The "Piglets" Who Infiltrated

On the outskirts of Ruili City, on the Yunnan border, lies a Lisu village whose name is almost impossible to find on a map.

The night air was sticky, mixed with the distinctive fishy smell of the distant rubber forests, the smoke from burning firewood in the village, and a faint, damp, and wild scent from the mountains of Northern Myanmar across the border river.

"Bai Shan" squatted in the shadow of an abandoned bamboo house at the village entrance, leaning against the cool bamboo wall, with an unlit cheap cigarette dangling from his mouth.

He looked to be around forty years old, with dark, rough skin and deep wrinkles on his cheeks from years of exposure to the sun and wind. His greasy hair clung to his forehead. He wore a faded blue work jacket with frayed cuffs, mud-splattered camouflage pants, and a pair of unglued imitation military boots.

He looked exhausted and numb, with a desperate yet greedy look in his eyes—a typical image of a migrant or illegal immigrant trying to make a living on the border or gambling with his fate.

Only occasionally, when his seemingly listless gaze swept across the muddy path at the village entrance, or towards the shadowy boundary marker in the distance, would a sharp, hawk-like glint flash deep within his eyes, so fleeting as to be almost imperceptible.

He was waiting for someone, and he was also "watching" people.

In the open space in front of the bamboo house, about thirty men were scattered, some sitting, some squatting. They were all dressed in worn clothes, and their faces bore the marks of hardship and anxiety.

Some spoke in hushed tones in various dialects, their voices low; others simply smoked silently, their eyes vacant; and a few young people wore undisguised excitement and trepidation, filled with unrealistic fantasies about the "road to riches" they were about to embark on.

These were all "coolies" recruited by a local smuggler named "Yan Bao" through various channels. Among them were people who had run away due to gambling debts in mainland China, people who had lost their jobs due to factory closures, hotheads who had heard that Northern Myanmar was "full of gold" and wanted to try their luck, and even two who looked like they had committed crimes and fled.

"Bai Shan's" gaze, like the most sophisticated scanner, silently swept over these thirty-odd faces.

He wasn't looking at the surface fatigue or greed, but at the details: the unconscious curve of someone's back as they sat; the unusually thick calluses on the knuckles and index fingers of another person's seemingly casually resting hand; and several others, though also dressed in tattered clothes, had necks with skin colors that were noticeably different from their faces and hands, occasionally revealed beneath their dirty collars—clearly the result of long-term training in harsher environments and a recent, hasty disguise.

His gaze briefly met a few seemingly unfocused eyes; neither responded, but a silent confirmation was exchanged. Seven in total. Including himself, eight people. These were his own men scattered among the "piglet" group.

"Yan Bao" arrived. He was a short, stocky, dark-skinned local man with Scar on his face, his eyes fierce and slick. He was wearing flip-flops, chewing betel nut, and glanced at the gathered people. He asked in a rough voice in heavily accented Dai Mandarin, "Is everyone here? Money, rules, everything clear?"

The crowd stirred slightly and responded in hushed tones.

"Good that you understand. Over there, if you obey, you'll make money. If you don't..." Yan Bao grinned maliciously, not finishing his sentence, but the meaning was clear. He waved his hand, "Keep up, don't fall behind. No talking loudly on the road, no running around. If you get caught by the soldiers over there, or blown up by a landmine, you're in trouble."

The group began to move, like a silent and filthy maggot, burrowing into the dense forest path behind the bamboo house. There were no lights, only the faint flashlight in Yan Bao's hand illuminating the path ahead, which was covered with decaying leaves and mud. The forest was stifling, with mosquitoes buzzing, and the surroundings were pitch black. Only the occasional strange cries of unknown night birds in the distance added to the oppressive atmosphere.

"Bai Shan" walked in the middle of the group, his steps appearing somewhat slow and clumsy, not unlike the exhausted "piglet" around him. But his ears caught every subtle sound in the darkness: the footsteps of the scouts ahead, the breathing rate of those following behind, and any unusual rustling in the woods on either side. His brain was processing information simultaneously: estimating the route and distance traveled based on stride length and direction, comparing it with the satellite map of the area he had memorized, and determining his approximate location and distance from the border.

After walking for about an hour, the group stopped in a slightly sparse woodland. The low, rumbling sound of the border river could be heard ahead. Yan Bao cursed under his breath, signaling everyone to crouch down and take cover.

"Wait here, I'll go check out the waterway," he said, his figure disappearing into the deeper darkness ahead.

Taking this opportunity, "Bai Shan" slightly turned to the side and, facing a timid and thin-looking "piglet" (codename "Qingsong") squatting next to him, uttered a few indistinct syllables in a very low breath, sounding like a frightened mutter, "Miasma... so heavy..."

"Qingsong" was still trembling, but he nodded almost imperceptibly to indicate that he understood. At the same time, his hand unconsciously drew a few lines on the ground, a code only they could understand, indicating the terrain ahead and possible crossing points he had observed.

The other members of their own group, under the guise of coughing, adjusting their trouser legs, and muttering complaints, quickly exchanged fragmented information in a pre-arranged manner: the number of people was confirmed (eight, including Bai Shan himself), their condition was normal, and no suspicious tails were found.

A few minutes later, Yan Bao returned and hissed, "Hurry, keep up! Now!"

The group moved on again, passing through the last patch of bushes. The cold, muddy, and fishy river water immediately soaked their shoes and socks. The border river was not wide here, but the current was swift. There were no boats, only a makeshift raft hidden in the reeds, made of ropes and old tire inner tubes, which could only carry four or five people at a time.

"Bai Shan" and several other "piglet" were among the first to be pushed onto the raft. In the darkness, another silent local was punting the raft. The raft rocked violently in the swift current, almost capsizing, eliciting a few suppressed gasps. Bai Shan clung tightly to the rough rope, his body rising and falling with the raft. He looked just as terrified as the others, but his muscles were in a strange state of relaxation, ready to deal with any unexpected event.

The icy river water lashed against my face. On the opposite bank, an even deeper darkness seemed to swallow everything, along with the vaguely visible, jagged silhouettes of mountains.

That's Northern Myanmar.

The raft docked at a soft, sandy beach. Those who arrived first were urged to quickly climb ashore and hide in the woods. Yan Bao and the raftsman exchanged a few words in hushed tones, Iwabo handed him a small roll of something, and then beckoned the rest of the group to hurry over.

As the last group of people climbed onto the soil in Northern Myanmar, soaking wet, Yan Bao visibly breathed a sigh of relief, but his eyes became even more wary. "Alright, someone's here to meet you. You all better behave yourselves!" He whistled into the dark forest.

A moment later, several armed men from Northern Myanmar, dressed in haphazard military uniforms and carrying old-fashioned rifles, emerged. They mumbled in the local language, roughly shone flashlights on the disheveled group of "piglets," counted their numbers, and then waved them away to follow.

The real danger begins now.

Escorted by armed personnel, the group trudged through the dense forest, their steps uneven. After walking for an unknown amount of time, faint lights appeared ahead. It was a cluster of buildings built in a mountain valley, with barbed wire fences strung on high walls and the outlines of watchtowers. Most of the lights were dim, with only a few buildings shining with glaring incandescent bulbs. In the distance, one could faintly hear loud music and noisy voices.

We've arrived at the park.

As they approached the gate, a stench of sweat, urine, cheap cigarettes, and spoiled food assaulted their nostrils. The gate was rusty, and armed guards stood watch. Yan Bao approached the head guard and tried to negotiate, offering cigarettes and money. The guard swept his flashlight across the trembling, unrecognizable "piglets" again, lingering a few seconds on the faces of some of the relatively robust-looking ones, before impatiently waving him away.

The iron gate creaked open a crack.

"Get in! All of you get in!" Yan Bao and his armed men pushed and shoved, herding more than thirty "piglet" through the gate. Inside was a cement courtyard, where several bright lights shone a stark white, illuminating a few indifferent or fierce faces—the park's security guards.

"Squat down! Hands over your head!" roared a burly security guard (Brother Bo) carrying a rubber baton.

The "piglet" hurriedly did as instructed and squatted down on the ground.

"Bai Shan" crouched at the edge of the crowd, head slightly bowed, hands behind his head, but his fingers gently pressed the miniature locator hidden in his hair with a very small movement, confirming that it had been successfully activated and started sending encrypted signals.

At the same time, under the cover of his arms, his cloudy eyes quickly scanned the structure of the courtyard, the blind spots in the lighting, the number and positions of the security guards, their weaponry, and the passageways leading to different areas.

Brother Bo started asking each of these "piglets" for basic information, registering (or rather, fabricating) it, and then roughly assigning them. "You, you, and you, go to Team B! You, go do odd jobs in the kitchen! You, you look alright, try out the repair group! The rest, go to the basic group, get training first!"

"Bai Shan" and "Qingsong" were separated and sent to different basic groups. "Bai Shan" lowered his head and was pushed by a security guard towards a dimly lit dormitory building. Several other newcomers accompanied him. He could feel two other calm gazes subtly sweeping over him before looking away—those were two of his own people who had infiltrated different groups.

Entering the crowded and stinking dormitory, being assigned to a dirty bunk, and listening to the security guard's scolding and the numb or gloating discussions of the "older" staff around him, "Bai Shan," like all newcomers, showed obedience, confusion, and a hint of fear.

He lay on the hard plank bed, closed his eyes, and his breathing gradually became steady, as if he had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

But his brain was working at high speed, quickly comparing and correcting everything he had observed in the short time since entering the park—the locations of sentries, patrol patterns, building layouts, shift changes of internal security personnel, and the general direction of the core area—with the fragments of intelligence K had previously provided, and beginning to sketch out preliminary action routes and possible support/evacuation plans in his mind.

The first step, penetration, has been completed.

They were like drops of water, merging into this quagmire of sin.

Next comes observation, waiting, and... at the necessary moment, transforming into thunder that tears this swamp apart.