Chapter 680

It was the Spring Festival; although there weren't many people in the Wang mansion, the atmosphere was lively.

Early in the morning, after practicing martial arts and having breakfast, Wang Yan began writing couplets at home. He had been writing them for several days—not just for the Wang mansion, but also for factories, schools, and other places.

Yu Manli, a woman with no family, had come as well, helping out and assisting Wang Yan, who was stirring the big pot. She was the only woman among all those who had interacted with Wang Yan in Shanghai who had entered his home and celebrated the New Year with him. Though she didn't live permanently in the Wang mansion but in her own apartment outside, her status was unquestionable.

Of course, some still looked down on her; after all, women's liberation was being advocated now, and she moved among progressive intellectual youth circles, where many still disapproved of her behavior. But thanks to her association with Wang Yan, she had become the head of over a dozen schools, and people naturally gathered around her.

These people were equally complex: there were Communists among them, and since Yu Manli herself was still with the Military Statistics Bureau, and behind her stood Wang Yan's name, Nationalist Party members were also present, along with sneaky Japanese spies secretly monitoring them.

Fortunately, Yu Manli hadn't lost her head; she had undergone professional training and had never voiced any opinions, always keeping her contacts discreet. Otherwise, she would have been arrested long ago. After all, she was one of Wang Yan's women with a recognized status, and thus a key target of attention.

During the New Year, some were happy, others sad. But Wang Yan's workers were delighted, because this year's holiday benefits were better and more generous than last year's. Everyone received assorted flavored instant noodles in sealed boxes, drinks, rice, flour, fish, meat, and more. In the days before the New Year, Wang Boss's name was the most prominent in Shanghai.

Of course, relative to his annual output, this cost very little. He already ran a grain business—rice, flour, oil, and other staples—transported by a massive fleet into the country, so food was cheap for him. Instant noodles and drinks were produced by his own factories; a few ten thousand boxes hardly cost anything.

Moreover, with current shortages in supplies and the New Year being peak shopping season, prices had inevitably risen again. Even if his goods were priced slightly lower, the revenue from those price hikes far exceeded the cost of holiday benefits for tens of thousands of people.

Wang Mou was always a good boss committed to common prosperity—friendly to his employees, never imposing heavy pressure, generous with money, a genuine good man…

After lunch and preparing dinner, nine people ate: Yu Manli, Qi Si, Wu the Elder, Liang the Aunt, and the four men under Wang Yan's command who had no families and were responsible for the mansion's security. Cooking for them wasn't easy.

Since there was nothing to do for the New Year, Wang Yan and the others spent the evening stewing and boiling things, then gathered to wrap dumplings together—it was very lively.

They didn't wait until midnight to eat; they started wrapping at around eight, and once done, they boiled them right away.

While the dumplings were boiling and waiting for dinner, the phone in the hall rang. Qi Si ran over to answer it, listened for a moment, then rushed back to Wang Yan, who was playing cards: "Brother Yan, it's Detective Liu from Avenue Joffre."

Yu Manli sneered: "Doesn't he celebrate the New Year either?"

Wang Yan shook his head with a smile, stood up, and picked up the phone: "Hello, Old Liu? Calling me on the New Year?"

"Oh, Brother Yan, I'd love to be home with my wife, kids, and warm bed—dumplings already wrapped, just waiting to eat—when this trouble came." Liu Yitong's voice came through the line. "Just got word: a gunfight broke out at the Clicy Restaurant on Avenue Joffre. Wang Fuqu was shot dead in the head. He was the president of the merchant association who had defected to the Japanese, held a position in the Maintenance Council, and was Wang Manchun's uncle. I don't know how to handle this—so I've got no choice but to call you and ask for your advice."

"I think you're just bitter about being out on the New Year and want to ruin mine too. What's it to you if a Japanese collaborator dies? Do what you're supposed to do. Now you've called me—do you think I can pretend I know nothing? Fine, I'm coming over to check the scene."

Wang Yan hung up the phone with a sharp click, annoyed. Liu Yitong wasn't a fool—he could've made a decision himself. He just didn't want to face the Japanese directly and pushed Wang Yan to the front. Also, since the dead man was Wang Manchun's uncle, Wang Yan's involvement would make things smoother and avoid unnecessary complications.

Yu Manli asked curiously: "What's going on? Why call you so late?"

"Just now, Wang Manchun's uncle was shot dead at a Western restaurant on Avenue Joffre. Liu Yitong didn't want to get tangled with the Japanese, so he dragged me into it. The dead man was Wang Manchun's uncle, and he'd had some business dealings with me before. Since the call came to me, I can't pretend ignorance—I have to go see. You eat without waiting for me; I won't know when I'll be back."

Yu Manli's eyes widened slightly, then she fell silent. Wang Fuqu wasn't a good man—he'd done many evil things, and worse, he was Wang Manchun's uncle. She was secretly pleased he was dead. But she said nothing—too many words invite trouble. There were still Wang Yan's men in the room; they seemed loyal, but who knew what they truly thought?

Wang Yan understood Yu Manli's thoughts. He smiled but said nothing, then turned and went upstairs to change clothes.

Qi Si, without being told, also went to his room to change into warmer outdoor clothing.

Soon, the car started, its halogen headlights casting a dim yellow glow on the road as it drove out of the Wang mansion. On the empty, nearly deserted streets, it soon reached Avenue Joffre, the scene of the incident.

Compared to the quiet mansion, Avenue Joffre was bustling. It was the hub of commerce and entertainment at the time. Though it was the New Year, many shops remained open, and many people still wandered outside. No matter the era, there were always those who didn't care about the holiday—especially in wartime. The poor struggled to survive; the rich didn't have it easy either. Some lived only for today's wine.

News of the gunfight at the Clicy Restaurant had spread, but experienced people weren't afraid. Some passersby, seeing a crowd of police gathered outside the restaurant, curiously watched from a distance.

They knew the fight was over and there was no danger, so their nosy curiosity kicked in. If it were still an active gunfight, they'd have zero interest in watching. This was Shanghai—where dozens died daily without notice…

Under these circumstances, Qi Si pulled the car up to the entrance. Liu Yitong, who had arrived earlier, hurried over to open the door like a loyal dog.

Wang Yan stepped out in his heavy leather shoes, looking at Liu Yitong's awkward grin: "Have you notified everyone?"

"Called immediately. They should arrive in another ten minutes or so."

"You're just afraid I'll be bored. Come on, let's go inside and see what's happened."

Liu Yitong walked half a step behind Wang Yan and reported: "Preliminary investigation shows that when the gunfight broke out, everyone scattered immediately, so no one clearly saw the attackers' faces. But we can confirm: one person downstairs, two upstairs. All three moved swiftly, struck cleanly, and shot with deadly accuracy. Aside from diners, no one survived. Preliminary judgment: Military Statistics Bureau operatives."

Wang Yan raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. He knew the attackers were Ming Tai, Guo Qiyun, and a woman who had replaced Yu Manli.

He hadn't received confirmed information, but he was certain: given Ming Tai's spoiled, soft-hearted nature, Wang Tianfeng would still play the emotional card. So he'd find a woman with a tragic past to win Ming Tai's sympathy and make him willingly serve the Military Statistics Bureau.

Inside the restaurant, tables and chairs were overturned, dishes, alcohol, and broken glass littered the floor from panicked flight. On the first-floor floor lay three bodies in pools of blood, each holding a gun: two had two bullets in their backs, one had two in his chest. They must have heard the commotion upstairs, drawn their weapons immediately—Guo Qiyun had ambushed and killed the two from behind; the last one barely turned around before he was dead.

After inspecting, Wang Yan stepped carefully to avoid the blood, then climbed the stairs.

The second-floor scene was far more gruesome: the floor was littered with shell casings, walls were pockmarked with bullet holes, and seven or eight corpses lay in the corridor. In one room, five or six people had been trapped—most had two or three gunshot wounds, each with a bullet hole in the head, the result of close-range execution shots.

Carefully avoiding the blood, Wang Yan walked to the very end room. A dead man sat slumped against the door, so there was no need to open it—he simply stepped inside.

There were six bodies inside. Two held guns; the other three wore suits and ties—innocent merchants dining with Wang Fuqu, their faces frozen in terror.

The main character, Wang Fuqu, was the last body. His death was absurd—he was curled inside a serving cabinet, shot dead in the head. His face showed not only fear but disbelief, because Ming Tai had killed him.

Judging from the scenes upstairs and downstairs, Ming Tai's operational capability was high. Perhaps his "father's" narrative had rationalized his combat skills, making the gunfight look clean and efficient, reflecting the precision of Ming Tai and his team.

This was normal. In the drama, Ming Tai and Yu Manli constantly stood their ground against enemy fire, bullets flying within ten meters yet failing to hit them, while their own shots picked off enemies one by one. Without this power fantasy, Ming Tai wouldn't survive three episodes.

As for his weak physique, having only learned Western boxing, yet rapidly evolving after four or five months of military training—well, he's the protagonist. Extraordinary talent. Understandable.

"These are all merchants who defected to the Japanese, fawning after Wang Fuqu. Today they met to discuss Wang Fuqu's bid for a government position. These two were his expensive bodyguards, somewhat famous in Shanghai's martial circles. Never expected they'd be killed so easily—they fired two and one shots respectively."

Seeing Wang Yan standing with his hands behind his back, staring at the corpses, Liu Yitong dutifully reported their identities.

Wang Yan nodded: "These three Military Statistics Bureau operatives moved with great skill. It seems Chen Gongshu still has his abilities—his reputation isn't undeserved."

"In my opinion, it's Comrade Pei Min who truly belongs in this line—he's the real god of death. Invisible in, invisible out, kills without a sound. Not like now—making such a racket. Brothers can't even have a peaceful New Year—they just drag us into trouble."

"It's trouble you brought me. My trouble is your doing."

Liu Yitong chuckled, changing the subject: "I've noticed you're not paying attention to the Youth League anymore. I'll tell you straight: Du Yong still holds control over it. I dare not go too far. What's your plan?"

"I'm just too lazy to care—but I haven't been idle behind the scenes. Don't worry. As for what I think…" Wang Yan smiled. "I'm watching to see if the situation changes. You're not stupid—you know if we seize the Youth League now, it's not just about offending people. The Japanese won't give us any escape route. The Youth League is too big. If they don't cooperate, it's death. So let the old bones die. We wait for the right moment and rise with the tide."

"How long do we wait? Brother, I'm right behind you now, but they've all turned against me. Don't end up with me hated by both sides—and dragging my wife and kids down with me."

"Relax. I think it'll be clear in four or five years. Don't rush—good food doesn't hurry. You're only two years older than me—you've got time. What's there to fear?" Wang Yan patted his shoulder. "Do what you must. As long as I'm alive, no one can touch you. If I die, then it's up to your own fate. Calm down—for now, nothing major's wrong."

"I hope so. I'm already on your boat—what else can I do but relax…"

"Enough already. I haven't left you out of the profits. Wang Fuqu doesn't have more cash on hand than you do. Stop being so stingy—money's meant to be spent. You can't take it with you when you die. What's the point of hoarding?"

"I'm from the countryside—I'm scared of being poor again. I can't be like you. My wife's pregnant again—I've got to save up."

Wang Yan was about to speak when footsteps approached. A young man in his twenties rushed in: "Mr. Wang, Detective Liu—people from 76 and the Tokumu-ka have arrived."

Liu Yitong waved his hand, signaling the man to step aside. He straightened his clothes and waited with Wang Yan.

Soon, heavy footsteps approached. Ming Lou entered first, followed by Muramatsu Cunben, the Tokumu-ka agent Wang hadn't seen in ages, then Liang Zhongchun limping with a cane, then Ming Cheng, Ming Lou's ever-present shadow—all familiar faces. After them came the 76 and Tokumu-ka agents, who immediately began inspecting the scene, searching for clues.

"Oh my, Mr. Wang, what are you doing here? So late, and you've been disturbed—my apologies." Ming Lou, the team leader, spoke first.

Behind them, Cunben Yilang bowed with his top hat, Liang Zhongchun beamed with a servile expression as he gazed at Wang Yan, and Mingcheng slightly bowed his head in respect.

Wang Yan sighed and said, "Wang Fuqu's uncle died, and he died in the French Concession—I still have business dealings with Wang Fuqu. Inspector Liu is my good brother; he told me immediately. In this situation, shouldn't I come over out of sentiment and reason?"

"Absolutely right, absolutely right," Minglou nodded repeatedly. "When I got the call, I was just about to have dinner with Wang Fuqu. She should have come too, but since she was so close to her uncle, she couldn't bear it—so I had someone take her home."

"Understandable. She had deep feelings for Wang Fuqu."

Two shameless people, amid the onlookers' curious glances, spoke of the same woman—neither felt any embarrassment.

Minglou sighed, walked over to Wang Fuqu's body, stared at the corpse, and fell silent.

Cunben Yilang knew Wang Fuqu was Minglou's teacher, so he didn't disturb him. He turned to Liu Yitong: "Mr. Liu, could you tell us what you've learned?"

Liu Yitong naturally couldn't refuse—he immediately recounted everything he knew. He didn't care about anything else; he just wanted these people to leave quickly.

He was the inspector here, yet the handling of this case still required input from Unit 76 and the Tokumu Kikan—this feeling was truly unpleasant.

But there was no way around it: the Japanese were powerful. On such a minor matter, even the foreigners would likely leave it to the Japanese to handle themselves, too lazy to intervene. The arrogant French understood the situation perfectly—they were just putting on a show.

Still, it wasn't all bad: since someone was taking care of the bodies, the police didn't have to. All they needed to do was stand guard symbolically, so Liu Yitong, the inspector, paid out of his own pocket, and the group gathered at a nearby open restaurant to eat hot dumplings and glutinous rice balls, even sipping a couple of cups of wine.

After the inspection ended, Unit 76 and the Tokumu Kikan summoned cars to transport all the bodies away, leaving only Wang Yan and Minglou behind—Mingcheng waited in the car.

Wang Yan acted as if he knew nothing. He asked curiously, "Did you arrange this?"

"Sort of," Minglou thought for a moment, then replied. He immediately asked, "It won't affect you, will it?"

"I do business however I please—I've never lacked so-called partners. What difference could it make to me? The world keeps turning no matter who's gone."

Wang Yan frowned, thought for a moment, and asked, "I recall your third young master studied at university in Hong Kong, right?"

"Yes, why bring him up?"

"I thought I saw him walking down the street with a woman recently. I didn't pay attention then, but it just occurred to me today. He shouldn't be here now—didn't both you brothers join the Military Statistics Bureau? Or is he misbehaving, skipping school and sneaking back?"

Seeing Wang Yan's knowing gaze, Minglou's heart skipped a beat. He shook his head and laughed, "No way. I know my younger brother better than anyone—he was raised in a honey pot. He couldn't handle that kind of hardship. He's definitely slacking off, sneaking back to Shanghai, afraid my eldest sister will scold him, so he's been running around with whores. When I catch him, I'll make sure he learns his lesson. Mr. Wang, it's getting late, and it's Spring Festival—let's head home early. I'll come pay you a New Year's visit tomorrow."

"Bah, we're this close—what's there to pay a New Year's visit for? Useless. Let's go. That Liu Yitong didn't want to deal with the Japanese, so he dragged me here. The dumplings were already in the pot, and I'm still hungry."

After another scare, Wang Yan waved his hand, slipped into the car, and left without hesitation.

Minglou was left alone in the cold wind, puzzled—how did Wang Yan's mind work? It was as if he knew everything.