Spying

11 The Gambling Den

Ever since sending the telegram using a cipher of his own design, Ren Shaobai had been calculating daily how his superiors would establish contact with him. Yet, like this endless rainy season that showed no sign of ending, he scoured every corner of all major newspapers in East China and twisted the radio dial back and forth, switching frequencies repeatedly, but still received no news.

At the same time, he had to complete the task assigned by Li Helin—secretly investigating Liu Kangjie, the office director of the Third Department.

Just as he had always observed, few in the Kuomintang’s government agencies could withstand scrutiny. Some arranged for their relatives to secure government positions, while others exploited their authority for personal gain in state-owned or private organizations. Liu Kangjie might not be more corrupt than others, but he was certainly bolder.

Starting two years ago, this operations officer from the Ministry of National Defense had been regularly applying for military provisions under the pretext of establishing new regiments. These regiments, each stationed with 8,000 men in regions like Bohe, Gushi, and Hengchuan, were nominally under the reorganized 58th Division. All documentation was impeccable, and inspection records from the ministry were also on file. However, after comparing the data for provisions such as rations, uniforms, and ammunition over several periods, Ren Shaobai discovered that the numbers were identical every time.

He reported these phantom regiments—fabricated out of thin air—to Li Helin, concluding that Liu Kangjie had been embezzling military funds for a long time.

"But now, these areas... are likely already Communist territory, making verification impossible," Li Helin remarked.

His face remained as calm as ever, but Ren Shaobai detected a hint of regret in his tone. Though it was unclear whether he lamented the Kuomintang’s continuous retreat in Henan or simply regretted that the leverage against Liu Kangjie wasn’t more concrete.

Ren Shaobai also felt regret—for the teacher he had once genuinely respected, now entangled in the bureaucratic power struggles.

Still, he presented a recently approved requisition request: "A new regiment, stationed in the Yellow River flood area, under the expanded Fifth Army—15,000 men."

"Fifteen thousand. Just the rice allocation alone would be forty pounds per person. His appetite is growing ever larger." Li Helin couldn’t help but show disdain, especially recalling how Liu Kangjie had hypocritically criticized his work performance during a previous meeting. "A true parasite," he cursed.

However, if it were merely a few pointed remarks during meetings, Li Helin wouldn’t have instructed his former student to conduct covert investigations. His real motive stemmed from the newly appointed Minister of National Defense’s plan to establish a National Defense Promotion Committee, currently selecting preparatory members. Li Helin knew both his and Liu Kangjie’s names were on the candidate list. But if someone profiteering from the war at such a time were selected, wouldn’t it be a farce? What kind of "promotion" could that possibly achieve?

"Such a grand project would undoubtedly require upfront investment. When the ministry sends inspectors, they’d have to hire temporary hands to put up a front. I figured Director Liu couldn’t handle all this alone, so I tailed him for a few days," Ren Shaobai continued. Noticing Li Helin’s slightly surprised expression, he added somewhat sheepishly, "I did score well in the special operations course back then, didn’t I?"

Li Helin chuckled. "Yes, go on.""Mm." Ren Shaobai adjusted his glasses and handed over a stack of photos. "Salt merchant Wang Xianrong is from the same hometown as Director Liu. He also runs an underground gambling den. The military salaries Director Liu embezzled through ghost payrolls were likely laundered through this channel."

In the photos, the man standing with Liu Kangjie was of average build with a thin face.

Li Helin thought that Wang's ability to secure the official salt trade probably had something to do with Director Liu's influence. "Can you find evidence of their money laundering?" he asked.

Ren Shaobai barely hesitated. "I'll check out that gambling den."

Underground gambling dens typically required introductions from regular patrons, with strict searches at the entrance to prevent cheating devices. With help from a friend at the police department, Ren Shaobai found an informant who knew the place, paid him a fee, and was led inside.

The den wasn't as smoke-filled as he'd imagined. The spacious layout kept the cigarette haze thin. Mahjong, dice, and card games each had their own tables, but the atmosphere was oddly subdued—players sat stiffly, perhaps due to tension. Only the clatter of mahjong tiles during shuffles broke the silence, with gamblers occasionally signaling the tea attendants for refills.

Ren Shaobai strolled around before exchanging cash for chips.

The girl behind the counter looked barely twenty but counted bills and chips with practiced ease, eyeing Ren Shaobai as an unfamiliar face. Behind her, a wall-mounted rack held chips and cash in separate compartments. Ren Shaobai remained polite; he knew a gun might be hidden under the counter, ready to fire at any desperate gambler foolish enough to rob the place.

Spotting a mahjong table short one player, he seized the chance to join. He lost small in the first two rounds, then won modestly in the third. By the fourth, he pulled off a Thirteen Orphans hand and raked in the chips. The other players' expressions darkened noticeably.

As Ren Shaobai made to leave, a hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind.

"The banker doesn't walk away mid-game. Don't break the rules, sir."

Turning, he faced a middle-aged man in a traditional long gown, whose words drew murmurs of agreement from onlookers. The man exchanged a glance with the previous banker.

"Seems luck isn't on your side today. How about letting me take a few turns for you?" His thick northeastern accent was unmistakable.

The original banker studied him, gauging his confidence. Normally, he'd refuse, but after consecutive losses to the young newcomer, he welcomed anyone who could humble the upstart. He swapped seats with the older man, and a new round began.

Ren Shaobai inwardly cursed. He'd meant to play a few casual hands, but this unexpected challenger trapped him at the table. Even the sharpest mind couldn't stay quick and clear through endless rounds of high-stakes play.Moreover, Ren Shaobai's card skills were only good enough to win against those straightforward classmates from his military academy days. As he once told Lu Peng, even though those guys later gained real battlefield experience, their biggest flaw when playing cards was their inability to hide their tells.

Most card players were like that.

When Ren Shaobai played mahjong, he didn’t calculate the tiles—he calculated the people. By observing the shifts in their expressions as they drew or discarded tiles, he could deduce what combinations they were aiming for.

But the newcomer at the table was impossible to read.

The middle-aged man knocked over his tiles, and Ren Shaobai lost the dealer position.

"My skills are no match for yours. I concede defeat."

He laughed heartily, called for a tea attendant to bring a bowl of Da Hong Pao, then pushed more chips forward and said to Ren Shaobai, "Another round?"

The crowd around the table grew thicker. Through the gaps, Ren Shaobai caught sight of the girl from the exchange counter glancing their way. His heart stirred—this might be an opportunity. So—

"Since you insist, I’ll oblige."

This time, he focused entirely. When he revealed his tiles, they formed a flawless pure sequence.

"Truly, the younger generation is formidable." The middle-aged man wasn’t the least bit upset and praised him generously.

But Ren Shaobai sensed something off, as if his opponent had held back. Then, while sipping his tea, the man flipped his own tiles over. The onlookers crowded around to look and immediately sighed in regret.

"Ah! Just one tile short of a Nine-Gate Straight!"

The man himself remained unbothered, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering them around. When he handed one to Ren Shaobai, he noticed the younger man staring at the white pack with red lettering—Lucky Strike—and asked, "American cigarettes. I wonder if you’re used to them?"

Ren Shaobai looked at him, disbelief flashing in his eyes, though his voice remained controlled. "I smoked them in Chongqing. Back then, they came in green packaging."

"They changed the design. Maybe the Americans realized red and green don’t go well together." He laughed loudly as he lit Ren Shaobai’s cigarette.

No one noticed the slight tremor in the young winner’s hand—steadying just as quickly.

The middle-aged man sat back down and, as if casually, pulled out a few tiles and tossed them toward the center of the table. "Last round, you were a step behind. This round, I was. Luck goes round and round, doesn’t it?"

As the crowd analyzed the game, Ren Shaobai clearly saw the tiles he had discarded: One of Characters, Two of Characters, White Dragon, Seven of Characters.

One. Two. Zero. Seven.

The man lit another cigarette for himself, holding it between his lips, and grinned. "Time for my luck to turn too."

The next few rounds saw wins and losses on both sides. But Ren Shaobai’s mind was no longer on the game. He couldn’t understand why an operative sent by their organization would appear here. Had this man been tailing him? If so, for how long? And here he’d been feeling smug about shadowing Liu Kangjie and Wang Xianrong for days, unaware that someone else had been silently observing him all along…

So even though he’d learned surveillance and counter-surveillance in the academy’s special operations course, real-world experience was still essential. When Ren Shaobai had secretly photographed Liu and Wang’s meeting from across the street, little did he know that just thirty meters away, an unremarkable middle-aged man had been documenting his every move day after day.Ever since the Social Department of the Communist Party of China decided to re-establish contact with 1207, they began formulating plans far beyond what Ren Shaobai had imagined. Naturally, this included preliminary surveillance on him, all to find a way to make contact smoothly without arousing suspicion from others.

A few days later, they decided to orchestrate this "chance encounter."

As the saying goes, if you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest. The contact person discovered that Ren Shaobai was going undercover in Wang Xianrong’s underground casino—this became the perfect cover. By blending in among the gamblers he was supposed to interact with, the contact could remain undetected.

Yet, Ren Shaobai was startled by the sudden signal, breaking into a cold sweat down his back. He couldn’t quite define his emotions—was it excitement at finally meeting his contact, urgency to clarify his reason for being in the casino, or discomfort at realizing he had been under covert observation? A mix of feelings swirled inside him, and he could only remind himself rationally that if their positions were reversed, he would have taken the same precautions and methods of contact.

Just then, a ding sounded—the girl at the cashier’s counter rang a handbell, signaling the end of the day’s gambling.

As people lined up to settle their accounts, the middle-aged man took the opportunity to slip something into Ren Shaobai’s hand. Without looking at him, Ren Shaobai knew it was the pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes—inside would surely be the contact’s next instructions.

At the same time, Ren Shaobai hadn’t forgotten his original purpose for being there. While waiting for the girl to retrieve cash from the grid to exchange for his chips, he casually remarked, "You’re quite generous here—this is the most free-spending casino I’ve ever seen."

The girl turned to him—perhaps because it was his first visit, or perhaps because Ren Shaobai’s refined features, inherited from his parents, aligned with her aesthetic preferences—and winked. "Slow and steady wins the race. We also offer loan services. If you need them, sir, I can give you a discount on the handling fee."

Of course, it was more likely that recruiting another gambler would earn her a hefty commission.

Ren Shaobai feigned flattered surprise, but in his heart, he knew this "handling fee" was just another term for usury. Gamblers, emboldened by wins, craved more—wanting to keep playing and winning, yet fearing the loss of their gains—so they turned to the casino for loans to increase their betting capital.

Playing along, he asked the girl a few more questions, and soon, he uncovered how Wang Xianrong used this casino to launder money for Liu Kangjie.