Chapter 612: Exploiting the Incident

Wang Yan understood that the Japanese were searching his home to gather useful intelligence, and even dared to lurk next door to eavesdrop, hoping to collect information from his daily life—who he called, who he met, what he said—among all these intricate threads, there must be some connections. Even if Wang Yan said nothing, the Japanese spies could still analyze useful information from it.

Of course, it wasn't that the Japanese placed special importance on Wang Yan; they simply had plenty of personnel and many other channels to obtain intelligence, but since there was a possible payoff, they'd assigned some men to set up surveillance.

Also, because Wang Yan openly did business with both parties for so many years, the truth and falsehood were hard to distinguish—they needed to confirm whether Wang Yan truly belonged to one side or the other. After all, having interacted for so long, no one would believe he had no ties at all; the key was how deep those ties ran.

The next day, Wang Yan woke up as usual, practiced two sets of fists in the courtyard to loosen his body, washed up, then put on his police uniform, draped his overcoat, drove out, ate a lavish breakfast at a restaurant, and went to the police station for work.

The work of the first squad had already been taken over by He Shaohong; he was merely waiting to be promoted to detective captain, so when he arrived, his men had long been dispatched. He entered his office, poured himself a cup of hot water to steep tea, dialed a few numbers on the rotary phone, spoke a few words, hung up, then read newspapers for over an hour before leaving the station and driving to the North Station.

Though called the North Station, it had been renamed Shanghai Station by the Japanese, but people still used the old name out of habit. After occupying Shanghai, the Japanese shut down all other stations, leaving only this one—every train now terminated here, for easier management and inspection of passengers and cargo.

As a hub for passenger and cargo turnover, the station was naturally an ideal place to build warehouses. Especially since it was the only station left, and goods from the docks were transported by rail from Wusongkou to this location, warehouses clustered densely here.

Wang Yan's warehouse was here too, built years ago by himself after securing the land—it covered a large area, right next to the Suzhou River, and just over five hundred meters from the famed Sihang Warehouse. It had survived the earlier war not for any other reason, but simply because the Japanese didn't yet want to provoke the French.

The French imported goods unloaded at Wusongkou, loaded onto trains, and shipped to the North Station, where they were stored, inventoried, and matched with buyers—some sold locally, with buyers coming to pick them up; others were distributed along railway lines to various stations, forming a vast sales network.

When Wang Yan arrived at the warehouse, it was bustling—everywhere, men in coarse cotton tunics worked hard. This was because the Japanese had previously seized several shipments of overseas goods, and now they were all being released at once, causing a massive backlog and overwhelming the turnover capacity. Normally it was busy, but never to this extent.

Wang Yan got out of the car, lit a cigarette, and hadn't taken more than a few puffs when a young man in a sharp suit ran over: "Big Brother."

This man was Shi Changxing, Wang Yan's loyal subordinate; he'd been the one Wang Yan called last night. He worked here alongside the company's official manager, primarily managing the workers and guarding the warehouse.

"How's it going? Did the Japanese clear the medicines and such?"

Shi Changxing pointed to a row of trucks: "Those are them—arrived yesterday, haven't even been unloaded yet. Damn Japanese bastards, always giving us trouble."

"Be grateful—you're lucky to get them back at all. Do you know I've started cooperating with the Japanese just to get these goods released?" Without waiting for a question, Wang Yan explained everything—told him what had happened over the past two days.

"Big Brother, the Japanese aren't good people—we can't really work for them, can we?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no. It all depends on whether the Americans, British, and French can hold out. If they can, we're just fooling the Japanese, playing with fools. But if the foreigners collapse, we'll have to side with the Japanese—eat their food, and they can kill us anytime. We won't have a choice. Times are different now—think before you speak. Don't go around shouting that the Japanese aren't good people."

"How many spies are there in Shanghai right now? How many of them are Japanese? Do you even know who among your men are loyal? What you do personally doesn't matter—whether you side with the Nationalists or the Reds, I don't care. But you must never show hatred toward the Japanese. Understand? Often, you represent me. If others hear what you say, won't they assume I taught you? If you want to die, I won't stop you—but don't drag me down with you, got it?"

"I just spoke without thinking—the Japanese are just too evil, holding us up for so long. Big Brother, don't worry—I'll watch my mouth from now on. I won't say a word about the Japanese."

Wang Yan glanced at him, dropped the subject, and asked: "Do what I told you last night—quickly. Saving face matters, but safety matters more."

"Yes, Big Brother—should I get going now?"

"You're asking me?"

Shi Changxing slapped himself lightly, waved his hand, and turned to run—he was too hard to please.

Wang Yan found the manager, inquired about the transaction details, gave some instructions—by then it was noon. He drove out for lunch, then returned to the station to drink tea and read newspapers.

Near two in the afternoon, a knock at the door woke Wang Yan from his nap. He yawned and called out: "Come in."

In walked one of his Chinese constables, leading a boy of fifteen or sixteen. The constable said: "Captain, this kid's been outside shouting he has important information to report to you—he even claimed it concerns your safety. I didn't dare stop him, so I brought him in."

Wang Yan rubbed his eyes, shook off the drowsiness, picked up his cup to drink water, then realized it was cold. He swallowed a sip to quench his thirst and pushed the cup forward: "Bring me some hot water."

The young constable hurried over, took the cup, and poured hot water from a thermos.

"Speak up, boy—what could possibly threaten my safety? I'll warn you now—if you're just wasting my time, I'll have you thrown out right now."

The boy wore ill-fitting, tattered clothes but looked generally clean. Hearing Wang Yan's question, he shook his head vigorously: "Who in Shanghai doesn't know you're about to become detective captain? Even if I had eight pairs of balls, I wouldn't dare mock you, sir. This is real—I've got something urgent to tell you."

"Speak! Don't dawdle." Wang Yan took a sip of the hot water and stared at the boy.

"Today I was coming from Jilida Road, passed by your house, and saw people sneaking in and out of the Western-style house next door. I'm certain—the house was empty before. I heard the owner went abroad. If it were the owner, why act like thieves? I think these people aren't good—they're either stealing or planning something against you. So I rushed here to warn you."

Wang Yan frowned, lit a cigarette, and let the constable light it for him: "You're sure you didn't mistake it?"

"Positive—I checked the house number several times. And the people—I saw them clearly. Two of them, both in black clothes. Looked like professionals."

The Chinese constable added: "Captain, I think this kid's telling the truth. For safety's sake, let's gather our men and go check it out. Better safe than sorry."

"Nonsense. Is that even our jurisdiction? If we show up with a whole squad, are we arresting thieves—or challenging other police stations? Jumping at shadows, speaking without thinking—get out of here."

Wang Yan glared at his subordinate, lit a cigarette, picked up the phone, and dialed. After a moment, the call connected: "Hello, Lao Liu? It's Wang Yan. Someone just told me my house next door was burglarized—yes, that house where the owner went abroad and it's been empty for years. They said the intruders were all in black, looked like professionals—possibly spies. My life's in your hands—quickly, gather your men, surround the house, don't let anyone escape—I'm on my way with a team."

He slammed down the phone, put on his cap, threw on his overcoat, pulled out his wallet, and handed over a fifty-dollar bill: "Yours."

"I don't want money—I want to work for you."

"Then take this money, go get a bath, a haircut, buy yourself a decent new suit, and come back here tomorrow." Wang Yan turned and walked out, ordering the constable: "Go, gather ten men, take the station's car—let's see which Wang Ba dares to plot against me."

At the constable's whistle, a group of men sprinted over, fully armed, piled into vehicles, and followed Wang Yan's car as they sped off.

The boy who gave the tip watched Wang Yan leave, sneered—what a phony performance. He shook his head, pulled out a cigarette he'd stolen from the desk, lit it, and strolled out of the Central Police Station…

At that moment, Jilida Road was anything but quiet. Lao Liu of the Avenue Foch Police Station had honored Wang Yan's request—he'd immediately gathered dozens of men and rushed out, swiftly surrounding Wang Yan's home and the neighboring garden villa, even requisitioning the house on the other side. Lao Liu feared nothing—he knew Wang Yan would cover for him, and it counted as a performance bonus, so he made it as dramatic as possible.

So when Wang Yan arrived with his men, a crowd of officers stood armed with rifles and pistols, using a metal megaphone to order those inside to surrender—without attacking.

Wang Yan acted as if he hadn't noticed the scene, rushing over to Lao Liu: "How's it going, Lao Liu?"

Lao Liu's full name was Liu Yitong, one year older than Wang Yan, a good family man with a wife and children, rarely went out carousing, just liked a small drink now and then. He was quite capable—others fought battles while he watched; others watched, he seized credit; others seized credit, he fought battles. But his captain was under forty, and unless he died, Lao Liu would never rise. He was probably already plotting how to get his captain killed—every one of them was a backstabber.

"Don't worry, Brother, everything's under control. Just some petty thieves—where could they run?" Liu Yitong puffed out his chest, sounding as if he were a hero.

Wang Yan nodded: "Thanks, Lao Liu. I'll take care of the arrests—then I'll treat everyone to dinner."

"Nah, no need for that—we're brothers. Go ahead and grab them. This place is full of rich folks and foreigners—our noise is already too loud, we'll get scolded later. I'll hold the perimeter here—no one escapes."

Wang Yan clapped Lao Liu on the shoulder, pulled out his pistol, clicked the slide to chamber a round, and ordered: "Five men behind, five in front—if anyone resists, shoot to kill. Move!"

The constables' combat effectiveness varied by situation. Inside the concessions, when Japanese spies clashed with the KMT or the Reds—or when major bandits struck—they were useless, hiding far away to watch, then showing up afterward to collect bodies.

But when ordered to serve their superiors—knowing Wang Yan wouldn't let them down—their fighting spirit was quite adequate. Before joining the police force, they underwent screening; after joining, they received police training before assignment.

So after the sound of rifles being chambered, ten men split into two teams, Wang Yan following behind.

When he judged the flank team had reached position, a tall man kicked open the front door, while others shattered the windows and stormed inside.

Events often unfold dramatically—just as the assault began, a voice rang out from the villa: "Detective Wang, this is a misunderstanding—we're all on the same side!"

"Then drop your weapons and surrender—we'll see if it's a misunderstanding."

Wang Yan waved his hand—the attack didn't stop. His men continued cautiously searching room by room, inching forward.

Then footsteps echoed, and two men in black clothes, looking miserable, slowly descended the stairs with their hands raised, facing the gun barrels.

Once they reached the first-floor parlor, Wang Yan's men didn't hesitate—kicked their knees to force them to kneel, tied them up with ropes, then began searching the entire house for explosives.

One of the Japanese spies, grimacing from the tight bindings, smiled nervously at Wang Yan: "Detective Wang, we were sent by Mr. Meng Chunping."

He felt rather wronged. The surveillance had been going fine, nothing happening, quite leisurely. Who would have thought that suddenly several dozen people showed up and surrounded the two of them, and they didn't even know how they'd been exposed.

Still, the two of them were quite decisive, because before they came the team leader had given instructions: if discovered, surrender. At worst it'd be some flesh-and-blood suffering, nothing major...

Meng Chunping was Cunben Yilang's Chinese name. They couldn't openly declare themselves agents of the Shanghai Special Higher Police in broad daylight, so they could only use this little ruse.

Wang Yan squinted at them: "Whether your name is Mengchun or Jiaochun, today's matter won't pass so easily."

At that moment, hurried footsteps came clattering down from upstairs: "Captain, they're surveilling you."

Wang Yan looked at the equipment in the hand of the little brother peeking out from the stairwell, and with a great slap sent the speaking Japanese special agent's teeth flying through the air, landing and rolling twice on the ground.

Still not satisfied, he kicked the other Japanese special agent, who hadn't spoken, flying to one side, his life or death unknown.

"Send these two back to the police station, give them a good beating first. Leave five brothers behind, search my house carefully, find those surveillance devices for me."

Wang Yan walked out with a dark face, and cupped his hands toward Liu Yitong, who had already heard what happened inside and was somewhat gloating: "Thanks, Old Liu. Tonight take these brothers and pick any place you like to have fun, put it on my tab. Another day I'll treat you, Old Liu, to drinks separately."

"Then this brother will not stand on ceremony. You be careful yourself." Old Liu leaned in and said: "Once you're tangled with the Japanese, the trouble won't be small. If you need help, just say the word anytime."

Wang Yan patted Old Liu's shoulder, watched Old Liu gather his men and leave, then swept his gloomy face over the surrounding crowd, snorted, and entered his own garden-style Western house...