Chapter 609

"Section Chief, today when I met our contact at Fude Restaurant, I saw Wang Yan having dinner with Lin Hongyuan. Since we were too far away, I couldn't hear what they said, but I caught the word 'Japanese.' After Lin Hongyuan left, Cunben Yilang from Special High Police Unit Two Intelligence Division came over and talked with Wang Yan for quite a while. Given Cunben Yilang's smug expression, I suspect Lin Hongyuan has defected, and Wang Yan may have reached some kind of cooperation with the Japanese."

It is well known that Lin Hongyuan was indeed powerful in his early years, but later he relied entirely on Wang Yan. The businesses in the French Concession that operated so stably and prosperously were all protected by Wang Yan, who helped resolve countless troubles.

Therefore, regarding matters involving the Japanese, Wang Yan certainly had more options than Lin Hongyuan—that's why 'cooperation' is the term used.

As for Cunben Yilang, one of the few top-ranking officers in the Special High Police, the Military Intelligence Bureau had intelligence on him. After all, during wartime, you must know who your enemy is. Though the Special High Police had been relatively low-key, they were now openly visible, making intelligence gathering even easier.

This was a photography studio on Batignolles Road in the French Concession; the speaker was the fat Mr. with glasses who had been at Fude Restaurant earlier. He stood solemnly, respectfully facing a thin man in a long gown, his face cruel and sharp.

He hesitated, then continued: "And… Wang Yan seems to have discovered my identity. The way he looked at me was… deeply meaningful…"

Wang Tianfeng, who had been lounging lazily, instantly sharpened his gaze: "Tell me exactly."

"Yes, Section Chief." The fat man swallowed hard, unnerved by the man's ruthless stare: "He asked me if my Western dining manners looked refined. I nodded, picked up my fork…"

As the fat man spoke, he paced back and forth in the room, meticulously reenacting every movement from the restaurant.

Wang Tianfeng watched the fat man freeze in place, imitating his earlier posture. He stepped back a few paces, stared intently for a moment, then let out a cold snort: "Idiot. It's the calluses on your hands."

Calluses can be removed, but it takes time. This fat man's calluses had been treated—but traces remained. With careful observation, they were still visible. Clearly, Wang Tianfeng had spotted them from a distance; Wang Yan must have noticed them too.

He would never entertain wishful thoughts that the fat man had misinterpreted Wang Yan's gaze. Any trace, however slight, must be assumed to point toward the worst possible outcome—that was why they survived on the covert battlefield.

Wang Yan was certainly no fool. Otherwise, how could he, in ten years, rise from a Chinese police sergeant to become one of the most prominent figures in the French Concession? Without some real ability, he'd have been killed countless times over.

"Was your tail clean when you returned?"

"Section Chief, when I realized my identity might be exposed, I circled around twice on the way back—guaranteed no one followed me."

"Did Cunben Yilang notice you?"

"No, I kept watching secretly. That Special High Police agent was focused entirely on talking to Wang Yan, never distracted." The fat man paused, then added: "Section Chief, even if Wang Yan noticed my flaw, he doesn't know which side I'm on. I could be from our Military Intelligence Bureau, the Red Party, or even a Japanese mole. I think it's fine."

"You think?" Wang Tianfeng's cruel gaze fixed on the fat man. "Go back and deal with your calluses again. This time you got lucky. What do you think would happen if Cunben Yilang discovered this flaw?"

"Section Chief, are you suggesting Wang Yan's attitude toward us is relatively mild?"

"You just said he might be cooperating with the Japanese—so why didn't he arrest you on the spot? Then, under torture, that brain full of fat and meat of yours wouldn't have held back a single detail? Right now, Wang Yan is signaling goodwill. It seems our sanction operations have intimidated him, and this man who values his life has chosen the right path."

After a moment's thought, Wang Tianfeng said: "Investigate Lin Hongyuan. Confirm whether he has defected. If so, initiate the elimination operation. I believe Wang Yan wants his uncle Lin dead—but his reputation for loyalty and righteousness makes it hard for him to act directly. Earlier, Wang Yan himself said if you had matters, you could go to the police station to find him. So first, kill Lin Hongyuan. Make a big commotion. Consider it Wang Yan's welcome gift. Then go meet him, and try to establish contact."

"Yes, Section Chief."

Wang Tianfeng looked at the fat man standing at attention and exhaled deeply: "Then go already. Do I have to teach you how to do it?"

Watching the fat man flee in panic, Wang Tianfeng slammed the table and cursed: "A bunch of useless wastes! Gluttons!"

In recent months, our losses have been enormous. Besides the Special High Police chasing us like dogs, we also carried out rear operations during the Battle of Shanghai—destroying supply lines, blowing up docks, detonating arms depots—we lost many men.

I've only recently taken over the Shanghai Intelligence Station's Intelligence Section, and the pressure is immense. I must plan sanction operations, plant spies inside the enemy, and simultaneously build a secure, stable intelligence transmission network around those spies. I must also monitor social developments, because in today's Shanghai, nothing is meaningless. Not even a rickshaw driver earning a few extra yuan, or a homeless beggar finally eating a white flour bun…

"Wang, my friend, you've worked so hard."

After hearing Wang Yan's honest, unvarnished account, Egger clapped him hard on the shoulder, poured two glasses of whiskey, and urged Wang Yan to drink them straight.

After swallowing a large gulp, Wang Yan swirled his glass: "Egger, if I ever do something for the Japanese in the future, you'll cover for me, right?"

"Wang, you should already know these things. What you can do, what you can't, what you can say, what you can't—you know all of it. Besides, even if you refuse to obey those Japanese monkeys, what can they do? I always told you to find a woman and have children. Now I see you were wise not to. I can't imagine the disaster if those Japanese monkeys captured your wife and children to threaten you—for you, for us. Your Qingbang master was a bastard. Even I know how much you cared for him, yet he still sold you to the Japanese monkeys."

Egger waved his arms wildly, took another sip, then asked: "When will our medicine be released? When will we be compensated for the wealth the Japanese monkeys stole?"

"The medicine should already be cleared for shipment. As for the money, the Japanese can't pay it out right away. I doubt we'll recover it all. More likely, they'll offset it by letting us import more sulfonamide."

"That's acceptable. Well done."

Wang Yan asked: "Egger, what are your country's politicians thinking? The Japanese are shitting on your neck—haven't you considered striking back? You know this is a test. If we don't respond forcefully this time, the Japanese will hold cargo for ransom whenever they feel like it. Step by step, the French Concession will become history, and you French will be driven out of Shanghai."

"Oh, Wang, once the French are driven out of Shanghai, your fate won't be much better, will it?" Seeing Wang Yan shrug and raise an eyebrow with indifference, Egger paused, then realized: "Oh damn, Wang—you don't believe in us? Are you using this opportunity to openly contact the Japanese monkeys?"

"We have a Chinese saying: 'As long as you're a monk, you ring the bell.' Egger, right now I'm ringing your French bell. But if you ultimately can't defeat the Japanese, I'll naturally switch to ringing the Japanese bell. You can just pack up and leave, but I can't. So for my own life, for my future comfort, I must prepare early."

"Fine, Wang. I admit you're right, but I still despise you." The burly, hairy Egger rolled his eyes comically, then drank deeply: "Don't worry. Next time you meet the Japanese monkeys, tell them France, Britain, and America have decided to jointly supply your National Army with weapons, ammunition, and military supplies—and send elite personnel to train your soldiers in using them and fighting more effectively."

Teach the National Army how to fight? From Germany's blitzkrieg on Poland to France's surrender, it had taken exactly one year. The proud arrogance of the French had crumbled before German blades.

The joke was hilarious. Wang Yan nodded seriously and laughed heartily, as if he'd won: "I imagine when the Japanese hear this news, their faces will be terrible. They've paid for their arrogance."

After a few more casual remarks, Egger urged: "Enough, Wang. Go handle the mess those Japanese monkeys caused. Every second wasted means untold money slipping away. Such a grave sin—God won't forgive it."

"Don't forget what I asked you this morning—get me those scientific journals. Who knows? I might find inspiration in them and devise a new way to make money—something only we control."

"Rest assured, my friend. How could I forget your request? I'll deliver them within three months."

Wang Yan nodded, then asked: "Want to go out tonight?"

"No thanks, Wang. You know my wife is a shrew. Every time I come home late, she cries and screams. She even called my eighty-year-old grandmother all the way across town—she's a lunatic. Wang, believe me: don't marry. You made the right choice."

"What a pity. Then I'll have to enjoy the glittering world by myself."

Wang Yan shrugged helplessly, drained his glass, rose, and left Egger's office. He then visited other French officials, reporting his cooperation with the Japanese and confirming his promotion to Chief Inspector. Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Egger lacked political wisdom; he only held his position as head of police logistics because Wang Yan advised him. Wang Yan had low expectations of him.

He wasn't afraid the French would suspect him. As Egger said, even if he refused to obey the Japanese, the worst they could do was assassinate him. The French understood this well. Though Wang Yan was skilled at weaving networks of mutual interest and appeared influential in the French Concession, he never touched the core of the Municipal Council. He never accessed secrets. Or rather, the French Concession was about making money—it had no real secrets.

After going through the rounds, drinking a glass of wine, smoking a few cigarettes, and finalizing all arrangements, Wang Yan finally descended the stairs.

Seeing Fang Yuantu smoking outside, Wang Yan stepped out and patted his shoulder: "Old Fang, if you have no plans tonight, I'll treat you and Old Zhang to the Paramount."

"No need. I already have plans. Ask Old Zhang."

"Old Fang, your attitude won't let you work properly." Wang Yan smiled, choosing to speak plainly: "I know you're resentful. But think clearly: with my ties to the French, unless I die, you'll never take my place. You used to be sensible, know your place—why are you acting foolish now? Have you already arranged to shoot me in the back? Or planted a bomb in my car?"

Fang Yuantu's face darkened. Wang Yan's words made it clear he wasn't taken seriously—and the unspoken threat was: do you want to live or die? He still smiled, bowing low: "How could you say that? I'd never think of such things. How about this, Brother Yan—tonight I treat you and Old Zhang to the Paramount. A pre-celebration for your promotion to Chief Inspector."

Wang Yan nodded approvingly, clapped his shoulder: "I know you're just acting like a spoiled child. I understand. After all, we joined the police force together. You see me close to the French, making big money, living in a garden villa, driving a luxury car—it's natural to feel jealous. Old Fang, you know how I treat the brothers in my squad. Don't worry—you'll always get your share. We'll all get rich together. Don't be petty. Tonight's still my treat. Don't argue. Do you think I can't afford your share? Go tell Old Zhang."

After hearing this, Fang Yuantu's expression improved considerably. Of course, he had no choice. If he dared to show any resentment, he was certain he'd be left pale as death. He was merely bitter, envious. He wanted to kill Wang Yan but lacked the confidence. He also couldn't risk the French wrath—Wang Yan was their moneybag.

"Alright, Brother Yan, it's settled."

He agreed cheerfully…