Chapter 638: (Happy New Year!)

Another year has passed in the blink of an eye. Thank you, brothers, for your continued support.

I wish you all good health, family harmony, smooth careers, great wealth, and a prosperous Year of the Rabbit.

This chapter contains 4,600 characters of main text, costing twenty-three cents. Just like last year, consider this a red envelope sent to all the brothers who have been following along, as well as those who will read this in the future.

Please believe me, if I had the ability, I would love to send one or two yuan, but I really can't write that much. It's just the thought that counts; please don't mind, brothers.

Once again, thank you all for your unwavering support!

Wang Yan, twenty-nine years old in this life but nearly a thousand years old in reality, did not know that he had become a "good lad"...

After receiving the reply, he did not hesitate. He immediately put away the radio, left the safe house, and headed for the Fuxing Pawnshop on Fuxu Road.

Following the two short, two long, two short knock pattern, Liu Qiulan opened the door with a smile and let Wang Yan in. She stood close to the door, listening intently for any movement outside. Wang Yan walked into the study, sat on the sofa behind the desk lamp.

He didn't waste time with pleasantries, taking two envelopes containing the data from his chest and slapping them onto the desk: "Both of these contain information regarding the new bactericidal and anti-inflammatory drug. To avoid any accidents in transit, I prepared two copies. I have already reported this to my superiors before coming here, and they will be transported via two separate lines through the traffic station. Send them to the Soviet Area as soon as possible to begin research."

Lu Boda naturally knew the immense value of a bactericidal and anti-inflammatory drug. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief: "A new bactericidal and anti-inflammatory drug? How does it compare to sulfonamide?"

"Based on the information currently available, it is at least stronger than sulfonamide. Sulfonamide's role is bacteriostatic, while the preliminary judgment of this new drug is that it is bactericidal."

Lu Boda naturally believed Comrade Pei Min's words. He was a veteran who had stood the test of time and understood organizational discipline better than anyone. For such a crucial matter to the Party, a cautious person like Pei Min would never speak this way unless he had already confirmed it and was certain of its potential for success.

He suppressed his excitement, nodded, and said in a deep voice: "What are the superiors' instructions?"

"None yet. They will likely contact you directly."

This was the standard procedure. Wang Yan had no subordinate relationship with the Shanghai Party organization; unless it was an emergency, he would not be the one to relay urgent instructions. Lu Boda's inquiry was merely a result of his concern clouding his judgment, as this new drug was simply too important. If the Soviet Area had the capacity to produce sulfonamide in large quantities, it would be a game-changer. And this drug was even stronger than sulfonamide. Thus, Lu Boda's loss of composure was understandable.

Lu Boda naturally realized he had been flustered. He waved his hand and nodded: "Good, I understand."

Wang Yan asked: "Are the Party dues still sufficient?"

"I will take the initiative to ask if they aren't."

"Fine, that's all then. I'm leaving." Without any further small talk, Wang Yan stood up and left directly. He moved stealthily through the shadows, heading back to the Wang Tianyue Gongguan...

When Liu Qiulan returned to the room, Lu Boda was flipping through the data in the envelope. Although he couldn't fully understand it, he read through it once before taking fire-sealing wax and other tools from the drawer to mark the inside and outside of the envelopes.

This was a necessary security procedure. The transport line was long and involved many people; no one could guarantee there wouldn't be a mishap. Verifying the integrity of the mail by marking the envelopes became an essential method.

Only a few people knew the verification method. This allowed them to determine if the transport line had been compromised when the materials were received. If there was indeed a problem, a simple yet effective method was to repeatedly send materials along the compromised line to narrow down the scope, eventually pinpointing the problematic station.

Seeing Lu Boda unable to hide his smile while making the marks, Liu Qiulan also smiled: "Is there some good news?"

"It's not just good news; it's a monumental event. As for the specifics, I won't disclose them to you yet. I believe you'll know soon enough." Lu Boda knew better than anyone what could and could not be said, even to his wife, with whom he shared his ideals and his life. He said: "Go check on the radio; you should have received a message by now."

Liu Qiulan nodded, first adding hot water to Lu Boda's cup before leaving for the house next door, which also belonged to them.

As the First Secretary of the Shanghai Underground Party, Lu Boda's location was effectively the Shanghai headquarters. Although few knew this, many classified matters were consolidated here before being sent out, so it couldn't possibly be as simple as just a pawnshop...

Wang Yan didn't dwell on Lu Boda's excitement. These two letters would travel along two different transport lines, covering the three thousand li from the metropolis of the Far East to Yan'an in the northwest. Given the current transport conditions and the time spent transferring between stations, it would take at least a month.

Although he was a police inspector, it wouldn't do to never show up for work. So, he made a rare visit to the police station. He had already settled the arrangements with the teachers at Datong University, and all the work had been delegated to Gu Yongcheng and Shi Changxing; all that remained was the task of procuring various equipment.

When he arrived at the station, he checked on the recent situation, gave his hundred or so Chinese constables a pep talk, showed his face to Mitchell, chatted and joked about recent events, and then went to see Aige.

Aige was the same as ever, drinking a glass of wine early in the morning while puffing on a large cigar. Perhaps all foreigners had this habit. Aige lived a happy life with a successful career, so he naturally had more to celebrate. He had developed a bulbous nose, which, combined with his balding head, looked quite comical.

Seeing Wang Yan knock and enter, he let out an exaggerated "Oh!": "Look, isn't this my good friend who is dedicated to discovering a new world in a pile of confusing scientific journals?"

"Are you mocking me too?"

Seeing Wang Yan sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, looking somewhat displeased, Aige shook his head repeatedly. He poured two glasses of red wine, walked over, sat down, handed one to Wang Yan, and said with a chuckle: "Wang, you know, you are a very famous figure—not just among your fellow Chinese, but also among us French, those damn British and Americans, and other Westerners in Shanghai. You have quite a reputation."

"Because they know that cooperating with me means earning money and peace of mind."

"Yes, Wang, that is indeed the case. But having too much fame isn't always a good thing. Take now, for instance: you've become the biggest joke in Shanghai. A man who knows nothing, delusional enough to think he can understand profound scientific knowledge and find business opportunities in it. For this, a big shot like you actually went to university to attend classes with those greenhorns."

Wang Yan shrugged indifferently, took a sip of wine, and said with a smile: "If it makes everyone happy, why not? And don't you think that the more everyone looks down on something, the more applause and praise you'll receive once you succeed?"

"Oh?" Aige put down his wine glass and leaned his large face toward Wang Yan: "Wang, you haven't really found a business opportunity, have you?"

Wang Yan smiled slightly and pulled several sheets of paper covered in writing from his pocket: "Aige, these things can't be bought here. Please trouble your friends in Europe again. Have them procure the items listed here. This time, there's no need to search; just have them ask at any decent university, and they'll have them. Get them shipped over as soon as possible."

Aige took the papers, looked at the dense list of various instruments, and then looked up to ask again: "Have you really researched something?"

"How could it be that fast? I've only been researching for ten days. I mainly have some ideas right now: producing beverages and noodles. Both are very popular, won't attract unwanted attention, and won't affect the current war. Don't look at me with that expression; I know beverages and noodles already exist, but who says I can't make them? My beverages and noodles will have more flavors, the noodles will be chewier, more convenient, and have a longer shelf life—these are all advantages. I don't believe what I make will be worse than anyone else's. Besides, the situation is turbulent, everything is in short supply, and workers' wages are cheap; there's no way I'll lose money."

"But you have to know, the money you're using to open the factory could have been used to import goods, which in itself would be a significant profit. By opening a factory, you're just adding more trouble, and the money from selling beverages and noodles might not even compare. By that calculation, you're losing money."

"I told you before, the situation is unclear, and no one knows when our shipping routes will be cut off. Plus, the Japanese are watching like tigers. Aige, if they really go crazy, your great France, far away in Europe, won't be able to send troops to fight the 'Japanese monkeys' you always talk about, and the Americans and British won't either. If that day really comes, what do I do? So, opening a factory is both to earn some pocket money and to plan for the long term. Besides, how can you be so sure I won't earn more than by reselling goods? Who can say for sure?"

"Wang, you're too pessimistic, and yet too optimistic. With your success in catching Japanese spies, they don't even dare to inspect our goods now. Why would the Japanese monkeys dare to provoke us? As for your factory, who knows if it will earn more or less?"

Wang Yan laughed off Aige's confidence: "Aige, time will give you the answer. Regardless of whether I earn more or less, I'll give you some dry shares. After all, when it comes down to it, you French are my backers. In any case, you're earning money for nothing. Now, what you need to do is get the things I need back here quickly. Within a year at the latest, you'll see the results."

Aige shrugged, waving the papers in his hand: "Fine, since we're friends, who else would I help if not you? I'll contact them in a moment and get the things you need shipped over as soon as possible. But this time, you'll have to pay; there are too many items, and I can't afford it."

"Don't worry, when have I ever let you suffer a loss? It's settled then. I still have to study, so I'll be going first. Waiting for your good news."

Clinking glasses with Aige and finishing the expensive red wine, Wang Yan left decisively...

As Wang Yan was being driven to Datong University, Zhang Lin, who had been riding high lately, also returned home by car. He was still working on his appointment to office; the Japanese side still hadn't given a definitive answer, only stalling by saying they were waiting. He had just been there again and received the same response.

He knew the Japanese were looking for more suitable candidates, which was why they were stalling him. But he wasn't worried, because even if he didn't get the position he had originally sought when he defected, there would certainly be other arrangements.

After all, he was one of the first to defect and had contributed significantly during the Battle of Songhu. If the Japanese treated him poorly under such circumstances, what would others think? Moreover, relying on the Japanese influence, he had already made a fortune. Although he had ideas about seeking more power, what he had already obtained was enough to secure his position. It was precisely because of this confidence that he wasn't in a hurry.

Last month, he had demanded people from Wang Yan. Although Wang Yan had beaten his men, he had ultimately bowed his head in front of him. He had successfully suppressed this rising star of the Green Gang. If Wang Yan hadn't given him face—that is, if he hadn't released the people—he really wouldn't have had any good way to deal with him at the time.

Because he knew the Japanese valued Wang Yan, and Wang Yan was also the representative of French interests, and his own power wasn't insignificant. So, even though Wang Yan hadn't agreed to release the people—which was a slap in the face and a blood feud—he couldn't do anything to Wang Yan for the time being.

At that point, it would have been a devastating blow to his prestige. Because he represented the authority of the Green Gang, while Wang Yan was just a newcomer. Authority suppressing a newcomer wasn't news, but a newcomer challenging authority was what people loved to see. Zhang Lin would have become the biggest joke in Shanghai, even worse than Wang Yan was now. After all, Wang Yan's current behavior, while strange, was at least about learning; it was just an anecdote about a big shot, a completely different matter.

But that didn't happen. Although he knew Wang Yan hadn't yielded, outsiders didn't know that. All they saw was that Wang Yan had released the people, which meant he, Zhang Lin, had gained face. This had boosted his prestige even higher over the past month. People said that an old veteran was still an old veteran, and his tiger-like might remained.

Furthermore, he had fleeced that big fat pig Gao Yunchang for 100,000 US dollars—money for nothing. That had made him happy for over a month; he still wanted to laugh when he thought about it.

Especially that youngster Wang Yan, who had become the biggest joke in Shanghai. He couldn't stop laughing when he thought about it: a Green Gang gangster, instead of using a gun to kill people, was playing with science. It really was a chaotic world where all sorts of strange things happened.

The car stopped steadily in the courtyard. He got out with a stern face, went into the house, and was dressed in cool clothing by his servants. In the spacious study, he lay comfortably on a recliner, blowing in the cool breeze of an electric fan, letting his mind wander.

Just then, the middle-aged servant woman who had worked for him for many years walked in with tea: "Sir, your tea."

She was an old hand, and her family members were all under his control, so he felt very safe.

And to be honest, although he had just been assassinated by the Military Statistics Bureau, he didn't believe they would try again after one failed attempt. After all, he was on guard now; he stayed behind closed doors, and the Zhang Tianyue Gongguan was heavily guarded. This wasn't Kuomintang territory, and he didn't believe the Military Statistics Bureau had the ability to come to his home to kill him. Besides, even if they could act in his home and succeed, the loss wasn't something the Military Statistics Bureau could bear. He believed they could do that math.

He waved his hand: "Good, put it there."

The servant woman agreed, placed the tea tray on the small table next to Zhang Lin's recliner, thoughtfully poured a cup of tea, and placed it within his reach before quietly retreating.

Zhang Lin squinted, not noticing the trembling of the servant woman as she poured the tea.

He lay there for a while, letting the heat from the car dissipate. The tea was already lukewarm, so he picked up the cup and drank it in one gulp. He didn't know how to appreciate tea, so he didn't have the good habit of looking at it, smelling it, and tasting it slowly.

So, after drinking that cup of tea and swallowing it, he felt something was wrong in his mouth. He picked up the cup and took a look, seeing a circle of fine powder on the rim. His eyes widened, and he struggled to sit up.

But it was too late. His stomach churned, and a violent, twisting pain surged up, causing him to stiffen and then curl up tightly, rolling off the recliner and onto the floor. He endured the immense pain, which was so great he couldn't even open his mouth to scream.

He felt the world go black, felt he couldn't breathe, felt... he couldn't feel anything anymore...

The servant woman cautiously poked her head in, looked at Zhang Lin's twisted, terrifying face, and quickly closed the double doors of the study. She steadied her breathing a few times before leaving with feigned composure.

A generation of Green Gang giants, Zhang Lin, died by poison from the Military Statistics Bureau...