Chapter 658: Real and False

There are two possibilities, depending on Comrade Xiwen's condition: if he can be cured quickly, he'll definitely be at the Army Hospital; if he needs long-term recovery, it gives us ample time to adjust—evacuate those who must go, relocate those who must move, and reposition. After ten or fifteen days, even if Comrade Xiwen speaks up again, that intelligence will be useless—that's what the Japanese don't want.

So more likely, they'll place Comrade Xiwen in a hospital with decent conditions but weak defenses. The success of our last prison break gave us the courage to launch a large-scale operation, and my capability is certainly within their calculations. They'll exploit this, luring us into a rescue attempt. They appear lax on the outside but are tightly prepared inside, laying a net so vast we'll walk straight into it.

After a moment of silence, Wang Yan spoke thus. He wasn't certain himself, because Wang Manchun had been so enthusiastic that day, making it impossible to gauge the true situation—he couldn't ask directly. In fact, for Wang Manchun, whether Comrade Xiwen spoke up or was ambushed by Japanese agents, both outcomes were favorable. Even if the Red Party succeeded in the rescue, it would likely come at heavy cost, and any major operation leaves too many loose ends, making it easier for Japanese agents to launch purges against the Red Party afterward.

So he merely stated the possibilities the Shanghai underground party might already have considered—but this wasn't idle talk. In rear-area warfare, fools are rare, and with Shanghai's high-level party members involved, all participants were intelligent. When different people arrive at the same conclusion, the matter is likely true—this solidifies resolve and concentrates primary efforts.

Lu Boda crushed his cigarette butt into the ashtray and nodded: "Yes, after consultation, we agree. The urgent task is confirming which hospital Comrade Xiwen is in and his exact condition. But it's hard—whether he's at the Army Hospital or another hospital lying in wait, our strength is insufficient to handle this. Our last prison break gave us courage, but we're acutely aware of the vast disparity in strength—it was merely a surprise attack. This time, rescuing Comrade Xiwen seems hopeless…"

"Then what does the Shanghai Party Committee intend…?"

"We must rescue him!"

Lu Boda stared at the shadow behind the light, his voice firm, even his jaw clenched. Because with this decision by the Shanghai Party Committee, countless steadfast Communist warriors would die in this rescue operation.

"This time, you absolutely must act. I've already informed him tonight—he wants you to contact him by radio tonight. Pay attention to daytime and nighttime broadcasts over the next two days. If there's further news, someone will call out: Liu Laoqi's maternal third uncle, waiting at the Friendship Hotel outside the North Station."

"Alright, I'll wait for the message. I'm leaving."

Wang Yan stood, shook hands with Lu Boda, and walked out cleanly, no longer worrying about anything else. Identifying traitors, relocating party organizations, changing communication identities—none of these were his business to inquire about.

Leaving there, Wang Yan circled to a safehouse in the International Settlement and pulled out his radio to contact his superiors. He could no longer rent apartments, so these remaining safehouses were precious—he'd paid rent far ahead and could still use them for a while, but after that, he'd have to find another solution.

The Battle of Wuhan had ended; personnel had all retreated to Chongqing. After tuning the radio, Wang Yan directly contacted Chongqing and reported the details of this operation.

He received an affirmative reply, was warned to be careful, reminded he had a more vital role, and then asked whether he thought it necessary to establish his own branch. The rule was that three people could form a branch—meaning at least two others needed to be sent to assist him. Wang Yan knew this was the real purpose of the contact.

His current identity was no longer suitable for direct combat—that was certain, as previously stated. Unless absolutely necessary, he wouldn't be assigned operational missions. But circumstances varied: this time, it was a core member of the Shanghai underground party, holding secrets—if he confessed, the entire Shanghai party organization faced collapse. And such an important figure could never be abandoned.

So a top-tier operative like him, one man worth a dozen, naturally had to be deployed. If he weren't available, fine—there had always been crises before, and they'd stumbled through anyway. But now that he was available, there was no reason not to use him and risk greater losses.

After consideration, Wang Yan rejected the idea. His own abilities could handle any emergency. Except for high-level operations requiring his participation, he rarely received missions. Even if he did, his solo combat effectiveness far exceeded that of a team of two. Plus, anyone sent to him would have no roots in Shanghai—his help would be negligible, and he'd have to divert attention to care for them.

Besides, it wasted manpower. These were elite warriors—assigned to him, they'd truly be working. Even the simplest task, like passing messages, couldn't be handled by others. He reported only to his superiors; his radio was stored in his space, mobile, and he carried multiple cipher books in his head—no need to set up fixed radio stations.

Moreover, he had no subordinate relationship with the Shanghai underground party; his direct contact was Lu Boda, the First Secretary of the Shanghai underground party. It was impossible to let others relay information—that would expose the Shanghai underground party's headquarters.

In short, his situation differed from Ming Lou's—he didn't need subordinates to assist him. Because he rarely needed them, and when he did, they might not be useful.

Even if he, like Ming Lou, held a position in the puppet government, he still didn't need others to cooperate. Whether for operations, infiltration, or passing intelligence, he could act entirely alone.

Only in an emergency, if confined to one location with no outside help, would he be unable to send a message. But if the message were truly lethal, and he reached the point of exposure, unless surrounded by troops, he could fight his way out. If it wasn't that lethal—just unavoidable, tolerable losses—then doing nothing was the better choice.

At such moments, weighing benefits and costs, determining which side held greater value, whose life was more precious—this was what must be done. Not out of disrespect, but out of profound respect.

Every day in today's China, people suffer through such choices, because danger is constant. No one knows why a comrade might be exposed, or even whether the exposed person is one of their own. No one knows if a careless word, a misplaced gesture, or even a fleeting change in gaze might trigger suspicion and cost their life—this was ordinary.

Wang Yan replied concisely, adding that he was very likely to be promoted to Superintendent in two months.

No surprise—his superiors had already considered all this, but primarily for his safety and operational convenience. Since Wang Yan saw it as an obstacle, they dropped it, congratulated him, and again urged him: if things became untenable, withdraw and cut communications.

He truly had an irreplaceable role: securing large-scale supplies to ease pressure on the Soviet areas, funding the Shanghai underground party's operations, and ensuring adequate provisions for guerrillas in Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Shanghai.

Moreover, as the Red Party's famed top assassin, his impact was immense. If the Red Party spread a rumor that Pei Min was coming to kill someone, the target would be terrified day and night—even healthy people would fall ill from fear. Since his debut, Pei Min had never failed a mission; his record contained nothing but assassinations from 1927 to 1935.

His status and influence had risen rapidly: in just a few months this year, he leapt three ranks—from a somewhat wealthy French Concession police sergeant to current Chief Inspector of the Police, nominal leader of the Qinglian Association, and head of Qinglian Bank, which held over ten million U. S. dollars in capital. Thanks to his solid reputation, he'd attracted substantial deposits and issued many loans—all cash. In another two months, he'd become Superintendent of the Central Police Bureau. He conducted business with foreign powers—Britain, America, France—and high-ranking Japanese military and political officials, and could extract vital intelligence from mere fragments of conversation.

He could kill, acquire money and supplies, and obtain high-level intelligence—all in one. Truly, he was worth a thousand soldiers…

He waited patiently two days. That night, Wang Yan heard the agreed-upon coded message on the radio. It was Yu Manli's shift—he subdued the girl, pinned her acupoints to render her unconscious, then set off energetically for Fuxing Pawnshop.

So far, the only real battle had been the prison break. Earlier, when he eliminated Xia Changguo, it didn't count—he hadn't been resisted at all; it was like killing a chicken, meaningless. Unlike the prison break, where bullets whistled past his head, danger ever-present, and the killing was satisfying.

It wasn't that he was bloodthirsty—just an old man with bones that needed occasional movement, a balance of rest and exertion, essential for health. Even an old man has some blood still warm.

Simply put, he'd lived too long and occasionally craved excitement—it was a bad habit, he couldn't bear too much comfort. Besides, this was an era when China suffered and compatriots were humiliated. His identity and certain unspoken restrictions limited him, preventing him from acting freely.

Unluckily, when he saw the ashtray again, filled with cigarette butts, Wang Yan knew things weren't going well.

Lu Boda sighed wearily: "We found him. He's at Nan Hua Hospital on Songjing Road in Hongkou—a private hospital run by the Japanese merchant Shankou Kiyoyuki. There are many Chinese nurses and doctors there. Our people confirmed that four days ago, an ambulance transferred a patient from the Army Hospital here—the timing matches. But he's on the third floor of the hospital building, heavily guarded—no one is allowed on the entire floor. We can't confirm whether it's Comrade Xiwen or his condition. It's difficult…"

"Have you investigated the hospital's surroundings?"

"We checked everything. We received the news at noon and sent people to scout the area in the afternoon, but found nothing unusual. Maybe they assume we won't strike during the day. Our comrades will check again tonight, but we haven't received updates yet." Lu Boda glanced at the clock on the wall—it was nearly one.

"Real or fake…" Wang Yan shook his head: "We can't confirm whether Comrade Xiwen is even at Nan Hua Hospital. Perhaps his injuries aren't as severe as we thought—he's still recovering at the Army Hospital. The Japanese deliberately transferred a patient to Nan Hua Hospital to lure us in and crush Comrade Xiwen's will."

"Yes, that's possible. But we also investigated the Army Hospital—there are a few Chinese staff there. Four days ago, admission and discharge records match. We've probed the ward conditions for two days—no anomalies. Of course, he might have been moved mid-transit—but then we'd have no way to locate Comrade Xiwen in the short term…"

Lu Boda lit another cigarette, paused, then said: "We need to relocate…"

Song Xiwen was a veteran. Lu Boda believed Song Xiwen was a steadfast Communist warrior—he believed Song wouldn't become a traitor or a national betrayer—but he couldn't stake the lives of over a thousand Shanghai underground party members on Song Xiwen alone. Not even the slightest risk could be taken.

"Are we abandoning Comrade Xiwen?"

"Of course not. As long as there's hope, we never abandon our comrades. But for the organization's safety, necessary arrangements must be made…"

Wang Yan nodded, then asked: "Have we identified the traitor?"

"Not yet. He's hidden deep. But the scope is narrowed—we just need to slowly screen, and it'll take a few more days."

"What about the comrades at Anhe Trading Company? It's been four days—they should've noticed something by now. Even if they didn't know the exact date of Comrade Xiwen's return, after this long, shouldn't they have sensed something wrong? Haven't they sent emergency contact?"

Lu Boda exhaled heavily: "Of course they contacted us. This morning, they activated the emergency signal. But everyone connected to them has already been evacuated. These are experienced comrades—they know something's wrong, yet they're acting normal, keeping the business open."

After a moment's thought, Wang Yan said: "Get me a list of doctors and nurses at Nan Hua Hospital—if impossible, find information on the Japanese doctors who regularly work shifts. Try to determine who's on duty and who's off tomorrow night. I'll pose as an off-duty doctor and visit Nan Hua Hospital to confirm whether it's Comrade Xiwen. If we can locate the one at the Army Hospital, even better—I'll check both places."

"Will that work?" Lu Boda's eyes were uncertain. He didn't doubt Wang Yan's operational ability, but this was reconnaissance—must be silent, avoid alerting the enemy—and he couldn't help asking.

"I speak Japanese—authentic Kanto dialect. I know some traditional Chinese and Western medicine. Fooling the Japanese won't be a problem. Don't worry." Wang Yan spoke with absolute certainty.

"Alright, I'll arrange it right away. How do you want the materials delivered?"

"Number… Dishiwei Road. There's a top-floor apartment. Same as last time—send a comrade who can pick locks to leave the materials inside. Also prepare white coats, masks, and such."

Seeing Lu Boda write down the address and note the required items, Wang Yan continued: "It's been four days. Given Comrade Xiwen's importance, we should have a response. I propose we rescue the Anhe Trading Company comrades first—save them from their anxiety. If we capture a live Japanese agent monitoring them, we can interrogate him—maybe we'll uncover new information. If all else fails, I can try following the trail—kill my way until I find someone who knows Comrade Xiwen's whereabouts."

Lu Boda frowned, thinking. This was indeed necessary—they should act urgently. He sighed, rubbing his face hard: "You're right. These past two days, we've been overwhelmed by Comrade Xiwen's case and the party's relocation and concealment—we overlooked this. I take responsibility. When do we act? I can arrange support for your operation."

"The longer we wait, the more risks grow. Let's go now. Briefly plan, then move out. Tomorrow night, I'll head straight to the hospital. If anything changes, use the same signal—listen to the radio during daytime and nighttime. This time, use 'Uncle's cousin looking for Ma Hongyi'—still the Friendship Hotel."

Lu Boda nodded, stood up: "Alright, I've noted it. Wait a moment, have some tea—I'll make arrangements."

Wang Yan didn't answer. He sat quietly, waiting for the operation…