Chapter 676: Liang Zhongchun

The North Station warehouse under Yonghua Industries was today crowded with many people: from General Manager Gu Zhang Yongcheng, who held great power, and Shi Changxing, the second-in-command of a gang, down to mid- and upper-level managers from various companies, representatives from factories, restaurants, gambling dens, rickshaw pullers, school principals and teachers, even delegates from Tongda University, along with ruthless gangsters who lived by licking blood off the blade and routinely took lives—all packed tightly together.

They formed a circle, at its center a raised platform built from standardized wooden shipping containers, and they looked up at the man standing atop it.

It was already November; the heavy snow from two days prior had not yet melted, and the biting cold wind cut through bone. Wang Yan wore heavy leather boots and a long overcoat, the coat flapping in the wind; he held his top hat in one hand, letting his neat hairstyle be blown loose—otherwise, the hat would have been swept away.

His other hand held a microphone, directly connected to several large speakers behind him; as he spoke, his voice traveled through circuits and emerged from the speakers, the crackling current altering his naturally magnetic tone, making it sound distinctly period-specific to him—because only through contrast could one truly feel it.

As he spoke, he stood above their heads; as he turned with his words, he saw their upturned faces, their eyes.

Yet though he stood above them, he was not their enemy—he was one of them. Others might not see it that way, but some people knew…

"Fellow workers, leaders of all ranks, teachers and students present—today I've gathered you all because of what happened two days ago. Everyone in Shanghai knows Wang Mou is greedy for money and lust, cowardly and fearful of death—how could I possibly harbor Kuomintang or Communist agents? The Japanese and Chairman Wang are both displeased with me, but fortunately they understand my predicament and have merely reprimanded me, nothing more."

"But this time it was only a reprimand—will it be the same next time? I know among you there are Kuomintang members, Communist members, even Japanese agents and agents of Chairman Wang. Today, Wang Mou reiterates once more: like the other workers here, I am merely trying to survive. I dare not defy the Japanese because I fear death; I dare not defy either party for the same reason."

"But Wang Mou's survival is not wrong, nor does it block anyone's path or oppress the workers. In my youth, before I wore this long robe, when I was a street thug, I never bullied the innocent. Even when collecting debts from gambling dens—when others forced people to sell wives, children, daughters, destroying families—Wang Mou's worst act was merely beating them severely, then waiving the interest and even helping them find work."

"You can ask around—there are older men in our factory who were once beaten back by me. Over the years, they've paid off their debts, bought new homes, have virtuous wives and filial children, living happily."

"Now Wang Mou is called a capitalist, yet I have never exploited my worker brothers. In today's China, ask anywhere—find me one person who treats his workers as well as I do, and I'll give you my head. On this point, even according to the Communist Party's own principles, Wang Mou is not someone to be overthrown."

………

"I say these things not to target anyone. Many of you have learned to read in our night school, have read a few books, understand some principles, hold your own views—this is normal, and I have no right to dictate to you. But whatever you do, don't give me trouble. Come or go as you please, but don't drag Wang Mou down with you."

"Right now, it seems my operation is safe, and using my name makes things easier. But what about later? When you benefit, and he benefits, eventually my name collapses—and then no one benefits, and no one escapes unscathed."

"There is no peaceful place now; just staying alive is hard enough. I lack courage and ability—I only wish to live comfortably. I respect you; you must respect me. I hope you take this as a warning and prevent such incidents from recurring. Return to your work, stop thinking useless thoughts. It's cold today, so I won't ramble further. Today at lunch, every canteen will serve extra food—eat something warm and good. While you eat, pass on Wang Mou's message to everyone around you."

"Alright, you're all dismissed."

As Wang Yan finished speaking, the silent crowd immediately erupted into a buzz, people discussing the boss's words with those they knew.

In truth, they barely listened—those who were honest remained honest; those who weren't stayed dishonest. Members of the two parties would never stop placing agents under him just because of Wang Yan's nonsense.

Of course, Wang Yan didn't mean anything by it—he simply had to say it. He needed to show the appropriate fear—to his workers, to the Japanese, to both parties—how deeply worried he was. For this, he even organized such a massive speech to draw clear lines for his workers.

He'd done what he needed to do, given what he needed to give. Whether others listened was none of his concern. Superintendent Nantian had taken fifty thousand U. S. dollars; Iwai Eiichi had received from him one Ming-era and two early Qing antiques. He'd performed this act perfectly—avoided all risk.

"Boss, will this even work?" Shi Changxing doubted the point of all this commotion.

"Of course it won't work—but could I not say anything? First, to calm their nerves; second, to show my stance—both are necessary." Wang Yan shook his head with a smile and strolled lazily toward his office. "How's your matter going?"

"Don't worry, Boss. Sent off first thing yesterday. Already warned the route—aside from blind bandits, nothing should go wrong."

"Still, be extremely careful. Keep monitoring the situation. This kind of thing can't be taken lightly—one slip, and our lives are over. Gu Manager, you keep an eye on him too—he's not as sharp as you."

Gu Zhang Yongcheng nodded: "Boss, I guarantee no problems."

The group entered the office; Wang Yan had just begun explaining the situation when the desk phone rang. He picked it up, chuckled in response twice, then hung up after only a few words.

He glanced at his watch, stood up, and said: "Alright, that's enough. You two don't need me to worry—you've got my instructions, just follow them. Asi, let's go."

Shi Changxing nodded eagerly: "Lunch is about to start—big pot braised pork, so fragrant. Eat something before you go?"

He was right—it was indeed fragrant. Since early morning, the North Station warehouse canteen had been slaughtering pigs and simmering meat, the pot bubbling all morning. The aroma of the braised pork had already spread to nearby areas; one breath could fill two bowls of rice. Meanwhile, instant noodle factories, beverage plants, rickshaw canteens, elementary school cafeterias, even Tongda University's canteen—all served the exact same menu.

Of course, not everything was free—some meals were free, others sold at low prices; altogether, Wang Yan had effectively treated tens of thousands to a meat meal today. After all, in this era, even his generous benefits couldn't afford fish every day and meat every night. Per person, it amounted to barely a small bowl. It wasn't that he couldn't afford more pork—it was simply that there wasn't enough pork to be had.

Wang Yan waved off: "No, Ming Lou invited me to lunch—along with Liang Zhongchun, head of the Operations Division at No. 76. I'll meet him, see what this Director of the Economic Bureau and Deputy Director of the Special Committee really wants."

Without further ado, he stepped out with Qi Si into a car, heading to a Shanghai-style restaurant in the International Settlement.

When Wang Yan arrived with Qi Si, Ming Lou, Ming Cheng, and Liang Zhongchun—leaning on his cane—were already waiting. Knowing Wang Yan's dining habits, no one waited for him to order; they simply instructed the staff to serve immediately.

While waiting for the food, the group sat and drank tea.

Wang Yan looked at Liang Zhongchun, whose demeanor was sly yet submissive, and smiled: "If I recall correctly, Director Liang was already serving Director Li before the Xinzheng Prefecture was even established—you're clearly his man. Yet today you're joining Director Ming to meet me? How strange."

Liang Zhongchun smiled in reply: "Mr. Wang, you jest. Director Li is Deputy Director of the Special Committee, and Director Ming is also Deputy Director. I am subordinate to both. Since ancient times, cultivating closeness with superiors has always been the right thing to do."

Liang Zhongchun had originally been from the Central Bureau of Investigation. Two years ago, during an operation, he was shot in the leg; others tried to finish him off but missed, leaving him alive. His limp came from the bullet striking his knee.

To survive, he betrayed and informed, causing some damage to the Shanghai station of the Central Bureau—not massive, but significant. Had he not done so, he'd have been assassinated long ago by the Central Bureau. More likely, he secretly maintained contact with them, trading intelligence to stay alive.

Though in the drama he aided Ming Lou, concealed the death of Ming Cheng's adoptive mother, "Gui Yi," codenamed "Solitary Wolf," and unintentionally let Ming Tai escape—ultimately dying because of it—this doesn't make him righteous. People are complex. He's somewhat clever; at first, perhaps he acted to survive, but over time, he saw that the Japanese were hollow, their power fading.

So he pursued the same strategy as Zhou Fuhai: cultivating ties with the Kuomintang, just in case the Japanese ever collapsed, so he'd have an escape route. He was much like Zhou Fuhai—a fence-sitter.

As for what he told Ming Cheng—that he didn't expect him to survive, only to leave a path for his wife and children—he'd amassed plenty of money, enough for them to vanish and live well. This might have been heartfelt—or merely further flattery. Those in his line of work knew best how fleeting life was—who knew when a stray bullet might end you? People are complex, truth and falsehood intertwined—who could ever know what they truly thought?

"Director Liang speaks wisely: no one belongs to anyone—only superiors and subordinates. On this point, Director Liang has done well." Ming Lou took the tea offered by Ming Cheng and placed it before Wang Yan. "I heard you gave a speech this morning at the North Station warehouse because of the two-party agents among your workers?"

Wang Yan sighed: "What else could it be?"

"I heard it was already settled—why such a grand display?"

"It was settled, yes—but the proper stance must be shown. Besides, this time, over a thousand soldiers surrounded the warehouse; my workers were terrified. Calming their nerves was necessary. Otherwise, production suffers—and who loses? Me." Wang Yan didn't dwell on it, shifting topic: "Director Ming, let's not speak of the past. Let's talk about today. If we don't speak plainly, we can't enjoy our meal. Why did you bring Director Liang to meet me? Say it outright."

Ming Lou clapped his hands: "Good! Mr. Wang, direct as ever—I'll speak plainly. Nothing major: you control the transport route from Shanghai straight to Chongqing and Yan'an. Director Liang wishes to hitch a ride. Of course, though I still have some family wealth, I've never met a man who was satisfied—I'm no exception. Who ever turns down more money?"

Seeing Wang Yan look at him, Liang Zhongchun nodded, smiling: "Director Ming speaks truth—no one turns down money. You know my background, but I can't truly serve the Japanese. What good is that? Perhaps you don't know—the opium trade in Shanghai? The Japanese once asked me to join. I refused. Yes, I betrayed the Central Bureau—but only to survive. No surrender meant death; I'm too soft-boned to endure. But tell me, how many could endure?"

"Why do they sell opium? To fund the Kwantung Army. In this state, I see they won't last. And selling opium destroys families—how could I do such a thing? My hands are already stained with blood—why add more trouble?"

"So I must consider my escape route. In all of Shanghai, you, Mr. Wang, are the one. I hope you'll lend me a hand. I'll serve you loyally, front and back."

Wang Yan raised an eyebrow: "Is that so? But I heard you've been deeply involved in sending laborers from Shanghai to Japan to die…"

Liang Zhongchun's smile froze—he couldn't stop smiling, scrambling for excuses: "You know I serve the Japanese—they ordered me, how could I refuse? Besides, even if I didn't do it, someone else would. We're all just trying to eat—no choice."

"You didn't sell opium because the Green Gang held more power—you had no say. Not because you couldn't bear to destroy families. Those laborers you sent to Japan—what fate did you think awaited them? Drop your petty cleverness. Don't take me for a fool."

Wang Yan snorted, glanced at Ming Lou, then said: "But since Director Ming has spoken, I'll let you ride along. I've known him only a short time, but we've forged friendship. Besides, I do business with Chairman Wang, Minister Chen, Minister Zhou, even Director Li. Director Ming is both Director of the Economic Bureau and Deputy Director of the Special Committee—I can't favor one over another."

"Before, Director Ming didn't speak, his stance unclear. But now it's different—we're doing business together. From now on, we're allies who watch each other's backs. Have someone contact Gu Zhang Yongcheng—he'll arrange everything."

"Thank you, Mr. Wang. Thank you, Director Ming." Liang Zhongchun hurried to thank them, his demeanor stripped of all authority as head of No. 76's Operations Division—he looked like a groveling lackey.

This wasn't just true of this era—the law of the jungle was universal; decades later, nothing changed. In public, one appears noble; behind closed doors, one bows and scrapes—each carries silent, unspeakable sorrow. Many long to bow, to feel that sorrow—but can't even find the door.

"Why thank me? All the benefits come from Mr. Wang—you'll have plenty to profit from." Ming Lou laughed heartily, seeming genuinely delighted. "Come, Mr. Wang—the wine hasn't arrived yet—let me toast with tea. May our cooperation bring great fortune."

Wang Yan smiled, lifted his teacup gently in salute, and drank with them.

The dishes arrived quickly. Even if the owner didn't know Ming Lou or Liang Zhongchun, he knew Wang Yan. In truth, Wang Yan wielded power not just in the French Concession but in the International Settlement as well. Many of the police here were ex-gangsters; Wang Yan did business with the British and Americans, could speak with them, get things done.

At dinner, there was no serious talk—throughout the meal, Ming Lou, Ming Cheng, and Liang Zhongchun lavished praise on Wang Yan, speaking only flattery. After all, this was essential training for any man in the underworld—and all three were masters of it.

【A novel app that has operated stably for years, preferred by old-school readers for source-switching: huanyuanapp.】

Wang Yan knew that Ming Lou had brought Liang Zhongchun here mostly because of what had happened before. Otherwise, even if he intended to challenge Li Shiqun for power, Liang Zhongchun, as head of the Operations Department, was certainly worth courting—but there was no need to bring him right to Wang Yan's doorstep; that would be a massive investment. After all, his business was there; whoever followed him made money, and it was nearly impossible to lose.

Judging by Ming Lou and Ming Cheng's expressions, things must have gone smoothly; otherwise, they wouldn't be laughing and joking so freely with him.

As for agreeing to do business with Liang Zhongchun, he intended to take equity, while Liang Zhongchun was going to die. Even if events didn't unfold exactly as in the original plot, Liang Zhongchun still had to die—so at least half of Liang Zhongchun's wealth would become his. It was a risk-free deal, and he had to take it. With the Japanese driven out, spending would increase, and he needed to save more.

The others who partnered with him in business, except for a few who couldn't be touched, would likely end up in terrible shape…

But all that was for later. He still had to handle what was before him. Yesterday, Liang Zhongchun played the humble servant to him; today, he was playing the humble servant to Iwai Eiichi. Of course, these were two different kinds of servility. After all, among the Japanese, he possessed considerable autonomy—they couldn't fully control him.

Although he had invited Iwai Eiichi to dinner, it was Iwai Eiichi who paid, and of course, they dined at a Japanese restaurant approved by Iwai Eiichi.

But today was different: more people came. To Wang Yan's surprise, Ming Lou, Zhou Fuhai, and several other Chinese who had defected to the Japanese also joined. Besides them, there were Eiji Shōzō and several army and navy officers, along with several senior officials from the consulate.

And unlike before, today wasn't just about eating and drinking—it also featured geishas painted like ghosts, dancing, singing, and playing music, buzzing and humming, lively and noisy.

So many Japanese high-ranking officials, so many Chinese traitor high-ranking officials—and yet they weren't holding a military meeting, but a welcome party…