Chapter 633: Can You Not Resist Japan Just Because You

Zhang Xiaolin was afraid of death—no doubt about it; otherwise, he wouldn't have invited Wang Yan to the International Settlement instead of directly going to the French Concession. Besides, the three big bosses of the Green Gang all rose to power in the French Concession—it was practically their stronghold.

But compared to Wang Yan, the de facto chief inspector of the French Concession with a hundred or so armed subordinates and enforcement authority, the French Concession could no longer be called Zhang Xiaolin's stronghold. In the French Concession, no matter who you were, if Wang Yan could cover it, he'd arrest anyone—regardless of jurisdiction—no "boss" mattered. At this time, framing and entrapping people was a mandatory professional skill for police.

In fact, the police systems in both the International Settlement and the French Concession were nearly identical to Hong Kong's. Wang Yan had once served as a Royal Hong Kong Police officer, eventually rising to Commissioner—he knew this entire system inside and out.

This time, giving Zhang Xiaolin face wasn't out of fear—it was because the two had no current conflict of interest, Zhang's power was genuinely substantial, and he was backed by the Japanese. Starting a pointless confrontation wasn't wise. Now that he'd gotten his money back and even made an extra fifty thousand, it was the best possible outcome.

As for Gao Yunchang's escape and any future retaliation, such a possibility was highly unlikely. Nobody wanted to die, especially not Gao Yunchang, who was already old. He wanted a comfortable retirement, not to court death himself.

As for Zhang Xiaolin paying out money, that was even simpler—he was just advancing the funds, not actually paying himself. Later, Gao Yunchang would have to repay the twenty-five ten thousand, plus another ten or twenty thousand as a "life-saving" payment—this amounted to nearly Gao's entire fortune.

Thus, this sudden incident was settled. Aside from the Japanese taking a loss, everyone was pleased…

Qi Si drove out of the International Settlement, returned to the French Concession, parked his car at a hotpot restaurant on Rue Lafayette, and the two ran through the rain into the shop, taking their usual corner window seat.

Though it was raining and beggars couldn't possibly come, Wang Yan still insisted on extravagance. No matter whether they could finish it, the table had to be full. Image—whether anyone saw it or not—had to be maintained constantly; over time, it became the "true self," indistinguishable from reality. Of course, for Wang Yan, it was basically just acting naturally. After all, when he indulged, every corrupt emperor in history would rise from their coffins to beat up the Confucians who tarnished their reputations. Open your dog eyes and tell me—what the hell is a corrupt emperor?

On the table, besides the pot with charcoal burning beneath it, everything else was plates and bowls: sliced beef and lamb, vegetables, freshly prepared cold dishes and stir-fries, river fish and seafood—all delivered that morning and still alive, incredibly fresh.

Wang Yan and Qi Si sat facing each other, the pot bubbling between them, filled with ingredients. They rolled up their sleeves and ate the spicy hotpot meat, grabbing huge chunks, dipping them in seasoned sauce, shoving them into their mouths, savoring the meat's aroma ignited by the spices. Wang Yan sipped small glasses of liquor; Qi Si drank soda. They hissed and groaned, feasting with pure delight.

In the past, as a true northerner, Wang Yan couldn't handle much spice, and with his poor digestion, he barely ate any at all. This robbed him of much joy, since spicy dishes were plentiful but he could barely enjoy them. Since receiving the Living Father's cultivation, his body had been strengthened repeatedly, nearing inhuman levels—this minor spiciness meant nothing to him. No stomach issues, no burning sensation the next day—just pure, unadulterated enjoyment.

Rainy days and fiery hotpots went perfectly together.

Tian Biao walked in holding an umbrella, seeing Wang Yan enjoying himself. He waved off the enthusiastic restaurant owner, told him he was here to see someone, and asked for an extra pair of chopsticks and bowl. He shook the rain off his umbrella, caught Wang Yan's casual glance, and walked over with a smile.

Qi Si noticed Wang Yan looking behind him and turned around. "Boss?"

Wang Yan understood Qi Si's meaning. "It's fine. Move over a bit, make room for him. Keep eating."

Before he finished speaking, Tian Biao had already arrived, bowed to Wang Yan, placed his umbrella aside, and sat down beside Qi Si without any formality. "Long time no see, Inspector Wang."

Watching the server place the bowls and leave, Wang Yan sighed bitterly. "It's been a long time. I saw your big move—it was impressive. The results were substantial, comparable to a ten-thousand-man ambush. I heard you suffered almost no losses?"

"Not as small as imagined," Tian Biao shook his head, grabbing a huge chunk of meat from the pot and shoving it into his mouth. "Post-operation tally: over a hundred dead, five hundred wounded in the Loyalty and Salvation Army—over two hundred seriously injured, permanently unfit for combat. The Communist guerrillas also suffered heavy losses—they blew up the railways, led the prison break, and though Pei Min held off pursuit, they still faced encirclement by military police and took significant casualties."

"Still, overall, it was a major victory. On the front lines, we couldn't even trade five or six lives for one Japanese. This operation made the boss happy, the Regional Commander happy, and everyone from top to bottom got praised. We rescued so many party elites—it's a win-win."

"You look so happy—got promoted?"

"No. I'm already a captain. Commissioned officers aren't easy to promote. Besides, the main force was the Loyalty and Salvation Army. Though our Shanghai station played some role—even I joined the operation—it still wasn't enough. But since the mission succeeded with big results and minimal losses, the boss and Regional Commander were pleased, and I got a commendation. Next time I earn merit, I'll be eligible for promotion—that's when I'll become a provisional major. Can't help it—born poor, my record's weak, no connections above…"

Wang Yan knew this was Tian Biao's discontent—someone from Shanghai Station, less deserving than him, had been promoted to major. Totally normal. Chiang Kai-shek favored fellow provincials; Zhejiang people in the KMT were heavily favored, especially those from before Huangpu's seventh class—these were his trusted inner circle. If someone was a Huangpu graduate, from Zhejiang, and especially from Fenghua, and had even a little talent and a few impressive deeds, they'd rise rapidly in the KMT. This influence spread throughout the party, compounded by extended family ties, forming a vast KMT network.

But Wang Yan didn't care—he wasn't part of the KMT. None of this concerned him.

He shook his head with a smile, cut straight to the point, looking at Tian Biao, who was turning grief into appetite: "You came here because of today's incident, right?"

"Inspector Wang, you're sharp—you guessed my purpose immediately," Tian Biao flattered, but his chopsticks never stopped, competing with Qi Si…

To be fair, these agents didn't have it easy—they were miserable. Frontline troops struggled, rear logistics were tight, the top layer gorged themselves—that was the KMT's reality. Funding and allowances were scarce, yet maintaining such a large organization cost a fortune. Their cover jobs didn't pay well, and with Shanghai's soaring prices, they couldn't afford to eat like Wang Yan—daily fish and meat, eating a little and throwing away most. Put bluntly, the beggars who scavenged Wang Yan's leftovers lived better than they did.

As for the Shanghai underground Communists, even less so. Hundreds, even thousands, were basically sustained by Wang Yan alone—he also arranged weapons and ammunition, moving them left to right. Plus, they ran legitimate businesses and cultivated red capitalists, so their funding was far more generous than the Shanghai branch of the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics. But these Communists were truly hardworking. Unless their cover required high spending, after covering organizational costs, they used every resource to buy supplies and send them back to the Soviet areas.

Wang Yan certainly didn't lack meat. He frowned: "Your intelligence network shouldn't be unaware of what happened. The Japanese have planted people in the police station—you and the Communists must have agents too. You came to me, but didn't you contact other inspectors?"

"Of course we have contacts. But none of our people hold positions as high as yours. The other inspectors are all sharp operators. No rabbit, no hawk; no benefit, no work. I'll tell you this—be careful. We've learned some inspectors are secretly defecting to the Japanese."

"Name them. There aren't many inspectors—just over a dozen."

"Yuan Liangsong, on Fuxiu Road," Tian Biao looked up at Wang Yan. "Can you tell us what really happened today? You know we're intelligence. With such a huge commotion, and us in the dark—it could cost us our lives."

"Honestly, this is your fault," Wang Yan sighed again, drinking a glass of gloomy wine. "It's because of your and the Communists' prison break—so many people fled into the International Settlement and French Concession. The Japanese went wild arresting everyone. You saw the French attitude—they told us cops to maintain order and clean up the corpses afterward…"

Tian Biao listened, stunned. He hadn't expected such coincidence—just trying to fully control inspector authority, and somehow they'd stumbled upon a Japanese spy embedded in his own unit, then uncovered a whole network of Japanese agents. It was theatrical. A man who didn't want to resist Japan had, nonetheless, helped resist Japan—after all, he'd damaged Japanese interests, no matter how.

After this reflection, he frowned: "Earlier, I heard you left the police station to meet Zhang Xiaolin. What did he want?"

"You weren't listening properly. My Japanese spy's master was Gao Yunchang—and Gao Yunchang is Zhang Xiaolin's man. I kidnapped Gao's entire family. Do you think Zhang wouldn't try to save him?"

"So you agreed to release him?"

Qi Si chuckled, dropping a whole plate of meat into the pot. "Twenty-five ten thousand U. S. dollars—would you let him go if you were in your place?"

Qi Si wasn't stupid—he understood this couldn't be hidden. Too many people were involved, and Gao Yunchang himself would eventually expose it. He spoke up to let Wang Yan show off a little—just a small boast.

Tian Biao's eyes widened. "So you didn't lose money—you actually made fifty thousand U. S. dollars?"

"If you count money alone, yes," Wang Yan shook his head, smiling bitterly. "But do you think fifty thousand U. S. dollars is much to me? The real issue is the Japanese. I ruined their big plan, put them on the defensive, made them pay a heavy price—do you think they'll let me off now? I can't go back to how I handled things before. I must prove my value to them, gain greater weight—only then can I keep living freely."

"Be careful. I'll say this plainly: if you land in my hands, I won't protect you—not at all. But you can rest assured—I won't use your lives as stepping stones to gain favor with the Japanese. Things are going to get hard from now on…"

"Understood, fully understood. These days, nobody has it easy. It's actually your past life that was abnormal—too smooth." Tian Biao nodded repeatedly, smiling bitterly.

"Speaking of Zhang Xiaolin—why aren't you acting? He's a real traitor. I heard when he defected to the Japanese, he even sought the posts of Shanghai mayor and Zhejiang provincial governor. The old bastard's old, but his ambitions aren't. If you kill Zhang Xiaolin, Dai Yu will impress Chiang Kai-shek, and your promotion to major is guaranteed—you wouldn't be stuck as a lowly action team leader."

"Hard. You know—we tried once before. Eight submachine guns, over ten pistols—he still escaped. Since then, he's been a scared bird, hiding like an old turtle. He travels with massive security—we can't get close. He's on our boss's kill list. Do you think we don't want to act?"

"The old bastard's too old to gamble or chase women. He's been suppressed for decades by Huang Jinrong and Du Yuesheng. All he wants now is a high position. I heard he never leaves home unless absolutely necessary."

Wang Yan shook his head. "No opportunity? Create one. How did the Japanese deal with me? They kidnapped my maid's son to threaten me. Zhang Xiaolin has many servants—bribe the cook, poison the food? Find out where the ingredients are bought and tamper with them. The old man's old—he must take medicine. Find out which physician prescribes it and poison the medicine—easy for an experienced doctor. Or bribe his bodyguards, or have your operatives apply to become his guards. Unless he never contacts anyone, you have countless ways."

"At worst, bribe the inspector there, organize a direct assault on his residence—no defense can be that tight. It's just a matter of time and planning. You keep carrying out 'punishments' and 'eliminating traitors,' but you only target minor figures—what good is that? Those who defect to the Japanese will think: 'My position isn't high enough yet—I'm still too easy to kill.' Wrong. Go big. That's what creates real deterrence. Only then will your Bureau's name carry real weight."

Tian Biao's eyes narrowed in thought. Wang Yan's methods were all feasible—he was very tempted. But unfortunately, he was only a team leader—he could plan and execute operations, but couldn't choose targets. He was just a low-level boss doing dirty work. If not for his prior brief encounter with Wang Yan, leaving an impression, he wouldn't even be the one handling this contact.

Still, he didn't commit, didn't leave—he shifted topics, discussing the current situation, staying to eat dinner with Wang Yan before departing.

Watching Tian Biao walk away under his umbrella against the rain, Qi Si in the car sneered: "That fat bastard came just to eat free. No wonder he's so fat—he eats like a pig."

"Enough. We just made fifty thousand U. S. dollars today—do we care about one meal? Let's go home and sleep. Today was intense—we need rest."

"I'm not upset about the food—I'm mad he stole my cooked meat. I couldn't even beat him at it…" Qi Si gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, shifted gears, and drove off…

Back in that same teahouse on Avenue Joffre, Tian Biao, unusually granted the privilege of sitting while reporting, recounted everything he'd learned. He looked at Wang Tianfeng, calmly sipping tea, and smiled: "Chief, Wang Yan's really unlucky—he wanted to discipline his subordinate, ended up uncovering a whole string of Japanese spies, got himself in trouble, and lost twenty thousand U. S. dollars. Even though he got it back later, he can never fool the Japanese again."

Wang Tianfeng glanced at him. "What did you eat with Wang Yan?"

"Hotpot," Tian Biao showed no embarrassment. "It just happened—I figured if he wasn't going to eat it, it'd be wasted. And since it was raining, no beggars were around. Not eating it would be a waste. By the way, Chief, you really need to pay attention to our budget. Dying for the resistance is noble, but our brothers need to feed their families. Life's hard. Don't think I'm enjoying myself eating with Wang Yan—inside, I'm miserable."

Wang Tianfeng stared at him coldly. "You talk too much. Are you full?"

Tian Biao hated Wang Tianfeng's sudden shifts. He chuckled awkwardly, changed the subject: "Chief, Wang Yan accidentally uncovered so many Japanese spies—it counts as resisting Japan, right? He did a good thing."

"Accidentally? You believe him? Why couldn't he have deliberately blown it up? He says too many people know, so he couldn't keep it quiet—you know his methods. Even if seventeen or eighteen people knew, he'd silence them all and bury the whole thing."

"No way? He said he thought the captain was just close to the Japanese, didn't realize the captain was Japanese himself…"

Looking at Tian Biao, who had fallen silent, Wang Tianfeng snorted: "Does it even matter whether he can suppress it?"

"If this is truly the case, then Wang Yan's scheming is too deep—he's a master of calculated machinations." Tian Biao exhaled slowly, then frowned and asked, "But why would he do this? What benefit does it bring him?"

"Could it not be for resisting the Japanese?"

"Him? Who in Shanghai doesn't know he's a coward who fears death?"

"Does fearing death mean you can't resist the Japanese?"

Undoubtedly, Wang Tianfeng was a hero with deep patriotism—he himself had willingly sought death to carry out the plan and secure victory for the Nationalist forces on the front lines. He truly had faith, ideology, and spirit. So he was willing to believe that even a man who feared death could resist the Japanese. After all, how many people in this world are not afraid of death, not greedy for life? How many soldiers on the front lines actually wanted to die? Didn't they all fight the Japanese to the death? So why couldn't Wang Yan be resisting the Japanese?

Yet he maintained the necessary skepticism. Just as he had taught Ming Tai: never trust anyone. But even in his suspicion, he could not explain why Wang Yan would do something so detrimental to himself—though he didn't lose money, he became even more entangled with the Japanese.

He shook his head and said, "If it was unintentional, then Wang Yan is just unlucky. If it was intentional, then it can only be for resisting the Japanese. Do you have any other explanation?"

"That's true—he talks of being greedy for wealth and lust, of fearing death, but in action, he's never given us any fault to point at, and we've established good ties with him." Tian Biao tapped his own head and said, "By the way, Director, Wang Yan asked me why we don't punish Zhang Xiaolin. I said there was no opportunity—he told me if there's no opportunity, then create one… I think he's right, Director. We really should find a way to punish Zhang Xiaolin."

That old bastard is utterly loyal to the Japanese—he provides money and people to help them. Our brothers are fighting to the death on the front lines, while this old man is behind the scenes gathering supplies for the Japanese—he deserves to die. Besides, if we succeed in punishing him, you, Major, after years in your post, will surely get a promotion, and our budget will become more generous. More importantly, our men will get a chance to impress the Commissioner. All day long they shout loyalty to the Party and Nation—but what inspires them more than the Commissioner's praise? After the Shanghai station suffered heavy losses, morale was low. If we succeed, it will lift the troops' spirits."

Wang Tianfeng glanced at Tian Biao and sneered, "I think you're the one who wants to move up, aren't you?"

"What can I do, Director? We have no one speaking for us above, and we don't have Wang Yan's money—even if we did, we couldn't even figure out how to bribe properly. If we want to rise, don't we need to earn real, substantial achievements? I've always known you want to get things done—but to get things done, you need position and power, don't you?"

Wang Tianfeng said nothing, silently sipped tea for a long while, then spoke: "Arrange it. Investigate Zhang Xiaolin."

Though Tian Biao's words were dense, they were right—how can you get things done without promotion? He too wanted promotion…