Chapter 617: It

Actually, sometimes being a woman isn't so bad either…

Wang Manchun lay helplessly on the bed, her large eyes hazy as she stared at the ceiling, thinking of last night's unforgettable madness.

She even began to understand Wang Yan's lustfulness—after all, with such stamina, having only one woman every day was a torment for him, and a great loss for other women. She finally understood why Wang Yan had such a stellar reputation in brothels: generosity was one thing, but mainly it was because he let women experience true pleasure.

With her ruthless heart, serpent-like cunning, and iron will, she had even changed her view of Wang Yan, deciding that his greed and lust were understandable.

After all, with that much energy, if he didn't chase money, where would he get the cash to satisfy his lust? And if he didn't indulge his lust, how would he release that energy?

After lying on the bed for a long time, lost in chaotic thoughts, Wang Manchun wearily pushed herself up. The blanket slipped off her body, revealing her soft, pale skin. She found a pair of fashionable black lace underwear from that era and put them on, then stepped barefoot onto the floor—her toes pinkish-white—and pulled on a loose robe from the closet before shuffling out in slippers.

The entire villa was silent, utterly devoid of sound. She trudged slowly downstairs, poured herself a glass of boiled water in the first-floor parlor, and moistened her dry, even painful throat. Only then did she have the presence of mind to properly observe this garden villa, so incongruous with Wang Yan's status.

The second floor was open to the ceiling; sunlight streamed through the large windows, making the early spring house feel stuffy. The sofa and carpet were both French imports, clearly expensive. Dust coated the kitchen utensils; aside from the water-heating area, the kitchen had clearly gone unused for days. The whole place was luxurious, yet far from clean—expecting Wang Yan, that big boss, or his half-grown boy sidekick, to tidy up was impossible.

She could understand—it was all clear to her what had happened before. Wang Yan didn't want anyone coming into the house now, fearing the Japanese might slip in more spies. It was perfectly reasonable.

She checked the time—it was past ten. She called out twice, half-heartedly, but got no reply. She wandered casually, as if in her own home, inspecting each room.

Finally, she made her way up to the third-floor study.

She had heard before that Wang Yan liked reading, but only now, seeing the walls lined densely with domestic and foreign books, did she realize just how complex he was beyond imagination.

A powerful, greedy, lustful chief detective of the French Concession's central district, a street thug who had fought since childhood and later joined the Green Gang to kill and plunder—how could he also be a scholar with vast knowledge? It was contradictory, impossible for one person to embody both.

In this era, intellectuals held high status—whether as newspaper editors, university scholars, or freelance writers—they were unquestionably more respected than thugs. Thus, educated men looked down on becoming thugs.

The French Concession police were, at their core, thugs—either with triad ties or willing to fight and kill. They existed solely to protect the interests of the mere ten thousand Westerners in a French Concession of nearly a million people, helping those ten thousand manage the remaining eight or nine hundred thousand Chinese of all classes. Wang Yan had risen above them all and now held the position of detective chief—not by merely making money, clearly. His level of thuggishness was obvious.

Wang Manchun idly pulled out a book, noting clear signs of frequent reading, and shook her head in admiration—thugs read French, and worse, she spotted Japanese books too. No amount of "f***s" could express the discomfort churning inside her.

She walked to the far right, opened a cabinet, fumbled for a moment, pressed a hidden latch, and revealed a secret compartment carved into the wall. Inside lay stacked gold bars, newly recast—one pound each—and bundles of neatly tied U. S. dollars, property deeds, and various jade pieces.

She knew this money couldn't be Wang Yan's entire fortune—perhaps only a tiny fraction. But she wasn't a woman who'd never seen wealth. She'd merely heard rumors from Nan Tianyangzi about Wang Yan's hidden compartments, and now she was alone here, so she wanted to see if anything had changed—whether he'd stored documents or other items.

After examining the pile of money, she opened the leftmost hidden compartment, revealing various weapons and ammunition. Men's love for guns and cannons was normal, especially for Wang Yan, who had money and connections—he could acquire nearly every model of weapon in the world. They also knew he was involved in underground arms deals, but the weapons he sold weren't high-end or massively destructive, so the Japanese never mentioned them.

No desired discovery. Wang Manchun shook her head in disappointment, restored the secret compartment, returned to the second-floor bedroom, and for once, energetically made the bed. Only then did she dress and leave to eat, replenish her strength, and report to the Tokumu-ka.

"You didn't disappoint me—you did excellently!" Nan Tianyangzi gave Wang Manchun high praise for successfully climbing into Wang Yan's bed.

She asked: "Through closer contact, what kind of man do you think Wang Yan is?"

Wang Manchun didn't hesitate—she'd been thinking about this question since before she got into bed yesterday, all the way to now: "He's just a greedy, lustful man who cares only for his own comfort. But such a man will never be loyal to the Great Japanese Empire. Last night I asked him about his parents… I re-examined both hidden compartments in his study, and nothing had changed. There were no identifying documents in the house. My impression is—he truly doesn't care about any intelligence. He does only two things: make money and find women. Superintendent, is such a man really worth our attention?"

Nan Tianyangzi glanced at her and shook her head: "Even if you extract no useful intelligence from him, he remains the highest-ranking Chinese detective in the French Concession police, overseeing tens of thousands of subordinates, with hundreds of Green Gang men under him. Such a man is irreplaceable for the Great Japanese Empire's future maintenance of local stability.

I can tell you plainly: Wang Yan ranks high on our friendly list. If the Empire expels the British, Americans, and French, and occupies the International Settlement and French Concession, Wang Yan will still be a police detective—and we will promote him, grant him greater authority. Is such a man not worth winning over? Foolish!

Moreover, he is the closest Chinese to the core of the Municipal Council, aside from those who've climbed into Frenchmen's beds. He avoids intelligence gathering doesn't mean he doesn't know. Perhaps something he casually mentions could be invaluable to us—you must guide him."

Thinking of Wang Yan's demeanor, Wang Manchun shook her head: "He already suspects I'm approaching him with ulterior motives. Extracting intelligence from him will be difficult."

"Then tell him you work for the Shanghai Tokumu-ka. Don't you have confidence in your appearance and body? Wang Yan is lustful—can't you outshine those cheap dancing girls? Make him obsessed with you."

"Yes, Superintendent."

"But Wang Yan isn't ordinary. You've seen how many books he has—he's no brute, but a man whose mind is well-armed with knowledge. That's precisely why he's harder to handle than intellectuals. So if you can't make him obsessed with you, don't blame yourself—but you must maintain your intimate relationship."

Nan Tianyangzi was still humane, not forcing Wang Manchun to achieve the impossible. She knew such things had no absolutes. If Wang Yan were truly easy to handle, why would they have gone through so much trouble?

Wang Manchun nodded again: "Yes, Superintendent. I will do my best."

"Go. While you're still newly together, spend more time with him. You can lay it all out—he won't dare touch you…"

Wang Manchun departed, returned home for a hot bath, changed into a vibrant qipao that accentuated her curves, and hurried back to Wang Yan's garden villa.

The house had no lock—even with no one home, no thief would dare break in. Wang Yan was a celebrity on the Shanghai streets; perhaps the masses didn't know who he was, but every underworld thug did. They knew who to fear and who to avoid. Even if Wang Yan's door stood wide open, no fool would dare wander inside.

No sign of a burglar. No sign Wang Yan had returned. Wang Manchun sat listlessly on the parlor sofa, reading the newspaper. She wanted Wang Yan to see her the moment he came back—so he'd feel she'd already been conquered…

Compared to past female characters, Wang Manchun was different—because Wang Yan felt no pity for her, and even thought about killing her someday. But that could wait two years. Until then, she'd be well-used—wasting such a lush body would be a great sin. Another difference: Wang Yan treated this woman with a story purely as a tool—he rarely treated women this way.

Wang Yan sat comfortably in his warehouse office, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette, puffing smoke: "You know Kang Haibo?"

Shi Changxing, relaxed as ever before his brother, chewed a large cigar and blew smoke rings: "Big shot? Of course I know. Detective chief on Avenue Joffre, more senior than you."

"Kill him."

Shi Changxing froze mid-smoke ring, sat upright, and asked: "Is he blocking our path?"

He'd followed Wang Yan for years—he'd long passed the stage of just obeying orders without asking. He was Wang Yan's top lieutenant, handling many dirty jobs, a core member, entitled to know why.

Wang Yan shook his head: "It's Liu Yitong. Earlier, when the Japanese were eavesdropping next door, he led the team to surround those two Japanese agents. Later, when Lin Hongyuan got eliminated by the Military Intelligence Bureau, it happened on his turf—he immediately sent word to me, letting me see the first scene, so I knew what was going on. That's two favors owed."

This kid's playing dumb—he doesn't want to get close to the Japanese. I told him if Kang Haibo sways the Japanese, he's as good as dead. So we strike first. We do it ourselves, repay the debt, and avoid some future mess dragging me into the mud."

"Move fast. Pin it on the Military Intelligence Bureau. Learn their methods—kill him in broad daylight. Kill Kang Haibo the same way Lin Hongyuan died."

"Got it, Brother Yan. I'll arrange it right away. Tomorrow or the day after, he's dead. If we're lucky, maybe even today." Shi Changxing nodded, rose cleanly, and left—he was always reliable. Solid combat skills, trained in Xingyi Quan, above-average marksmanship.

Once the order was given, Wang Yan didn't bother further—he only waited for results. If killing a powerless Chinese detective was botched by his men, Wang Yan would break their legs and expel them from the gang.

Times change, actions change—so must the punishment of subordinates. In this era, men with triad ties? Killing them was never wrong. Even if I, Wang Mou, were killed, I'd die without complaint—let alone my men who used my name to bully others. They do worse than I do.

There's no choice—it's how things are. If I didn't act this way, I couldn't fit in. But comparatively, my men are cleaner. Cleaner, yet still guilty…

Shi Changxing may seem lazy and clownish around Wang Yan, but he's the one who's followed him longest—he knows Wang Yan's temperament best. So every task Wang Yan gives, he treats as the hardest, most important. That's his secret to never falling behind.

After leaving the office, he didn't depart the warehouse—he found his men and assigned surveillance on Kang Haibo: track his daily movements, routine, frequent locations. Only by understanding the enemy thoroughly could they ensure mission success.

By afternoon, Kang Haibo's information was nearly complete.

Though powerless, Kang Haibo had money—he gambled, chased women, and roamed all over Shanghai. But perhaps sensing he was in the way, he now left home with two cars and six bodyguards.

He actually still held power—but since Liu Yitong rose, bit by bit, he'd been sidelined. The most tragic thing for a leader: unable to command his own men. Over time, even the lowest Chinese detective gave him no respect. But Liu Yitong had restraint—he didn't fully strip him, and the two maintained a delicate balance, so peace held until now.

Only after hearing Wang Yan's words and imagining the worst scenario did Liu Yitong decide to kill Kang Haibo.

Perhaps Kang Haibo truly deserved it—he was currently enjoying himself with his mistress. And by his habit, he'd likely leave later to gamble.

So Shi Changxing acted decisively: sent a squad of six men, armed with submachine guns, to stake out Kang Haibo's location. To prevent escape, others guarded the street corners.

All participants were trusted—tested over years of countless operations. Though total secrecy was impossible, leaks didn't matter.

What mattered was having a plausible excuse: blamed on the Military Intelligence Bureau. Who'd bother investigating a dead man's case, seeking truth? No one did…

Physician, still in the corner downstairs yesterday, Wang Yan devoured lamb chops, grease smeared on mouth and hands, grinning at Liu Yitong, who ate listlessly across from him: "Old Liu, you don't look like a man who does big things. Even if one of my men botched it, so what? Would Kang Haibo dare even fart? Don't worry—I've already moved. I guarantee Kang Haibo won't see tomorrow's sun. If my men fail, I'll go myself and kill him. If Kang Haibo so much as glimpses tomorrow's sun, I'll cut off my head and kick it to you like a ball."

"It's not that. I've been overheated lately. Look at this table—any vegetables?" Liu Yitong took a sip of wine, somewhat impressed by Wang Yan's appetite.

Wang Yan bared his white teeth, gnawing on tender lamb, tossed aside the bone in his hand, and raised an eyebrow: "Eat more meat—it gives you strength."

"How was that woman last night?"

"Need you ask? Of course it was comfortable."

Liu Yitong sneered: "Don't say I didn't warn you—that woman isn't ordinary. Better be careful, or you'll end up dead without even knowing why."

"Sharp eyes. She really isn't ordinary. I'd guess she's probably sent by the Japanese."

"So you're still going after her?"

"Why not? She came to me for free, and she's gorgeous. Why refuse a free gift?"

Watching Wang Yan's shameless smugness, Liu Yitong was speechless, then raised his thumb: "One day you'll die in some woman's bed and no one will know why."

Wang Yan laughed loudly, utterly unconcerned, as he spotted Shi Changxing being led over by a waiter. He waved off Shi's attempt to whisper and said: "Speak plainly—it's for Old Liu's business."

Shi Changxing bowed slightly to Liu Yitong: "Kang Haibo and his six bodyguards are all dead. On Lafayete Road, outside the apartment building where he kept his concubines."

"Bad place to die—that's my jurisdiction. At this hour, you're just giving me extra work." Wang Yan sighed and shook his head: "Alright, arrange for the boys to have a good time. Go."

Shi Changxing nodded with a smile, turned, and left to organize the celebration.

Liu Yitong raised his cup: "Thanks. We're even now."

"Hey, I never noticed before, but lately I think you're a decent guy. Let's keep in touch, make money together."

Liu Yitong laughed heartily, drained his cup, and stood: "Keep eating. I bet things are already chaos downstairs. I'm off."

In truth, Wang Yan wasn't resting either. Kang Haibo, even if only a Chinese detective captain, was still a man of importance. His death meant Wang Yan couldn't just send his men to handle it. No sooner had Liu Yitong left than a call came from one of his men asking if he was there.

Wiping his greasy hands, Wang Yan stepped out and got into the car driven by Qi Si, heading for the scene…

Wang Man Chun had waited half the day in Wang Yan's garden villa, growing increasingly disappointed, having mentally cursed him a thousand times. Fortunately, she still had patience—went out for dinner, then returned to wait.

When she received a call from one of Wang Yan's men, she knew something had happened—he'd have to deal with it, and by the time he finished, it would be late, and he'd come home.

But she waited and waited, and Wang Yan never returned. As the moon rose high, she lost patience and called the Tokumu-kyoku to ask about Wang Yan's whereabouts.

Only then did she learn that after handling Kang Haibo's death, that bastard had returned to Da Fuhao to seek amusement again…

Wang Man Chun cursed under her breath but didn't leave. She fussed around washing up, then climbed onto the soft bed in the master bedroom upstairs, falling asleep with anger. She was done with that bastard Wang Yan—she refused to believe he wouldn't come home.

According to what she knew, Wang Yan usually rested one or two days after chasing women—he was quite health-conscious. But he'd just finished with her yesterday, and today he was out again? Was he looking down on her? Did he think she was weak?

Wang Man Chun felt indignant, lying there unable to sleep. As she thought, she couldn't help recalling last night's pleasure—it had been quite good…