, leaving only a little ash.
"Don't worry, we're professionals."
While the rentiers in Irbyat were still racking their brains to get in touch with Moscow's National Security Agency, a group of re-employed former KGB agents had already set their sights on them.
No need for wiretapping, no need for stalking, and no need for any time-consuming or slow-acting methods. All you need to do is drop a coin into a public phone booth, and ordinary people can buy a wealth of genuine dirt from their old colleagues.
These materials came from branch intelligence agencies across the country and once piled up on Mosk's desk. They were thrown into the archives before they could be analyzed and organized, and then the next wave of materials would soon fill his desk again.
Now, old papers are being taken off dusty bookshelves, and yellowed waste paper has been transformed into green banknotes. Who wouldn't like this risk-free business?
The most time-consuming part was transporting the materials from Mosk to Irbyat, which was such a long distance that even geese would need three days to fly there.
One of the generic faces complained to Mikhail, "Why does it have to be real? If there were no such requirement, I could process a hundred pieces of material in a day, and even the people involved wouldn't be able to tell the difference between real and fake."
Mikhail smiled and said, "You're so clever. I suggest you propose it to the boss yourself. She'll be so touched she'll kiss you on the forehead."
One of the average-looking people scoffed, "You wicked bastard, if she really were going to kiss someone's forehead, you would definitely kill everyone in front of you, then hide your blood-stained hands behind your back, only showing a pure and innocent face, and oh yes, a gleaming bald head."
Mikhail's smile vanished, and he said coldly, "So what are you thinking? If it's just about efficiency, I can do all the work myself!"
One of the generic-looking men shook his head and said before leaving, "Misha, you've really fallen. You actually demand authenticity. You must have been corrupted by our respected boss."
Mikhail made a face at his back.
pollute?
That was his own choice.
When the car that had departed from Mosk arrived in Irbuyat, a counterattack began.
As people hurry past newsstands on their way to work in the morning, they casually pick up a newspaper. While paying and waiting for their change, the newsstand owner enthusiastically recommends: "You absolutely must buy a copy of 'True Lies,' or you won't be able to join any small talk today."
The customer asked curiously, "Why? Did the Mosk government do something again? To be honest, I'm numb to them. I wouldn't be surprised if an alien sat in the president's seat."
"No, no, no, of course not Mosk, that's too far away from us."
The newsstand owner said mysteriously, "The article in 'True Lies' is about our place, you know, those powerful and wealthy people..."
The customer exclaimed in surprise, "A newspaper dares to report on them? I definitely have to see it! Give me one, no, I want three copies of 'True Lies'!"
Similar conversations took place in front of different newsstands, and everyone who left the newsstand ended up taking one or more copies of "True Lies" with them.
The commuters, who were originally rushing to work, slowed down more and more as they walked, eventually staring blankly at the newspaper in their hands.
"Could this really be true?!"
On the tram, the carriage was unusually quiet, with almost every passenger engrossed in reading their newspaper, occasionally letting out a small gasp.
Even the staff member who was originally responsible for checking tickets forgot about it and stood up to look at the newspaper in the passenger's hand. When they saw the key part, the two of them gasped.
The driver had to shout the platform name loudly at each stop to wake up the engrossed passengers. Even so, some people didn't hear the driver's voice for quite a while, and jumped up in fright.
"Oh no, I missed my stop! I'm going to be late today!"
A nearby passenger comforted him, "Don't worry, I missed my stop too, but who cares about being late today?"
The thug sitting in the last row kicked the chair in front of him listlessly.
"Hey, nerd, what are you looking at?"
The middle school student wearing glasses said softly, "I...I'm reading the newspaper..."
The thug grumbled angrily, "Do you think I'm blind? Who wouldn't know you're reading the newspaper?! Tell me, what's in the newspaper?"
The bespectacled middle school student hesitated and didn't read the newspaper as the thug demanded, but instead handed it over.
"No, why don't you come and take a look..."
The thug glared at him suspiciously, roughly snatched the newspaper, and, with the reading ability of an elementary school student, painstakingly read out the headline of the front page.
After reading the title, the thug looked at the bespectacled middle school student with suspicion and wondered, "Did I see that wrong?"
The bespectacled middle school student said definitively, "No, you're not mistaken."
The thug folded the newspaper, stuffed it into his pocket, and shouted at the driver, "Stop the car!"
Before the tram had even come to a complete stop, he grabbed the railing and was about to jump off.
The bespectacled middle school student cried out urgently, "But, but that's my newspaper!"
Without turning his head, the thug said, "Bookworm, go buy another copy! I'll let you off the hook today for the sake of the newspaper!"
The bespectacled high school student stood blankly on the bus for a long time before saying aggrievedly, "How can we possibly buy it... The entire city's copy of 'True Lies' must be sold out today."
As he said, every newsstand was crowded with eager people, stretching out their longing little hands to the owner.
"Give me a copy of 'True Lies'!"
"Give it to me, and I'll pay three times the amount!"
"No, I'm a regular customer of yours. Don't forget, my whole family subscribes to newspapers from your newsstand!"
The newsstand owner helplessly spread his hands: "Gentlemen, I really don't have even one copy of 'True Lies' anymore. Please leave, please leave!"
Meanwhile, the more astute newsstand owners were already waving their banknotes and rushing to the printing press: "I want all the newspapers printed today!"
Meanwhile, those fortunate enough to make the newspapers were going crazy.
"Who exactly leaked those things?!"
"That's no longer important! What's important is to destroy all the newspapers!"
"I've already sent people to the newspaper office and the printing plant..."
"That journalist named Katz Bogk! Where did he get his information?! Has someone among us betrayed us?"
"Bring me that damn newspaper, I want to see who hasn't been written up yet!"
While the local rentiers were in disarray, Katz Bogk was enjoying afternoon tea with his boss.
"The fact that the Federal Security Service could let such an excellent employee as you go out of the country must be a dereliction of duty by the human resources department."
"Because their eyes are too dull; only someone with sharp eyes like you can spot a real pearl."
He Changyi hesitated for a moment, then asked uncertainly, "Do you mean 'a discerning eye'?"
Mikhail readily agreed, “Yes, I’ve been learning Chinese recently. Although I don’t understand why the eyes are considered intelligent, China has a long history and an even longer history of language arts, so I think there must be some truth to it.”
He Changyi hesitated for a moment, then finally praised with difficulty, "That's great, you've learned very well, keep it up."
Mikhail's eyes lit up, and he said eagerly, "Actually, I've learned even more. For example, our relationship is like when you came to my bedroom three times, and finally I opened the door, and you and I lay on the bed together, feet to feet..."
He Changyi abruptly interrupted him.
With tears welling up in her eyes, she said, "Misha, actually, learning Chinese isn't absolutely necessary..."
What kind of magical thought process could interpret the stories of "Three Visits to the Thatched Cottage" and "Sleeping Side by Side" as such evocative little color tales?
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