Chapter 989: Both Impromptu and Premeditated

The story of Midway Island is a well-known anecdote; if China’s territory were to extend this far decades later, “AF lacks fresh water” might well become an idiom.

The coded story it contained was also straightforward, so Qi Changye and the others immediately understood Jiang Yuan’s analysis.

“So the printing shop is the place Li Dianzhong frequently mentioned in his codes?” Qi Changye mused aloud. “Is it because he worked there? No, couriers shouldn’t reveal their workplace to other members of the spy group—let alone repeatedly. If so, is the printing shop the target of this spy cell?”

After speaking, Qi Changye looked at Jiang Yuan, then at Liu Jinghui.

Liu Jinghui said: “You’re the spy expert—you decide.”

“What good is my decision if we don’t know the facts?” Qi Changye deflected first, then added: “I’ll send your ideas to the experts. Uh—could you explain your analysis in detail?”

“I’ll write it down.” Jiang Yuan’s cryptanalysis skills had not yet been recognized, and he had no urgency to prove himself—he neatly wrote several pages of analysis and handed them to Qi Changye to forward to the authorities’ cryptanalysis experts for verification.

Qi Changye hurriedly contacted headquarters to update the files.

He couldn’t possibly know all the relevant intelligence—he could only ask about what he encountered.

After exchanging information several times, Qi Changye gave Jiang Yuan a long, deep look, then disappeared into a private office.

Half an hour later, Qi Changye emerged and said: “Confirmed—three does represent the printing shop.”

Jiang Yuan didn’t ask how they confirmed it; he asked: “And next?”

Jiang Yuan had provided more than one word. Moreover, with this simplest monoalphabetic substitution cipher, the more words known, the easier it becomes to guess the meanings of others.

Given the number of classified advertisements Li Dianzhong had sent, Qi Changye’s unit’s experts should be able to decrypt even more intelligence.

Qi Changye’s tense expression relaxed into a smile; he shook his head and said: “I don’t know how you learned it, but in such a short time, you’ve become a cryptanalysis expert… Our people checked carefully—Li Dianzhong’s printing shop really did handle classified work.”

“What kind of work?”

“Printing materials for certain units, including classified research institutes’ tertiary enterprises—propaganda materials, meeting documents, and so on.” Qi Changye paused. “These tertiary enterprises themselves aren’t classified, but many of the leaders attending meetings are cadres from the institutes holding dual roles. Their meeting materials aren’t necessarily for the tertiary companies—they include materials for the institutes’ own meetings.”

The tertiary enterprises Qi Changye mentioned were essentially peripheral companies of each unit. In the 1990s, domestic sentiment favored children holding positions in state units—what was called having “formal” employment. With insufficient staffing across units, some organizations established peripheral companies simply to solve employment problems for employees’ children; what they did didn’t matter, whether they made money didn’t matter—it was purely to relieve employment burdens.

Under these conditions, most of the business of these tertiary enterprises was a mess; the only thing taken seriously was holding meetings.

Not only tertiary enterprises needed meetings—every research institute, academy, or company unit needed meetings, and they took them seriously. The more senior the leaders were on the operational front, the more materials they had to prepare—even if unused, they had to be ready.

With funding generally insufficient, some leaders were willing to save money by assigning printing or offset printing of meeting materials to their own or affiliated tertiary enterprises—essentially waste reuse.

No one expected someone like Li Dianzhong would also target these wastes.

Worried Jiang Yuan wouldn’t understand, Qi Changye added specifically: “Zhang Xiaoming’s factory is directly under the ministry—it’s large-scale and handles many Beijing-based operations. Many related units use its facilities and personnel; printing shops like this are often bundled in.”

“What kind of meetings would be classified?” Liu Jinghui asked. “If it’s just scavenging for treasure in the trash, this spy group’s threat wouldn’t be too serious, right?”

“It’s hard to say now, since the spy organization hasn’t been uncovered, so no damage assessment has been done.” Qi Changye grew more serious, then spoke slowly: “Let me give an example. It’s known that many achievement certification meetings were held at that factory back then. Logically, the printing shop would have printed many documents and materials used in those meetings—not necessarily the most core ones, but…”

“Already classified level?”

“Yes. And it depends on the opponent’s secrecy awareness. For instance, from what I’ve learned, some local units’ representatives carried data in their heads—they refused to write it down and bring it along, fearing loss en route. But once there, they’d ask the printing shop to print those numbers onto documents, because it looked better for higher-ups…”

Liu Jinghui’s face changed: “This threat is huge.”

“Right. So Zhang Xiaoming was likely killed not because he wanted to be laid off, but because the plan was to shut down these tertiary enterprises altogether. Fortunately, Li Dianzhong was silenced by his own side.” Qi Changye sighed: “The leak is temporarily plugged.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Liu Jinghui frowned. “If Li Dianzhong was such a vital intelligence source, even at risk, they wouldn’t have killed him, would they? Was the printing shop still operating then?”

Qi Changye’s brow furrowed too: “It was. The printing shop survived for over two more years after Li Dianzhong’s death, shrinking gradually until it was dissolved along with the tertiary enterprises.”

“Exactly. That makes no sense. If ordering Li Dianzhong to kill Zhang Xiaoming was meant to protect the printing shop—to preserve the intelligence source—then why kill Li Dianzhong? That’s backwards. Unless…”

“The printing shop’s intelligence has another source?” Qi Changye caught Liu Jinghui’s rhythm instantly, frowned deeply, and after a long pause said: “Couriers are exposed—they usually follow the core intelligence source.”

Couriers took greater risks; their existence existed precisely to reduce risk to the core intelligence source. Otherwise, adding a courier only increased the core source’s risk—making it meaningless.

In fact, the entire spy cell existed to reduce risk to the core intelligence source—to have the core source perform minimal espionage work, shifting the risk of transferring intelligence and delivering messages to couriers and agents.

From this perspective, Li Dianzhong’s fatal fall was itself a severing of risk—perfectly reflecting the spy cell’s operational logic.

The enemy merely needed to replace one courier, give minimal training, and the cell could continue operating.

“If the intelligence source is in the printing shop…” Qi Changye frowned. “Twenty years have passed. If the source was older back then, he might already be retired. Many of those people have even left the country…”

“Actually, there’s another unresolved issue,” Jiang Yuan suddenly interrupted Qi Changye’s train of thought.

Qi Changye naturally turned to look at him.

Jiang Yuan said: “Li Dianzhong was searching for something. From the scene investigation, it doesn’t look staged—he was genuinely and seriously searching. And this fits their behavioral pattern.”

“This isn’t about whether they planned to kill or to steal…”

“They planned both.” Jiang Yuan, having pondered this case for a long time, stated firmly: “I believe the killer had already planned to kill Zhang Xiaoming. So the theft was real, the murder was real—thus, even though Zhang Xiaoming returned unexpectedly, the killer’s actions were extraordinarily decisive!”

“Makes sense.” Liu Jinghui didn’t understand crime scene analysis, but seeing Jiang Yuan’s confidence, he immediately updated his assumptions and agreed: “Kill first, then the object might fall into police hands—so find the object first, then eliminate Zhang Xiaoming.”

Following their logic, Qi Changye said: “So the killer encountered Zhang Xiaoming’s unexpected return—both an impromptu decision to kill, and a premeditated one.”

“Exactly. This also better explains their standoff posture.” Jiang Yuan demonstrated a stance: “Zhang Xiaoming clearly thought it was a routine burglary—he probably tried to scare or drive the intruder out, maybe even threatened him to drop the items—or else he’d shout for help…”

Jiang Yuan: “If Zhang Xiaoming recognized the killer, his stance would’ve changed—he’d have been more cautious. I recall Zhang Xiaoming received military training.”

In the 1990s, factory and mine workers all underwent prolonged quasi-military training—young people were assigned to militia companies or battalions, factories handled their own security and neighborhood patrols, and sports meets often became military pentathlon events with prior training.

As Jiang Yuan spoke, he thought further: “This means Li Dianzhong, though an outsourced worker, was unknown to Zhang Xiaoming. Yet Li Dianzhong killed Zhang Xiaoming decisively. I previously noted the stab wounds centered on the chest—Zhang Xiaoming was tall, half a head taller than Li Dianzhong. This wasn’t a position chosen in haste or by accident.”

Jiang Yuan glanced at Qi Changye again, steering the topic back: “So what was Li Dianzhong searching for? That object is likely more important than Li Dianzhong’s own identity.”

Qi Changye’s eyes lit up: “Why?”

Jiang Yuan said: “Because Li Dianzhong risked killing someone. From blood spatter analysis, when Zhang Xiaoming was stabbed, the blood sprayed onto the killer’s body. Also, the killer’s knife-hand—likely the right hand—was also splattered, with blood dripping down, indicating substantial volume.”

Jiang Yuan organized his thoughts: “Even if Li Dianzhong could use a grappling hook, wipe blood, or wear extra clothing to conceal it—could he truly clean it all? Odor remains. Fundamentally, doing this meant taking enormous risk—he couldn’t leave the scene safely.”

Jiang Yuan paused, then added: “I mean, Li Dianzhong might have escaped safely—but even then, the risk was still too high.”

Liu Jinghui instantly grasped Jiang Yuan’s logic: “If the blood analysis leads to this conclusion, Li Dianzhong must have made a decision at that moment—he had to kill Zhang Xiaoming.”

Jiang Yuan nodded: “Yes.”

Liu Jinghui nodded slowly: “Whether or not Li Dianzhong had already obtained the object he wanted, failing to kill Zhang Xiaoming then—even threatening him with the knife—couldn’t eliminate the risk. Actually, there were two thieves in the room; they could’ve just ordered Zhang Xiaoming to step aside and leave. Zhang Xiaoming, pampered and privileged, wouldn’t risk himself for two petty thieves.”

Jiang Yuan agreed: “They could’ve stabbed Zhang Xiaoming once without killing him. Li Dianzhong was trained, held a knife—he’d have been confident enough to avoid the chest, the most extreme target. Then he could’ve fled immediately. He likely had plenty of money saved. Far safer than becoming a fugitive with a murder charge.”

“If we follow this logic, Li Dianzhong killed only to protect something more valuable—only the intelligence source behind him. This means Zhang Xiaoming possessed something he didn’t even know could threaten the intelligence source.” Liu Jinghui looked at Qi Changye: “This implies…”

Qi Changye understood their reasoning, but mindful of the importance of the next orders, he confirmed again: “Li Dianzhong was silenced for this—he sacrificed too much.”

“He probably planned to frame Wang Futing. Didn’t he make Wang Futing take the bag? Originally, eliminating Wang Futing would’ve ended it.” Liu Jinghui found this too simple, stating plainly: “Wang Futing was clever—he ran home that very day, catching Li Dianzhong off guard. In the end, Li Dianzhong had to be silenced.”

Qi Changye nodded slowly: “Wang Futing became vice president. It’s reasonable Li Dianzhong couldn’t remember the codebook.”

“Li Dianzhong was only in his early twenties when he died. Youthful inexperience is normal. Even if he learned grappling hooks and some street tricks from his uncle, his limits were clear. He mailed the codebook—but was still silenced.”

“Maybe he was threatened. In espionage, they can sacrifice him—they won’t allow him to flee on his own.” Qi Changye brushed past the topic and asked: “So what did Li Dianzhong take from Zhang Xiaoming?”

“I think it was likely a document, report, or letter.” Jiang Yuan now pulled out the task force’s summary of Zhang Xiaoming’s schedule: “In the days before his death, Zhang Xiaoming was organizing personnel, affairs, and operations at the factory, and wrote multiple letters to elders and friends. All letters were retrieved. Now it seems they were mostly for advice—but…”

“Could Zhang Xiaoming have inadvertently exposed the spy?” Qi Changye’s face flushed with excitement.

Jiang Yuan said: “Possibly. Or perhaps he severed the spy’s intelligence source?”

Liu Jinghui took over Jiang Yuan’s thought: “If we assume this spy—or the spy’s intelligence source—was part of the factory’s or printing shop’s management back then, is that plausible?”

All the preceding discussion had ultimately led to this.

The factory Zhang Xiaoming worked in was no ordinary facility. Twenty years later, some of its management had risen to prominence—once again, we’re back on the path of upward mobility.

But the scope is no longer limited to Jianmen Academy’s dormitory area.

“We can check,” Qi Changye knew what they feared; he glanced at Huang Qiangmin beside him, then added: “After so many years, the exact situation is hard to determine.”