Chapter 606

The torrential rain had not ceased, showing no signs of letting up; bean-sized raindrops pelted the windows with a rhythmic patter, while in the distant sky, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled incessantly.

Another clap of thunder shook the window frames three times over. In the dark study, only a desk lamp emitted a dim, yellowish light. Lu Boda, secretary of the Shanghai underground party organization, set down the paper in his hand—filled with calligraphy and signed with the flourish of "Pei Min"—then took a roll of film from a small box, unfurled it, placed it under the lamp, and adjusted the angle.

On that film was the dead face of Xia Changuo lying on the sofa, the pool of blood seemingly spreading out through the film. The row of corpses laid out in the living room proved that these Japanese agents had accompanied Xia Changuo to his grave.

He let out a long sigh, shook his head helplessly, put down the film, picked up a cigarette, lit it with a kerosene lighter, and then brought the paper filled with information close to the lighter's flame; instantly, the fire rose, burning from the bottom up.

He placed the burning paper into the ashtray on the table, watched it burn to ashes, and breathed in the pungent odor of burning paper that filled his nose; he exhaled a puff of smoke, his thoughts drifting away.

He knew of Xia Changuo. The Shanghai underground party organization had seen its numbers fluctuate due to the April 12th Incident eleven years ago, the years of struggle that followed, and the previous Battle of Shanghai—from thousands to dozens, then hundreds, and now, the entire Shanghai underground party organization consisted of only a few hundred people. Under such circumstances, how could he not know Xia Changuo, an old party member?

This was a battle-tested warrior who, for many years, had never made a mistake on the secret front; he was capable and meticulous. Yet, such a warrior had held out for only three hours under the brutal torture of the Japanese invaders. Just as Pei Min had said, if Xia Changuo had held out until the next day, this time they absolutely would not have lost eight comrades, nor the significant strategic value of the battle line those eight comrades represented—this was by no means as simple as the lives of eight comrades.

Especially since Xia Changuo had betrayed his superior, who was also the person who introduced Xia Changuo to the party and a good partner who had fought side-by-side with him for years. That comrade knew even more intelligence, which was an even greater disaster. He hadn't slept much these past two days, constantly making emergency contacts and redeploying. Those comrades could no longer remain in Shanghai; in underground work, there could not be the slightest risk. Otherwise, one mistake would be a devastating blow. The secret front could not tolerate carelessness.

They were all flesh and blood; of course, it was impossible to forbid them from saying anything—that wouldn't be the Red Party, that would be a cult. After all, those who could truly remain unyielding and persist in their faith amidst inhumane torture were not non-existent, but they were truly too few. However, what was said and when it was said were what mattered most.

If Xia Changuo could have held out until the next day, the organization could have relocated as quickly as possible after losing contact with him, instead of the previous outcome where he surrendered under torture, went to meet with comrades, and was rounded up by the Japanese invaders.

"Old Lu, how is it?"

Just then, a gentle-looking middle-aged woman walked over with a water glass and placed it on the table.

This was Lu Boda's wife, Liu Qiulan. As the wife of the Shanghai underground party organization secretary, she was, of course, also a member of the organization, their love forged in revolutionary struggle. Her job was to assist Lu Boda, and she was also a telegraph operator who sent and received messages and maintained contact with various places. In the entire Shanghai underground party organization, only the two of them knew of Pei Min's existence.

Lu Boda sighed and gestured with his head toward the ashes in the ashtray: "Comrade Pei Min sent it; he has already sanctioned Xia Changuo. He also took twenty gold bars from Xia Changuo to contribute to party funds. Contact the comrades in Hangzhou and have them look for Xia Changuo's wife and children; it's hard for an orphan and a widow to survive, so send them some money—consider it the organization's final care..."

"Already sanctioned?" Liu Qiulan widened her eyes in surprise: "We only contacted Comrade Pei Min yesterday, right?"

"He took advantage of the rainstorm, and since it was in the center of Japanese-controlled territory where defenses were lax, he killed eight Special Higher Police agents, and finally cut the arteries in both of Xia Changuo's arms, letting him bleed to death." Lu Boda shook his head and sighed: "Comrade Pei Min is our party's most capable operative. If it weren't for the bad influence, I absolutely would not have contacted Comrade Pei Min to take such a risk. Although I don't know what his identity is, he must be playing a role far more significant than his operational capabilities."

Pei Min's reputation hadn't been very large before; few people within the party knew of him, let alone the enemy agents. Moreover, in all the missions Pei Min had executed to date, he had never once failed, nor had there ever been a survivor. Mysterious and powerful were his synonyms. Like a ghost hidden in the darkness, no one knew when he would strike next.

But following the defection of the Red Team section chief in '31, Pei Min surfaced. Many people were looking for him—the Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics was looking, the Military Statistics Bureau was looking, and the Japanese were looking too. With this search, his name grew, and he became the Red Party's number one assassin.

From then on, whenever there was a sanctioning operation, whether against someone within the party or an enemy agent, as long as someone died, the first suspect was always the Red Party's Pei Min. But in reality, Pei Min hadn't personally taken action in two years, yet news of what he had supposedly done still kept coming out...

Amidst the flickering light, Lu Boda smoked unconsciously, his mind no longer on Comrade Pei Min, but turning instead to the subsequent deployment arrangements.

Liu Qiulan, who had lived with him for over ten years, knew very well that she couldn't disturb him at this time. At this moment, he wasn't her husband, but her leader...

Lu Boda took one last drag of his cigarette and extinguished the hot butt in the ashtray: "Notify the transport group; the Anhe Firm is likely to be exposed, relocate immediately, and set up a new base..."

Eight people had been captured, including a middle-level leader; there could not be the slightest risk. The transport line was the lifeblood of the organization, and the Shanghai station base was the top priority. The soldiers on the front lines were fighting to the death, and they needed them here to purchase medicine, grain, cloth, ammunition, and all other supplies. The Soviet areas lacked everything; some could be purchased through normal trade, while others could only go through the transport line. Along the thousands of miles of road, relying on countless unknown soldiers to break through one barrier after another, this was the great route paved by the hot blood of communist ideals...

Wang Yan drove to Wenlin Road, parked in front of a small garden villa, got out to open the gate himself, and drove the car into the courtyard.

This was also one of his safe houses; a cunning rabbit has three burrows, and he had thirty. They were scattered throughout Shanghai, whether in the International Settlement, the French Concession, Japanese territory, or the countryside outside the city. Some were detached villas, some were dilapidated dwellings, and some, like the previous one, were Western-style apartments. All were rented under various identities, and the sources of these identities were obtained through his position as a police captain—all were real people. And such information could be obtained by many, so there was no suspicion on him.

As for those places that hadn't been visited for a long time, causing neighbors to be suspicious, he wasn't afraid of such things. Because when he used a safe house, he would absolutely never use his own face, so let them be suspicious if they wanted. Safety was relative to his own capabilities. After all, even if he fell into a situation of being surrounded, as long as the space was large enough to maneuver and hide, he was safe. Moreover, he rented several houses almost every month; this was a necessary expense, even if he didn't use them.

In the villa, he removed his makeup, restored his original appearance, applied hair wax to his hair, combed it into a slicked-back style, put his glasses into his space, and then sat on the sofa in the room, taking out the agents' belongings one by one to examine them.

A total of eight pistols and twenty-four full magazines were collected, all Japanese Nambu pistols; these should be the Type 16s specifically for agents, with a magazine capacity of sixteen rounds, and the pistols were relatively small, making them convenient for concealed carry. Because the agents' combat environments were different, what was needed was powerful firepower suppression in a short time; whether killing or wounding, resolving the battle quickly was the priority.

He, of course, also had his own gun, an American Colt M1911, a pistol that had been standard issue for the U. S. military for over seventy years, and it was a global bestseller, sturdy and durable. In addition, he had a Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle, which he had bought for long-range sniping. There were also light and heavy machine guns, submachine guns, grenades, and other weapons. In the end, he was an operative. The weapons provided by his "living father" were very rich, enough for him to slaughter in all directions.

It was just that he happened to have mixed into the police station and was doing quite well, having greater value. If not for this, his destination should have been Chongqing, to protect the central leaders working in the Kuomintang's lair.

Besides firearms, there was some money issued by the Japanese, as well as legal tender and U. S. dollars; agents weren't much, all were poor ghosts, none were rich. Especially with the previous Battle of Shanghai, the National Revolutionary Army suffered heavy casualties and retreated, but the Japanese had fought for three months without glorious results, and the internal economic pressure was not small.

In addition, there were the Special Higher Police identification documents of the eight people; these documents were still very useful, as they could be used to pass through checkpoints and enter some Japanese-occupied areas, provided one was disguised as such. Wang Yan couldn't do this, but he would continue to study and strive to reach that level.

After looking over the harvest of this trip, he put everything into his space, found a black fedora to put on, and walked out the back door with an umbrella. Confirming that no one was paying attention, he got into a Ford car at a turn and drove all the way to Julu Road, drove the car into another small garden villa, then nimbly climbed over the three-meter-high wall in the middle, entered the adjacent garden villa, and climbed lightly up the protrusions on the wall to the second-floor balcony, entering the house—this was his true home.

As for that previous household, it was an investment property he had purchased under someone else's name; the owner had gone abroad to the United States. Today was a special situation, the rain was too heavy, there was no one on the street, no cars, and the sound of the thunderstorm was enough to cover the sound of the car engine, otherwise, he wouldn't have walked through the neighbor's house. Of course, he wouldn't have run so far to sanction Xia Changuo today either, just for the sake of the thunderstorm weather when people relaxed their vigilance.

One thing that had to be said was that this place was only separated from Fuxu Road, where the Shanghai underground party organization was located, by a row of buildings, and it took no more than ten minutes to walk there...

Entering the house, he closed the window, stepped lightly, walked a few steps to the bedroom door, and seeing that an inconspicuous rubber strip at the door crack was still there, Wang Yan took off his leather shoes and coat, wiped the water stains in the room with a shirt, and then put all the soaked clothes and shoes into his space, extracted the moisture, separated the water from them, and only then took the clothes out again and hung them in his wardrobe, and put the leather shoes into a box for storage.

This was an ability his space already had, and it was also something he had tested later. Clothes were a whole, and the water attached to the clothes was not, so it could be separated. Or it could be replaced with bloodstains, which was also possible, equivalent to a high-efficiency washing machine. Similarly, fingerprints on the tools used could also be removed, which could be called a tool for committing crimes.

Checking the time, it was only nine o'clock. He found pajamas to change into, shuffled in slippers, messed up his hair in front of the mirror into a messy bird's nest, rubbed his face, yawned, and then opened the bedroom door and walked downstairs.

The electric lights downstairs were already off, and it was dark and no one could be seen. Wang Yan groped to turn on the light, walked to the kitchen to rummage through things, and before long, with the sound of slippers shuffling on the floor, a woman in her forties with a rather aged appearance walked out and said with concern: "Sir, are you feeling better?"

This woman had come in last year and was responsible for cooking, laundry, and cleaning the house. Her home was local, her husband was a rickshaw puller, and her son was a student at Guanghua University. Originally, she didn't stay here, after all, as a captain of the Central Police Station in the French Concession with a face and status, and a disciple of the Green Gang, he had no idea how many social engagements he had every day, and it was common for him to be immersed in luxury and debauchery, and the number of times he ate at home could be counted on one's fingers. Her husband and son at home were also waiting for food, and she didn't want to suffer here. It was just that the money given was a lot, and there were few things to do.

Guanghua University was the predecessor of East China Normal University and Southwestern University of Finance and Economics. Because of the war, part of it moved inland to Sichuan, and part remained in Shanghai. Her son didn't leave, otherwise, the old couple would have moved away with the school long ago; they lived their whole lives for their son, and now they were also earning money for their son to marry a wife. She didn't know much about the great righteousness of the country, only wishing her son many children and long life...

The rubber strip he stuck on the door was to guard against this nanny. Although the "living father" configuration was always trustworthy, the environment was different now, and his identity was also different. Suspecting everything was the quality a lone traveler should have.

Wang Yan shook his head listlessly, stroking his hair back: "Still a bit uncomfortable, didn't eat dinner, woke up hungry. Auntie Li, help me make some more food, boil some water, I'll take a hot bath in a while to sweat it out."

"Why don't you take some medicine?"

"No need, just eat, bathe, and sleep, and I'll be fine." Wang Yan waved his hand and asked: "Has anyone called to look for me during this time?"

"Mr. He, your subordinate, called to express concern about your situation, and Mr. Lin Hongyuan invited you to have lunch at Fude Restaurant tomorrow noon, saying you must attend."

"Okay, I know, you go ahead and get busy." Wang Yan yawned, walked to the living room to turn on the phonograph to play music, sat on the sofa, poured a glass of plain water, and picked up a newspaper to read.

Auntie Li was quick-handed, and before long, she cooked a bowl of steaming egg noodles and placed it on the dining table, also made two small side dishes, and then went to get bathwater for Wang Yan.

Her craftsmanship wasn't to say how good it was, but it wasn't bad either. Wang Yan ate a large bowl of noodles, drank a pot of warmed yellow wine, waited for a while, went comfortably to the bathroom upstairs to take a bath, and then wrapped in a bathrobe, went up to the study on the third floor.

Opening the window to look out, unknowingly, the heavy rain that had been falling for most of the day had stopped, turning into a drizzle. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, closing the window, Wang Yan turned and walked up the steps to the attic, took out an exquisite radio from his space, and contacted the organization.

Because of the rainstorm weather, which affected the transmission of radio signals, he had wanted to send it tomorrow. But heaven helped him, he finished his work, and the heavy rain stopped, so he started to contact them.

Taking the antenna, he stood up, groped for a moment in a gap in the sharp corner of the attic, triggered a mechanism, and accompanied by a few drops of rain falling on his face, a piece of ceiling was removed.

He extended the antenna out through the hole, fixed it, then opened the radio with a click, tuned it for a moment, and just sat on the ground, just like in countless film and television works, tapping the telegraph button rhythmically, and as the indicator light on the radio flickered, the radio signal instantly crossed a distance of thousands of miles and arrived in a courtyard in Chongqing.

"Yesterday, Jingzhe sent me a telegram; a liaison was captured by enemy agents, surrendered and confessed in three hours, causing eight comrades to be captured, suffering heavy losses, and ordered me to find a way to sanction him as a warning. Today, the rainstorm in Shanghai has not stopped, thinking it a good opportunity, learned the traitor's address and took action. Sanction successful, also killed eight Japanese agents, obtained twenty gold bars, giving Jingzhe sufficient party funds. Pei."

Jingzhe, the code name for Lu Boda, secretary of the Shanghai underground party organization. Jingzhe implies that all things start anew in spring, symbolizing that the resistance against Japan will always have a day of success, and the Red Party's cause will always have a day of success.

The handsome man looked at the intelligence, shook his head and smiled, drank some water, and looked at the assistant in front of him: "Reply immediately, already informed, focus on work, decide on matters yourself, report afterward, act according to your ability, do not be reckless, pay attention to safety."

He had always had overall planning for the work of the transport line and the secret front, and was Pei Min's direct leader; now that he was in Chongqing communicating between the two parties, naturally, the news was sent to him. Before this, Jingzhe had already reported the situation in detail and had also requested credit for Pei Min.

But obviously, the handsome man had a profound understanding of Pei Min's combat effectiveness and kindly exhorted Pei Min. Speaking of which, this was also an old comrade who had been struggling for more than ten years; back then, he was still a greenhorn...

Wang Yan wore headphones, listening quietly to the information transmitted back. He didn't get a piece of paper to record it and then use a codebook to translate it; that would really be sorry for his brain. He had memorized several codebooks, including those currently in use, backups, those for contacting the Shanghai underground party organization, and even those for contacting Yan'an, all to ensure he wouldn't lose contact with the party organization.

So he listened while flipping through, and after the radio's indicator light flickered for the last time and became still, he nimbly turned off the radio, put away the antenna, and stuffed the removed ceiling piece back.

The leader's instructions were very simple.

Focus on work; he only had two jobs, one was to provide supplies to the Soviet areas, and the other was his position as a captain in the police station. This was telling him to continue sending supplies, and now his position in the police station was also a bit low, and his seniority was enough, so he had to find a way to move up.

Decide on matters yourself, report afterward; this was delegating power. He had always been a lone wolf, acting on his own, so this was just emphasizing it again, to act flexibly.

The final "act according to your ability, do not be reckless, pay attention to safety" was an exhortation. Although the words were few and simple, the care was there. Speaking of which, the handsome man was only eleven years older than him, so it could be considered the care of an older brother...

Cleaning up the few drops of rain on the floor, he returned to the second floor and lay down in the bedroom, closing his eyes to brew sleepiness.

Counting it up, it had been decades since he last drew a blade...

The next day, there was no clearing up after the rain, and it was still a gloomy, dark sky.

Changing into the ugly police station uniform, wearing a gun, eating breakfast, putting on a leather coat, Wang Yan drove off to work at the Central Police Station. This was an area before the expansion of the concession, not far from the famous Avenue Joffre.

Before the car reached the gate of the police station, he saw from afar two Chinese police officers standing guard, shivering from the cold, nodding and bowing to this side. Wang Yan honked the horn, and the two were even more excited, baring their teeth and waving to greet him.

Driving the car directly to the open space in front of the building to park, Wang Yan, with his slicked-back hair, got out of the car, pulled a leather coat from the car to put on, and only then took a cigarette from his pocket; instantly, there was a "clack," and someone came over with a forced smile, hands shivering to shield the match to light his cigarette.

Glancing at the young kid, Wang Yan leaned forward to light the cigarette, exhaled a puff of smoke, and smiled: "I remember you're my clansman, Wang what was it?"

"Replying to Brother Yan, the little one is called Wang Yongkui, just joined our police station, assigned to the Second Team."

"You're not bad, work hard, don't look for trouble for yourself, if that narrow-minded Old Fang sees you, you'll have a hard time." Patting the remaining half pack of cigarettes on his chest, pushing him aside with force, Wang Yan walked toward the building with a smile.

Old Fang, Fang Yuantu, captain of the Second Team. Same rank, same path of ascent, it was hard to have a very good relationship.

Wang Yan held the cigarette in his mouth, responding with a nod to everyone who greeted him along the way, showing off his good popularity very well.

Turning left on the first floor to the end, pushing open the double doors, inside was a wide space; this was the office of the First Team of the police station. At this moment, everyone had already arrived, some were eating pan-fried buns, some were eating small wontons, and some were sleeping on the tables; the state was roughly the same as the morning wait in the school of later generations.

Seeing Wang Yan enter, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing, stood up in unison, and even the one sleeping on the table was slapped on the back of the head by someone and called up.

A man in his thirties who was eating small wontons and drinking soup walked over: "Brother Yan, feeling much better, right? If it's not working, you should go back and rest, I'll keep an eye on things."

This was Mr. He, whom Auntie Li mentioned, He Shaohong, the deputy captain. Four years older than Wang Yan, thirty-three this year. Originally, the captain should have been him, but he couldn't help that Wang Mouren was quick to handle things and knew how to spend money, plus the Green Gang relationship; this kid had already been a deputy captain for seven years.

"Do I look like I have something wrong? Just caught a bit of wind, sleep it off and I'll be fine." Wang Yan pushed him aside and beckoned to the one sleeping: "Little Zhang, come here quickly."

The man who had been sleeping on the table shrank his neck, but still gathered his courage to approach.

"Went gambling again last night?"

"No, no, absolutely not." Little Zhang shook his head repeatedly, explaining in a panic: "It was just raining yesterday, the room was too damp, and the child caught a cold again, tossed and turned all night and couldn't sleep."

"If I find out you're gambling again, you know the consequences. Get back and take the child to see a doctor; dragging a small illness into a big one, and there'll be nowhere to cry." Wang Yan took a stack of legal tender from his pocket, counted out a few bills and stuffed them into his pocket, and then kicked the kid aside.

No longer paying attention to the shameless kid, Wang Yan waved his hand: "Alright, do what you need to do, group leaders and Old He come to my office for a meeting."

The First Team had more than twenty people, four group leaders, one deputy captain, and one captain.

The personnel composition of these people was also very complex; after observing for the past week, some had connections at home, some were daring and desperate, and some were backed by the Green Gang—this was on the surface. Behind the scenes, there might be Military Statistics Bureau people, Red Party people, and even eighty percent chance there were Japanese agents, who knows.

When the Central Committee was in Shanghai, it had infiltrated various places; some were captured, some relocated, but there must still be some there. As for the Military Statistics Bureau and the Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics, as old rivals who competed with each other and jointly dealt with the Red Party, and because they had close ties with the Green Gang, it was normal to insert some people.

As for Japanese agents, before the war started, Japanese agents had already mastered China's hydrological and geographical information, providing great help for the war. The speed of taking over Shanghai was so fast; to say that they hadn't inserted or bought people in the French Concession Municipal Council was absolutely impossible.

It was just because the time was too short that Wang Yan hadn't figured it out specifically. Maybe there were, maybe there weren't.

This was just the First Detective Team of the Central Police Station with only twenty-some people; looking at the big from the small, one could imagine what Shanghai was like now.

After showing off, Wang Yan turned and went to an independent office inside; the two group leaders ran from behind to open the door, Old He followed behind with his leather coat, and the group walked in.

Opening the drawer, taking out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one, throwing it on the table, gesturing for them to take it themselves, Wang Yan exhaled a puff of smoke and asked: "Tell me, what big things happened yesterday."

"Brother Yan, everything is normal." Glancing at the other four, Old He said: "Yesterday was a rainstorm, no one wanted to come out and toss. Two little beggars died, four people were hacked to death, two were shot, identities unknown. Same as usual, had people perform autopsies and checks, already handled, no one came to report the case early this morning, so didn't report it up."

Old He said it very easily, because this was the day with the fewest deaths in their jurisdiction in the past two months. In this era, it wouldn't be normal if one or two people didn't die every day.

Seeing Wang Yan nod, a group leader smiled: "Brother Yan, I heard this morning that something happened on the Japanese side."

"Oh?"

"Heard they captured a Red Party member, already confessed, was being well-fed and taken care of in an apartment in Hongkou, but the person was killed last night, and several Japanese agents died too..."