First Love First Love, Part 05

A-Biao—his name meant "fierce," yet he was anything but. Seeing his gaunt frame, narrow eyes, and pallid complexion, one would find it hard to associate him with such a name.

However, he was sharp-witted, full of ideas, and possessed a strong sense of purpose. Under his arrangements, the trio was soon ready. A-Yi rented a used car, A-Ren borrowed tools his uncle once used for machine repairs at the factory, and A-Biao secured a buyer for the "scrap." The only task requiring real finesse was handling old man Yamamoto, the gatekeeper—a job A-Biao took upon himself.

Yamamoto had been a technician at the plant and was rehired as a guard after retiring. Nearly seventy years old, he had dedicated most of his life to the steel mill. He was an easygoing man with good relations with his superiors and colleagues, but he had one fatal flaw: he was a lecher.

To put it bluntly, whenever he laid eyes on a pretty woman, his gaze would fixate, regardless of the occasion.

Once, a fairly attractive female workshop director was transferred to the plant. During meetings, Yamamoto would stare at her incessantly. Since he sat in the front row, everyone in the room saw it clearly. When it was his turn to speak, he would praise the high wages and good leadership while keeping his eyes locked on her. The young workers would jeer, "Just get married! Just get married!" Yamamoto would remain oblivious, while even the factory manager would struggle to hide a smile. The director, furious, demanded the manager fire him, and it took the intervention of the general manager and the director to smooth things over.

Because of this obsession, he remained a bachelor well into his twilight years. He never took offense at the jokes the younger men made, simply chuckling them off.

Yamamoto was grateful for the company's care and performed his guard duties diligently. Even after the factory ceased operations, he continued to draw a salary of over a hundred thousand yen a month, a fact that made other workers, including A-Biao, deeply envious.

A-Biao had always been in poor health and had applied for an early medical retirement, hoping for the same security as Yamamoto, intending to run a small business and live a stable life with his wife and child. But fate was cruel; the plague struck, the factory closed, and only the leadership and Yamamoto walked away unscathed. How could A-Biao not harbor resentment?

A-Biao had tried to recruit Yamamoto into their scheme, but no matter what tactics he used, the old man wouldn't budge. Yamamoto even threatened to call the police, pushing A-Biao to the brink of considering drugging him.

But heaven rewards the persistent. After several trips to the factory, A-Biao finally saw his chance.

One night, a biting wind swept through, as if late winter had caught early spring off guard and returned to ravage the city. Because of the cold, A-Biao had gone to bed early, agonizing over the "scrap" business, but every plan hit a wall with Yamamoto.

His wife was busy tutoring their son, and the two were bickering over grades. A-Biao’s anxiety grew until he could no longer stand it. He got up, found half a bottle of cooking wine in the kitchen, downed it in a few gulps, and rushed out into the night, heading straight for the factory and the old man.

It was nine o'clock; the streets were deserted. Only when the wind bit into him did A-Biao realize he had left in such a rush that he was barely dressed for the weather. Perhaps fueled by the alcohol, his mind remained taut, and he walked the dozen miles to the outskirts without stopping.

From a distance, he saw the light in the guard shack still flickering. A burning fire ignited in his chest. With wide, staring eyes, he strode toward the post. He didn't know exactly what he would do upon meeting Yamamoto; a reckless, impulsive surge had stripped him of his ability to think rationally.

He was certain Yamamoto would be inside. As he approached, he heard a strange, cackling laughter. A-Biao froze, his mind suddenly clearing. He crept toward the window and saw a sight that left him stunned, then elated: Yamamoto was holding a pair of pink thong panties, sniffing them repeatedly while muttering things A-Biao couldn't quite catch.

Now fully sober, A-Biao made a snap decision. He reached into his pockets, only to realize he had forgotten his phone. His heart sank—the chance to record this was slipping away. But in his desperation, a risky plan formed.

"Yamamoto! What do you think you're doing!" A-Biao roared with every ounce of his strength. His voice boomed like a bell, tearing through the night. Yamamoto collapsed to the floor in terror, wetting himself in the process. A-Biao began to laugh, a near-maniacal sound, as he stepped into the guard shack.