In March, Lin Zhiyuan came to Huaizhou.
This city on the Jianghuai Plain is quiet and old. Roadside shops have red "transfer" papers posted on them, and there is a layer of fog between the numbers in the statistical bulletins and the reality.
The first task he received was a land dispute for a private high school. The procedures were complete, but the files were missing; all parties were operating within the framework of the rules, but the matter just couldn't move forward.
Lin Zhiyuan did not wait. He got the first piece of information from a young clerk who had just joined the job, the first clue from an old farmer, and the first cross-department evidence from a female disciplinary inspection cadre named Lin Qing.
They have no personal relationship. She only said: "I only look at the evidence and don't speculate on people's hearts."
Lin Zhiyuan said: "That's enough."
From the pile of old papers in the archives to the old stone tablets in the reservoir dam, from data comparison to logical deduction, every "well" he dug in this city was done with stupid skills.
This is not a story about "power".
This is a story about "seriousness" - serious enough to compete where others can't see, serious enough not to argue even if someone says you're "too young."
Each generation has its own mission. Lin Zhiyuan's mission began from the moment he squatted down in the field.
