553: Chapter 232: The Old Driver Takes a Good Apprentice_1 553: Chapter 232: The Old Driver Takes a Good Apprentice_1 Driver Old Yang nervously looked through the rearview mirror at the lights from several flashlights behind him, and carefully moved the truck closer to the roadside.
He had been driving large trucks for several years now, and making nightly runs was a common occurrence.
Under normal circumstances, he didn’t need a flashlight to move the truck to the roadside; he could park the truck securely and precisely, ensuring that the wheels were within ten centiters of the road gutter, even without any light using only the truck’s rear lights and his innate sense of the vehicle.
But today’s job concerns him.
It’s more than rely traveling across provinces; it’s sowhat against the rules.
Looking at the quiet crowd underneath the truck, besides the one directing him into a parking spot, he knows sothing is off.
After parking the truck, turning off the engine and the lights, Old Yang, holding a flashlight, hastily climbed down from the cab.
He undid the latches on several of the truck’s planks, then the people below laid out prepared planks for a roadway.
A few guys stepped up to test the planks.
Pleased that it felt sturdy and secure, they signaled to the others with a few flickers of their flashlights.
The roadside is a threshing floor, a common sight in the countryside.
Since it’s a threshing floor, it’s not surprising to see piles of large and small straw stacks, including those of sorghum, corn, cotton, and firewood, nearby.
However, upon closer inspection, these piles of straw don’t look like typical ones that have been weathered by the wind and rain, crowned with a grayish-black ‘hat’—a typical stack of straw subjected to the elents would change color on the topmost layer, and their bigger tops and narrower bottoms make them look as if they’re wearing a hat.
The answer was soon revealed.
As several n peeled away the straw, sacks made of woven plastic strips, locally known as ‘snakeskin bags,’ were revealed.
With their dark contents clearly visible near the open tops of the internal plastic liners of the bags, it’s clear what these contain—can after can of crude oil.
What nerve these people have!
Witnessing this scene, Old Yang couldn’t help but contemplate – they are driven by greed and audacious.
Who would have thought they would hide crude oil in a threshing floor by the roadside?
Even if soone tips off the authorities, it’s hard to pinpoint which threshing floor, given that there are so many.
Every village has this kind of threshing floor, and larger villages have three or four, or even four or five.
They’re ubiquitous in rural areas.
Just as he was thinking this, a masked ‘Laoda’, still wearing his mask late into the evening, walked over and said to him, “Master, you can go and rest in the truck for a bit.
We still have other places to go after loading these goods.
The road ahead is tough.
You’re in for a hard night.”
Old Yang paused for a mont before realizing that they didn’t want him to see too many of their people.
After all, this was his first ti here, and he’s just the transporter, it’s only natural they wouldn’t fully trust him.
He laughed awkwardly, quickly climbed back into the truck.
Sitting in the truck, he couldn’t help but laugh at his own thoughts.
Earlier, he thought of them as audacious and greedy, but isn’t he the sa?
Although truck driving is laborious, it’s quite profitable nowadays.
He had taken on this risky job in order to make enough money to buy another truck sooner.
How was he any different from them?
But what’s done is done, and regretting it now doesn’t make a difference.
All he can do is silently pray for a safe journey.
The people behind him are intermittently making noises.
The only consistent sounds are their footsteps—inevitable when stepping on wood planks or the bottom plate of the truck.
Of course, there’s also the thudding of the crude oil bags being offloaded.
At first, Old Yang was quite worried, fearing that the noise would attract attention.
However, he later couldn’t help but laugh at himself for worrying about nothing.
These local folks have done this many tis.
Could they make such a mistake?
He can’t help but think that these people, who are organized and disciplined, must have a thorough plan.
This place is so remote, with only a small township police station nearby.
There are only a few people in the small station.
If anyone creates a disturbance, like getting into a fight and attracting the attention of the policen, it would render this place very safe to work.
Not much crude oil was stored in this threshing floor.
After a little over half an hour, soone knocked on the truck window.
Old Yang imdiately understood, got out of the truck, closed the planks, and under the others’ direction, drove to the next location to continue loading.
His experience as a veteran truck driver tells him that only about a quarter of the truck bed has been loaded.
They probably have to switch locations at least twice before they can fully load the truck.
He glanced at the ti and estimated that it would probably be one or two in the morning before the truck is fully loaded.
Nevertheless, there’s enough ti.
Assuming a two o’clock departure, there will be four hours before daylight.
That should be sufficient.
This area is not far from the provincial border.
Once on the highway, it won’t take long to enter the province from which he ca, at which point it’ll be safer for him.
Soon, the truck arrived at the next location.
The guide, a middle-aged man, instructed him directly this ti: “Master, you can just park the truck and stay put.
I’ll co up and lead the way later.”
Old Yang nodded, parked the truck, turned off the engine as usual, turned off the lights, and sat in the dark cab, staring boredly at the equally dark outside.
It’s the perfect night for cris to thrive – dark and windy!
As he was thinking this, the passenger-side door was again pulled open.
Old Yang saw a shadowy figure climbing in and couldn’t help but ask, “What’s happening?
Didn’t they just start loading the truck?”
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