Chapter 630: Playing the Fool

Qi Si completed the task Wang Yan assigned him well; by noon, his white shirt was soaked with sweat and splattered with bloodspots, turning it into a bloodstained garment—the little brat looked downright fearsome. His inch-long hair was damp, his face still wet with water, clearly washed and then hastily wiped across the scalp.

Wang Yan told Qi Si to take off his shirt and throw it away, then put on the one he'd left here—though it was much too large, at least it was dry; he could tuck and fold it and make do.

The two went downstairs to see Jingkou Kōji, beaten beyond recognition by various tortures, long dead—truly killed by relentless punishment. Except for the electric chair, nearly all the instruments had been used. If there was any pause, it was only when Qi Si grew tired, lit a cigarette, and took a break—after that, Jingkou Kōji was beaten nonstop until he died.

They had the body collected and left it there for now. Wang Yan got into Qi Si's car and drove to a restaurant on the way to Jin Shenfu's place for lunch. As usual, no explanation was needed upon entering—the owner would serve the dishes automatically. Wang Yan still sat at the very back, a position that let him observe the outside while allowing him to dodge attacks at a moment's notice.

Opposite him, Qi Si held a teacup with one hand and propped his head with the other, gazing out the window: "Brother Yan, these Japanese are too arrogant—they've surrounded this restaurant. Should I call Shi Ge? Have him bring people to take control of them, show these Japanese what we're made of."

"Strength? What strength do we have? Just thugs fighting over street turf. No matter how strong we are, can we match their planes, artillery, ironclad warships? Two Japanese brigades, nearly twenty thousand troops, are stationed in Shanghai. You're not showing them our strength—you're begging to die early. Foolish kid, do you really think the Japanese care much about me, or that I'm irreplaceable? Let me tell you: it's the same with or without me. Never think too highly of yourself."

"But this is too much of an insult."

"It's an insult to you—so what? Enough. This isn't your concern. Just eat well, keep your strength up, and do what I told you to do. Dishes are here—eat your food."

Unlike his usual wolfish eating, Wang Yan now ate with exquisite care. Since he had no real duties all day, he chewed slowly, deliberately putting on the airs of a wealthy tycoon, pretending to be noble.

Though it was peak lunchtime and the restaurant was full, without doubt, Wang Yan's food arrived first—no one else had been served. First came cold dishes, then hot stir-fries, finally stews—soon the whole table was piled high.

At that moment, Cunben Yilang and another Japanese man in a suit entered the restaurant and walked straight to Wang Yan's table, standing beside it. Qi Si, seeing them, wisely stood up, carried his plates and bowls aside, then returned with two more dishes and began eating heartily on his own.

Letting the other Japanese go in first, Cunben Yilang sat on the outside and said: "Inspector Wang, let me introduce you—this is Ambassador Ōmura Akihiro of the Consulate, who has been in China for twenty years, traveled widely, and is a true China expert."

Ōmura Akihiro was a man in his forties, square-faced with short hair and a trimmed beard. At his age, with his experience and position in the consulate, his status was clearly high—though there was no need to explain it to Wang Yan. Of course, it wasn't *that* high, or he wouldn't have come himself to run this errand.

He bowed slightly, politely, speaking fluent Chinese with a slight Shanghai accent: "Inspector Wang, I hope for your continued support."

"How could I support you? It's you two who should support me," Wang Yan waved his chopsticks, tapping them against the dishes. "Have you eaten yet? Would you care to join me?"

"Thank you, no," Ōmura Akihiro replied. "I've long heard Inspector Wang enjoys life's pleasures—today I see it's true."

Wang Yan chuckled, ignoring the comment. He tilted his head back, drank a sip of liquor, ate a bite of food to settle the strong alcohol, then got straight to the point: "You both know about today's incident. The fault lies with me—but it wasn't my intention. Wang Mou is greedy, lustful, cowardly—everyone in Shanghai knows it. How could I possibly have the guts to sabotage your Japanese affairs?"

It's all a misunderstanding. It was Fang Yuantu—no, Jingkou Kōji's subordinate—who discovered him meeting with suspicious individuals, and found out he'd leaked the location of the escaped prisoner. You know I never let my men offend you, or the Kuomintang or the Communists, nor allow them to cooperate with any of you three. As their superior, if any of them offended one side, the retaliation would come straight to me—first, they'd kill me.

Suppose Jingkou Kōji hadn't been yours, but someone from the other two parties—and you discovered his identity and disrupted your operations. You wouldn't have let him go either. Maybe you wouldn't kill me, but you'd make me bleed.

I live to make money and enjoy comfort—I can't tolerate this. When I learned the news, I immediately sent men to arrest Jingkou Kōji's wife and children, planning to threaten him, then, under the pretext of a meeting, arrest Jingkou Kōji himself to interrogate him and enforce family discipline. But when he explained, he claimed the man he met was the silk shop owner, and that his phone call was to his wife. Given my suspicions, how could I believe that? So I sent men to arrest the silk shop owner too.

Jingkou Kōji wouldn't give up—he threatened me with the elders of the Green Gang. So I sent men to arrest Gao Yunchang of the Tong character generation. I admit, when we were both captains, Jingkou Kōji disrespected me. After I became inspector and became his superior, he obeyed my orders only outwardly, secretly defying them. My original intent was to find an opportunity to punish him and replace him with my own man. You two are both superiors—you know this well, and you understand.

But I didn't expect he was Japanese. You know I'm cowardly—if only I knew, I'd have said nothing, likely engineered an accident to make him die. If only two or three knew, I'd have come straight to you and asked you to arrange Jingkou Kōji's disappearance. But the situation didn't allow it—my driver, two other captains, the interrogators, the guards outside—eight or more people knew. I couldn't risk it.

I am still a French Concession detective, eating French bread. My current status and wealth—and even your anger, yet your continued courtesy toward me—are precisely because of this. So now, I cannot, and dare not, deceive the French. I had to report Jingkou Kōji's case.

That's the whole story. I've hidden nothing—not even my own petty schemes. Now tell me: what's your decision? But I'll say this upfront: though years of luxury have made me timid, cowardly, if I know death is certain, I'll fight to the death. You know well how Wang Mou got here. I may not harm the Empire of Japan, but I can still be a fly—buzzing, annoying, pestering you endlessly."

The two Japanese smiled tightly, staring at Wang Yan. As he spoke while eating and drinking, they pulled out pistols, clicked the chambers, and slammed them on the table—murderous intent glinting in their eyes, as if ready to leap up and kill him first.

When you must show your stance, you show it. The Japanese bushido spirit is a joke—because if you don't act like a bushido man, someone will force you to. In this world, true madmen are rare. Even if there are any, they're mostly brainless fools.

Ōmura Akihiro shook his head with a smile, utterly unafraid of Wang Yan's threat—even though it was genuinely terrifying, he had no doubt Wang Yan would kill him, would dare to oppose the Japanese. Of course, Wang Yan's words were clear: if his life wasn't threatened, there'd be no desperate last stand.

"Inspector Wang, don't be so tense. We always trust our Empire's friends. I've heard of your character—I know you'd never actively oppose us. As you said, our intelligence confirms this was truly accidental. We fully understand your actions. Inspector Wang, could you tell us what Liu Mingjie, the silk shop owner, confessed?"

Wang Yan spat a fishbone into his dish, looked up at Ōmura Akihiro: "The French garrison has already taken him away—your people must have seen that too. Why ask? Of course he confessed everything: a detective from the French Concession, two captains from the Béthanie and Xiao Dongmen precincts, other officers of various ranks, several Chinese already bribed by you, and high-ranking members of the Municipal Council who cooperated with you—all of it was exposed."

"As for the French attitude? Naturally, they're furious. Beyond that, I don't know—this isn't my affair. But France is far away in Europe, beyond reach. I doubt they'll take drastic action. How it turns out depends entirely on your negotiations. Have you withdrawn all your people?"

"Not yet. We don't know how much the French know—if we act rashly, we'd be confessing. And under current conditions, the French won't dare mass arrests. If this goes international, we'll lose face—but so will the Municipal Council we've infiltrated. They're not that foolish. As you said, it depends on how we negotiate. Inspector Wang, don't worry. This incident wasn't your fault—we understand. And now you've cooperated fully, showing your sincerity. We won't make trouble for you. Rest easy."

"Ultimately, I ruined your plan. I don't know what you like, so sending gifts openly would be risky. Here's a check for two hundred thousand U. S. dollars—you can cash it at Citibank. Please, use it as needed. U. S. dollars are hard currency now; whatever you want, buy it yourself. This is my utmost sincerity. I can't touch a cent of the French money—I need to keep my own funds circulating, and this is all I can spare."

"Please accept it. And when you return, speak well of me to your superiors. My stance remains unchanged: if the Japanese army ever enters the French Concession, I'll serve you as I served the French. But now, I simply can't betray them—everything I have comes from them. I'm sure you two dislike double-dealers—and you'd never trust one."

Ōmura Akihiro looked at the check Wang Yan respectfully placed before him, at the string of zeros, then out the window at the patrolling agents, then at Wang Yan's pistol beside him, finally settling on Wang Yan's smiling, genial face: "Inspector Wang, you're too kind. Though we've suffered losses, the main fault lies with Jingkou Kōji—I fully understand your actions. It wasn't your intention. Inspector Wang, I cannot accept this money. The Empire has always recognized you. Personally, I hope to build friendship with you—become close confidants."

"Then you must accept this money. If you don't, I won't be able to sleep. Don't worry—I've always been generous to friends. We can talk more when time allows. Take it. You must take it."

"Then I won't refuse your kindness," Ōmura Akihiro said, genuinely delighted. Earlier, though he smiled, he'd barely shown teeth—clearly professional fakery. Now he grinned wide, showing his gums. His hands moved swiftly—*whoosh*—he snatched the check away.

Cunben Yilang watched, deeply uncomfortable, but had no choice. Though not under Ōmura Akihiro's direct command, he was still a subordinate now. He couldn't help thinking: why didn't I ever give Wang Yan money before?

But he couldn't look unhappy—he had to meet Ōmura Akihiro's and Wang Yan's eyes and laugh heartily.

After laughing awhile, Ōmura Akihiro said: "Inspector Wang, then it's settled. We've said everything. You can sleep peacefully now. We won't disturb your lunch. Goodbye."

"Wait," Wang Yan held up a hand. "Jingkou Kōji died from excessive torture. We can hand over his body—do you want it?"

"No need. Traitors to the Empire have no right to be buried by Imperial warriors. Inspector Wang, handle it as you see fit."

Hearing Ōmura Akihiro's cold words, Wang Yan feigned an awkward smile and accepted. Then he turned to Cunben Yilang, who had merely made the introduction: "Mr. Cunben, earlier during the meeting you called—my driver answered. He told me you said the special pass was troublesome? You know, my business can't stop—not a single second costs money. Especially after I just showed you my goodwill—I can't afford any mishaps now."

Cunben Yilang "Ah!" and slapped his forehead, pulling a stack of documents from his pocket: "After I called, it was resolved—and completed early. I forgot to give them to you. These are for your Yonghua Industrial Company. Anyone carrying these passes only needs a simple check to pass through. Each pass has a number—we've notified the border guards. They'll verify against the list, so be careful—don't let others misuse them, or trouble will follow."

"Good, I've noted it all. Now I can finally relax. To be honest, I couldn't even eat before. You're both busy men—I won't waste your time. Please, go."

Wang Yan stood, shook hands with the two Japanese, watched them leave with a smile, then watched the cluster of unknown men outside disperse…