In the Name of the People: I'm the Driver, So I Hear Everything in Handong

Chen Yan had driven for the Handong Provincial Government's motor pool for eleven years. Every word spoken in the back seat over more than 4,100 trips was filed away in his mind.

He never forgot a thing.

At 7:19 a.m. on September 3, the passenger in the back said: The disposal paperwork for that batch of cars was completed yesterday.

On his very first day, the veteran driver had taught him one thing: Whatever is said in the back seat disappears as soon as you leave the car.

In that same car, in that same seat, at 10:06 a.m. on July 24, the very same person had said: Leave that batch of cars alone for now. We'll talk about it at the end of the year.

Not a single word was different. Even the half-breath pause in the middle was the same.

Before getting out at their destination, the passenger sat for three extra seconds, called Chen Yan by name, then said, "You've got a good ear."

That morning, in front of more than twenty drivers, the team leader tore Chen Yan's schedule for the month into four pieces. "You drive a car, not your brain. If you start getting clever, you'll be replaced."

At three that afternoon, he still managed to get assigned the car delivering the files. He broke the seal and flipped to December 3, 2014.

The page was there. Seven columns, not one filled in.

From the passenger seat, Xiao Cai spoke in a hushed voice: "Brother Yan, December 3, 2014... Wasn't that the day something happened to Driver Zhou?"

He didn't go looking for someone to settle the score. Instead, he did something else: he turned every sentence he had heard into writing, one by one.

Eleven years later, a photocopy was posted at the garage entrance. In that passage were four words: "Correction is required."