Spying

10 Old Faces and Familiar Names

Lan Youyin used the office’s external line to call Honggongci. The cipher had been decoded, but just as she was about to relay the telegram’s contents, Lu Peng stopped her.

“This is a secure line. No one’s eavesdropping,” Lan Youyin found it somewhat ridiculous.

Yet Lu Peng insisted, “Put it in a sealed envelope. I’ll send someone to retrieve it.”

“Director Lu is truly old-fashioned.”

With a hint of mockery, Lan Youyin, in full view of the Confidentiality Bureau’s envoy, used the Ministry of Defense’s official cipher paper and envelope. She even wrote with exaggerated solemnity: “For the Personal Attention of Colonel Lu Peng, Director of the Second Division, Confidentiality Bureau.”

Not long after, the office phone rang. A colleague answered and handed it to Lan Youyin. Before he could walk away, he heard the muffled yet vehement tone on the other end. He glanced back, but Lan Youyin’s expression remained impassive.

“Are you certain about this?” Lu Peng demanded without preamble.

“Certain about what?”

“The Silkworm Keeper died long ago in Chongqing. I arrested and executed him myself.”

“Oh…” Lan Youyin drawled, sounding lazily indifferent. “But Director Lu, as agreed, I’m only responsible for decoding, not analyzing who or what the contents refer to.”

Lu Peng met a firm yet not unyielding rebuff, which oddly cooled his agitation in an instant. He suddenly felt chagrined—he had lost composure over the unexpected message. Lan Youyin couldn’t have made a mistake. She had even attached the decryption process to the official paper, her reasoning clear, her handwriting neat, and even the final period circled with unshakable confidence.

It was a mathematical problem, solved layer by layer, leaving behind a universally understood plaintext. Each corresponding character was unmistakable—no cipher, just the Communist Party agent codenamed 1207 sending it. But why mention someone who no longer existed? Unless the Silkworm Keeper wasn’t a person but an organization, playing the game of “endless wildfire”?

“Director Lu, if you keep hogging this external line, I’ll have to report it to my superiors. Unless the Confidentiality Bureau plans to hire me part-time? With an extra salary?”

Hanging up, Lan Youyin turned to meet her colleague’s inquisitive gaze but offered no explanation.

From that day on, another rumor about Lan Youyin began circulating.

Yet she herself seemed utterly indifferent—whether it was her relationship with Qiao Mingyu, her recent ties to someone in the Army General Headquarters, or now her connection to the Confidentiality Bureau. None of it affected her in the slightest.

As for the telegram she had spent a night decrypting, she did have her own thoughts. But since Lu Peng hadn’t asked, she certainly wouldn’t volunteer them.

Lu Peng was fixated on the Silkworm Keeper, but Lan Youyin had keenly noticed something unusual about the number 1207. She didn’t know the telegram’s origin, but she suspected the codename wasn’t simply the 1,207th in sequence or derived from a date like December 7. Instead, it was the product of two numbers—17 and 71—both primes, even when reversed.

Anyone who had studied mathematics likely harbored a fondness for primes.

Lan Youyin felt a flicker of curiosity about this 1207.

Still, that curiosity wasn’t enough to drive her to uncover the identity of a Communist.In reality, she felt that the Confidentiality Bureau’s relentless pursuit of Communists was nothing but desperate, misguided tactics. No matter how many spies they rooted out in the rear, it couldn’t compare to a single battalion or division commander defecting with their entire unit at the front. Or like earlier this year, when two pilots from the Air Force’s Eighth Brigade stole Pursuit planes and fled—before leaving, they even dropped two bombs over the Army Club, believing Chiang Kai-shek was attending an event there that day.

The Confidentiality Bureau couldn’t even track those men down.

And then there were those who operated right under their noses—people like Lu Peng, whose rank made him untouchable.

A while back, during the National Assembly’s vice-presidential election, Lan Youyin was inevitably dragged into various dinner gatherings. After a few drinks, the high-ranking officials close to the centers of power would steer conversations toward topics usually left unspoken.

“Back in Laiwu, even Commander Bai’s own nephew was captured, but that Han fellow managed to slip back to Nanjing all by himself. Who’d believe he’s clean? And yet? The entire 46th Army was wiped out, and now he’s sitting pretty in Lanzhou!”

Lan Youyin had never met that General Han, but she’d heard he had deep connections, backed by several high-ranking officers. Someone like Lu Peng, a mere department head, wouldn’t dare invite him for questioning—not even the director of the Confidentiality Bureau himself would risk it.

As for those drunken ranters at the dinner table, their righteous indignation rang loud and clear—but a few hours later, their only concern was how to exploit their power and status for personal gain.

Lan Youyin recalled that around this time last year—or was it slightly hotter then?—she and Qiao Mingyu had, for once, left work together. The evening was cool, so they decided to walk home. Neither was a slow walker, so they didn’t have to adjust their pace for each other. From Huangpu Road to Peach Blossom Village, it took no more than fifteen minutes.

They had chatted as they walked—what had they talked about?

She remembered saying that compared to Chongqing, Nanjing’s roads were easier to navigate because they were orderly and straightforward.

Qiao Mingyu then launched into an explanation of Nanjing’s municipal transportation system—how it had been designed during the implementation of the “Capital Plan” in the 16th year of the Republic, modeled after the traffic infrastructure of Washington, D.C. Sun Yat-sen Boulevard served as the central axis running north-south, while a grid-like framework neatly divided the city into commercial, cultural, residential, and political districts…

Lan Youyin cut him off—yes, yes, Purple Mountain is China’s Capitol Hill.

Realizing he had slipped into lecture mode again, Qiao Mingyu quickly stopped himself, dramatically covering his mouth in apology. “Showing off again, sorry.”

Lan Youyin rolled her eyes at him. “Honestly, I can’t stand you.”

But they kept talking, moving on to how, a year after the government’s return to Nanjing, the war against the Communists had also dragged on for a year. Being husband and wife, they didn’t hold back—they had just attended the victory celebration for lifting the siege of Siping, where Du Yuming and Chen Mingren, both commanders in the Northeast, were awarded the Blue Sky White Sun Medal. But rumor had it Chen Mingren had only worn his for a short while before taking it off himself…

Qiao Mingyu mused that perhaps, after seeing so many die in the streets of Siping, a piece of metal destined to become scrap held little meaning. And what about the last man honored with the same distinction—the “Iron-Blooded General” Zhang Lingfu? Hadn’t he still fallen in the blood-soaked fields of Menglianggu?Lan Youyin noticed his expression growing increasingly grave and tried to comfort him, saying that all the radio broadcasts and newspapers were reporting how Communist forces had been driven into the countryside, and that the civil war would soon end with their defeat.

Qiao Mingyu shook his head, explaining that was just the Central Broadcasting Station reciting official propaganda. If you switched to another frequency—foreign news agencies or local stations, like one called Handan Radio—you'd hear very different reports about the situation in the Northeast.

Handan Radio? Lan Youyin turned to look at her husband’s profile. That’s a Communist station…

Not long after, she discovered at home a classified document Qiao Mingyu had brought from the Third Department of the Ministry of National Defense—detailing the Nationalist army’s river defense deployment along a certain stretch of the Yellow River.

Lan Youyin hadn’t expected that a conversation from a year ago, one that had taken place in the last quarter-hour before nightfall, would still feel so vivid in her memory.

A year had passed. The Northeast was still embroiled in fighting. The Central Broadcasting Station was still singing praises of victory. But fewer and fewer people believed those claims now. And those who had long seen through the futility of this war were already gone.

Lan Youyin blinked and turned to look out the window. It must be because she hadn’t slept much the night before—her thoughts were a muddled mess, spiraling beyond her control. She decided she’d better head home early today to catch up on rest.

But just before the end of the workday, a minor commotion broke out at the entrance of the Ministry of National Defense compound.

The commander of the Second Pacification Zone had come to Nanjing for a meeting. Reporters from Nanjing and Shanghai, dissatisfied with the official statements from the recent Ministry press conference, had somehow gotten wind that President Chiang would be meeting Commander Wang at his official residence, the Retreat Residence, next to the Grand Auditorium. They had swarmed the area, hoping for a scoop.

Security Bureau guards stood ready, but in a moment of distraction, when the Chief of General Staff’s car appeared, a petite female reporter slipped past them. She furiously clicked her camera shutter at the car window, and even as she was roughly restrained, she shouted at the departing dust cloud: "Chief of General Staff Gu! What’s your response to the Associated Press reports contradicting government propaganda? Commander Wang! Is Jinan truly an impregnable fortress? Did you come to Nanjing to report on your duties—or to submit your resignation?"

Lan Youyin, stepping out of the building, arched an eyebrow. It had been a while since she’d seen such a bold reporter. Which newspaper was she from?

"I’m Zhu Yanjun, Nanjing correspondent for Wenhui Daily —" the woman announced loudly, "I have press credentials for both the Presidential Palace and the Ministry of National Defense! Let me go!"

It turned out the guards were dispersing the reporters but had singled her out as an example. Following standard procedure, they would confiscate her camera and film, then detain her overnight as a warning. But this time—it was a woman.

Lan Youyin quickened her pace slightly, only to see someone else had already stepped forward.

The Ministry guards were used to dealing with bureaucrats of all ranks every day, sometimes even running errands for certain high-ranking officers. But rarely did they encounter someone like Ren Shaobai, who would greet them in passing during his commute, occasionally handing out cigarettes and chatting. So when Ren Shaobai stepped in to mediate, asking them to let this reporter off, the guards figured they might as well do him a favor. Besides—

"If this turns into a big scene and someone snaps photos, the higher-ups will lose face, and guess who’ll take the blame? Not worth it," Ren Shaobai reasoned, as if looking out for them.

In the end, the guards backed off, warning the reporter not to cause any more trouble."Give me back my camera!" Zhu Yanjun continued to protest loudly. "I'm a journalist. Investigating and reporting are my duties and rights. What gives you the authority to confiscate my belongings?"

Ren Shaobai quickly ushered her away, employing his usual worldly tone to persuade her: "Miss Zhu from Wenhui Daily, a wise man—no, a wise woman—knows when to retreat..."

Lan Youyin stood not far off, watching the scene unfold, thinking to herself that Ren Shaobai was indeed a master at smoothing things over. Yet, as she saw the two disappear beyond the wall, an impulse seized her. Almost as if guided by some unseen force, she bypassed the guards and followed the faint murmurs to the other side of the wall.

Sure enough, Ren Shaobai was as cunning as a fox. Helping a journalist out of trouble was never out of some chivalrous sense of justice—

"...I know it's tough for you journalists. You've got deadlines to meet, and I get that. I can help you get your camera back later, but the film... How about this? Let's make a trade. I'll give you an exclusive scoop in a couple of days, but you'll have to hold off on Commander Wang's news and photos..."

"Shaobai-ge?" The journalist, Zhu Yanjun, suddenly called out tentatively.

Ren Shaobai's incessant chatter came to an abrupt halt, and Lan Youyin, behind the wall, froze as well.

Zhu Yanjun continued, "It's me, Little Dot! My family used to live by Xijia Datang!"

"Little Dot?" Recognition dawned on Ren Shaobai. "When did you come back?"

"I was recently transferred here from Shanghai, covering political affairs."

"Impressive! Who'd have thought the little girl back then would grow up to be a big-shot journalist."

"Look who's talking! I had no idea Shaobai-ge had joined the Ministry of National Defense!"

"Hardly an official. Just scraping by..."

They laughed and bantered for a while before Zhu Yanjun added, "No matter what, you've got to help me get my camera back now."

Ren Shaobai replied, "Of course! But what about my proposal earlier? Think it over. I was planning to leak this to a journalist anyway, and now it's just keeping it in the family."

"About what? If it's some official's scandal, forget it. Our paper doesn't run that kind of stuff." Zhu Yanjun sounded both proud and dismissive.

Ren Shaobai chuckled and asked, "How about profiteering from arms trafficking during a national crisis? And it's not just hearsay—there's evidence."

Silence fell on the other side of the wall. Perhaps Ren Shaobai was showing her something, or perhaps it finally dawned on them that such matters required caution against eavesdroppers.

As the unintended "ear," Lan Youyin took advantage of the silence to turn away quietly from the wall and slip off.

Meanwhile, Zhu Yanjun stared at Ren Shaobai's face and suddenly extended a hand. "Deal. The camera."

"Good. I'll go get it for you now."

With that, he jogged off to find the guards. Outside the guard post, he brushed past Lan Youyin, who looked as though she had just finished her shift.