The religious bureau of Dakang was in the west side of the city, its lack of lucre suggested by the scanty appearance—the buildings were lower, the entrance was a barred iron gate instead of an electronic sliding door, and even the location was some scruffy alley, unlike the spacious courtyards on main streets the other institutions had.
Even the old janitor here felt inferior to others in the line of his job—the salary was so small.
It was just past eight o'clock in the evening and Old Man Zhang was making his rounds upstairs as usual. After making sure the doors and windows were all securely locked, he went back to the first floor. The janitor's room was lit by a dim lamp. A pot of liquor, two bags of pickles, and a time-worn radio were all the company he had to pass the long, lonely night with.
Little did he know, right behind the building, two dark shadows were sneaking closer.
