Spying

12 The Safe

The paper-burning stove was covered in copper rust, but when Ren Shaobai ignited the note hidden inside a cigarette box within it, the stove regained its value as an essential tool for destroying intelligence after reading.

The note read: Liu has a secret account at Xingye Bank. Signed: Silkworm Keeper.

Ren Shaobai watched as the last three characters vanished into the tiny flames, realizing that the higher organization had investigated him far more thoroughly than he had imagined—not only aware of his covert inquiries into Liu Kangjie but also guiding him to examine Liu’s banking activities before he could do so himself.

By the next afternoon, when he arrived at the Nanjing branch of Zhejiang Xingye Bank on Xinjiekou and spotted the middle-aged man from the previous night in the lobby of the building’s first floor, he could barely control his expression.

The personal service counters were crowded and bustling, with each teller surrounded by a cluster of people asking questions: Why had gold sales been suspended? When would they resume? There were rumors that the bank would relocate some operations to Taiwan to open a branch—would their money be taken there as well?

Ren Shaobai flashed his National Defense Ministry credentials at a teller, putting on an air of authority as he demanded to see the manager. The teller inwardly groaned, wondering which "big shot" had come to exploit the bank this time. Fortunately, the newly transferred assistant manager from the head office noticed the haughty client and quickly stepped in to defuse the situation.

"Sir, I am Peng Yongcheng, assistant manager of this branch. How may I assist you?" The man in the long gown from the gambling den the night before now wore a Western-style shirt and vest, his hair slicked back neatly, his northeastern accent completely gone. Meeting Ren Shaobai’s astonished gaze, he added, "Perhaps we should discuss this in my office."

Once the door of the second-floor office closed, Peng Yongcheng extended his hand to Ren Shaobai: "Comrade Ren Shaobai, code name 1207—finally, we meet."

Ren Shaobai stared at their clasped hands, his heart pounding so hard he struggled to steady himself, momentarily speechless. For a fleeting moment, time and space seemed to warp, superimposing a scene from the past onto the present, making the hand before him appear double—belonging to the first person who had ever called him "1207."

"The organization has decided to retain the codename 'Silkworm Keeper,'" Peng Yongcheng said, as if reading his thoughts. "It’s a tribute to the predecessor—and also because we thought you might be more accustomed to it."

Ren Shaobai looked up, recalling how he had stared blankly at the signature before burning the note the previous night. He didn’t know exactly when Silkworm Keeper had been captured at the end of that year, nor where he had been imprisoned, or when he had been secretly executed. On the surface, the two parties were still cooperating at the time, so the Chongqing government naturally couldn’t openly execute a Communist underground operative—or a group of them—who had also been fighting against the Japanese.

Peng Yongcheng noticed the flicker of pain in his eyes and sighed, patting his shoulder. "From the day he joined the revolution, he was prepared to shed blood and sacrifice. Not just him—you and I are the same."

Ren Shaobai gazed at him blankly.

"No," he suddenly said.

Peng Yongcheng didn’t react with shock or the dismay of "he’s been corrupted after all." Instead, with unexpected curiosity, he studied the young man before him anew.Leaving behind the dim lights of the casino from the previous night, he no longer carried the pretense of a gambler nor the arrogant air of leaning on the Ministry of Defense for borrowed authority that he had deliberately displayed in the lobby downstairs. It was as if he had been bottling up a torrent of words for years, unable to find an outlet, and now, at this moment, he finally wanted to pour them all out.

"No one lives each day with the intention of embracing death. Not even for the revolution. No—precisely because of the revolution, we want to live. Isn’t the purpose of revolution to live better? To live in a society where people don’t starve, don’t fear war, don’t worry about forced conscription, and won’t find that the money in their hands today can buy a pound of rice but only a matchstick tomorrow. At least, I want to live in such a society.

"I wasn’t going to say any of this—it might make me seem afraid of death, or make you think I’m just a political opportunist. But since you mentioned the Silkworm Keeper, the one before you. I don’t even know his real name. When he first extended an olive branch to me, I told him that if I hadn’t witnessed the corruption and cruelty of the Nationalists firsthand, I wouldn’t have turned my back on my father’s party. But the truth is, it’s no longer the party my father once described. It’s no longer progressive; it’s no longer worthy of my service. Though I’m just an insignificant nobody, I still believe I deserve a better party.

"Would I be willing to bleed and sacrifice for a new belief? If I had a choice, of course I’d choose to live. But the reality is, I don’t have a choice. Right now, in Henan, at this very moment while I’m speaking, people are dying. People like the Silkworm Keeper, people like you and me. I don’t want this kind of death to continue. I work in the Ministry of Defense—not in any core department, but I still have easier access to information that could end this war sooner than most. And once the war ends, no one else will have to bleed or sacrifice."

Later that evening, Peng Yongcheng drafted a memorandum to the central committee at home, which included his assessment of 1207: He is certainly not the passionate young man of 1942 anymore. Rather than sympathizing with us, he has made a choice between us and the Nationalists—a choice based on which side can bring peace and a better future to the people of this land. This simple wish, devoid of any heroic idealism, aligns with our underground work, proving that while he weighs the situation carefully, he would never act in a way that harms his comrades. We can place our hopes in him because, at his core, he remains a good man.

In the bank manager’s office, Peng Yongcheng listened patiently to Ren Shaobai’s confession and noticed the fleeting look of embarrassment on his face after the last word—these were words of complete vulnerability, ones he had never spoken to anyone before.

At the same time, he also detected something else.

"Are you worried that we don’t fully trust you?" he asked Ren Shaobai.

"After all, I was cut off from the organization, and not just for a year or two. If you suspect I’ve gone back to the other side, it’s only natural."Peng Yongcheng smiled and said, "Then I can give you a definite answer on behalf of our shared superiors—we do not doubt your stance. If we had any suspicions, I wouldn’t have come to Nanjing." He paused, walked behind the desk, and pulled a stack of files from the drawer. "And I certainly wouldn’t have told you that Liu Kangjie has a secret account in this bank."

Ren Shaobai took the file folder from him and opened it. Inside were transaction records under Liu Kangjie’s name, which appeared normal at first glance, with no suspicious large deposits. However, aside from this, Liu had also registered a safety deposit box under his wife’s name. The records documented every instance he accessed the box, complete with timestamps and signatures. Notably, another name appeared regularly alongside these entries—Wang Xianrong.

Wang Xianrong had dealings with Xingye Bank as well. His "Rongji Salt Company" was a long-term partner of the bank, granting him privileges unavailable to ordinary clients. For instance, gold, which was publicly declared no longer for sale, could still be purchased by Wang Xianrong as an investment product without any obstacles.

Ren Shaobai immediately understood why Liu Kangjie’s account appeared so clean—the embezzled funds were laundered through casinos, then converted by the bank into gold, the most scarce commodity at the time. While ordinary citizens struggled with inflation and tightening livelihoods, these illicit assets flowed steadily into his secret safety deposit box.

Peng Yongcheng continued, "We followed you earlier instead of responding outright to protect your safety and to assist you in completing your tasks within the Nationalist Party." He paused before asking, "Is this your personal initiative, or was it authorized by the Ministry of National Defense?"

"It’s because Li Helin, the director of the Second Department, has a conflict with him and wants to gather compromising materials." Ren Shaobai explained the background as instructed by Li Helin, detailing the infighting between various departments, which involved not only regional and factional disputes but also power struggles within the Ministry of National Defense since its inception.

Peng Yongcheng listened while taking notes, signaling the beginning of their collaboration. The information Ren Shaobai provided was rarely mentioned by others. While many could vaguely comment on the factional strife within the Nationalist Party, only someone like Ren Shaobai—skilled in navigating such an environment and building connections—could offer such specific details.

"Why did Li Helin approach you instead of using his own people in the Second Department?"

Ren Shaobai hesitated briefly before answering, "He works in intelligence. He doesn’t trust those around him."

Peng Yongcheng glanced at him, then set down his pen, pondering, "So what’s your plan?"

"My plan?"

"If Li Helin’s goal is to undermine his political enemies, what role do you intend to play in this?"

Instead of answering immediately, Ren Shaobai pointed to the bank account records he had just received and asked, "Earlier, you mentioned assisting me with my tasks in the Nationalist Party. Does the organization already have a specific plan for me?"

Peng Yongcheng smiled. "Not a plan—a goal."

"What goal?"

"To infiltrate the core departments of the Ministry of National Defense."The office fell into a brief silence, as this mission implied that Ren Shaobai's previous assumptions about the intelligence he could provide were far from sufficient. The so-called core departments not only needed to transmit intelligence outward but also exert influence internally—such as misleading the Ministry of Defense's judgment on Communist military operations or directly controlling the Nationalist forces on the front lines from the rear. Qiao Mingyu, who had once been in the Third Department, occupied such a position. He could steal the Nationalist army's battle plans and propose strategic plans favorable to the Liberation Army.

Apart from the Third Department, there was the Second Department, which directly transmitted military intelligence to the war zones.

Seeing Ren Shaobai momentarily dazed, Peng Yongcheng thought he was feeling the pressure and was about to offer some encouragement when, unexpectedly, Ren Shaobai suddenly grinned.

"Damn it. Seems like the laziness I got away with before is coming back to bite me," Ren Shaobai said with a mix of frustration and resignation. "Had I known, I should've worked harder back then. I thought being in a peripheral department would serve as a protective cover. But tell me, if I suddenly stop being late or leaving early starting tomorrow, wouldn't that just raise suspicions instead?"

This time, it was Peng Yongcheng's turn to be stunned. It took him a moment to grasp what Ren Shaobai meant.

"This certainly isn't something that can be achieved overnight, but don't worry. From now on, I'll do my best to provide any support you need. Li Helin seeking your help this time is an opportunity, but rashly showing interest in joining the Second Department—given how you've described him—might just invite suspicion..."

Ren Shaobai stroked his chin and said, "Not necessarily. If a vacancy just happened to appear around him—"

Peng Yongcheng almost immediately cut him off. "No intelligence station has the authority to directly carry out assassinations."

"...That's not what I meant," Ren Shaobai quickly clarified, realizing the misunderstanding. "I was thinking, since Li Helin is investigating Liu Kangjie openly and covertly for that National Defense Promotion Committee, Liu Kangjie is likely investigating him too."

Peng Yongcheng suddenly understood and then reacted. "If Li Helin discovers someone around him is working for Liu Kangjie, he definitely wouldn't tolerate it."

Ren Shaobai nodded. "Earlier, you asked what my plan was? Initially, I just wanted to follow the usual steps, but since... risks are inevitable."

"What do you plan to do? And how can I assist you?"

Ren Shaobai took a deep breath and laid out a plan that had just taken shape in his mind. Peng Yongcheng listened, taking notes, occasionally asking questions or making additions. By the time they stood up, it was almost closing time at the bank.

Ren Shaobai took copies of Liu Kangjie and Wang Xianrong's bank records. At the stairwell landing, he could just make out the faint outline of Purple Mountain in the distance through the glass window. The lush mountain peak and the orange-red clouds above blurred together, making it hard to tell which was farther away, with the sun on the other side.

Down in the lobby, security guards in company uniforms kept urging people to come back tomorrow. Yet, against the flow of the crowd, one person walked straight through the doors and headed directly for the service counters, where clerks were already packing up to leave. A clerk initially tried to dismiss her with the same line but hurried out from behind the counter after seeing the seal and documents she presented, leading her toward the elevators.

Not far away, Ren Shaobai frowned as he watched their retreating figures."Is it someone you know? From the Ministry of National Defense?" Peng Yongcheng asked.

Ren Shaobai turned to look at him and suddenly inquired, "I forgot to ask—does the higher-up organization know how Qiao Mingyu was exposed the other day?"

Peng Yongcheng was taken aback.

"That woman just now was his wife."

The moment Lan Youyin walked through the door, Ren Shaobai instinctively ducked behind a potted plant near the staircase. Why instinctively? Because ever since confirming Qiao Mingyu's identity from Lu Peng, he had harbored an uneasy premonition about Lan Youyin, who had faced no trouble from the Confidentiality Bureau at all.

Moreover, just moments ago, from his vantage point, he could clearly see the shape of her lips as she spoke to the clerk. She had come to open a safe deposit box—and the number of that box was—

"Number 156. I saw her say she wanted to open safe deposit box number 156."

This time, it was Peng Yongcheng's brow that furrowed. He instinctively glanced at the briefcase in Ren Shaobai's hand. Among the documents inside was information about the safe deposit box Liu Kangjie and Wang Xianrong had used to exchange gold—the very same box numbered 156.