Spying

13 Rumors

Lan Youyin needed two guns: one suitable for close-range combat, like the Colt M1911 previously used by the Sino-American Institute, and a light machine gun with a range of 130 to 150 meters. A fully automatic one would be ideal, but considering the larger barrel size and mechanical components like the spring, she settled for a modified bolt-action rifle that required manual reloading after each shot.

In addition, she needed bullets—but not just any bullets. She had once heard Qiao Mingyu mention that the Germans had designed a bullet with a reconstructed alloy tip, its surface engraved with precise, microscopic grooves. Upon impact, the intense force would concentrate along these predetermined grooves, causing the alloy to violently fragment. In other words, if such a bullet struck a human body, it would explode like a miniature bomb, scattering shrapnel and shredding internal organs to pieces.

This bullet design had been adopted by the U.S. military on the European battlefield. After the civil war began, the Nationalist forces, bolstered by American aid, equipped some of their American-outfitted divisions with these bullets—including the reorganized Fifth Army, once led by Qiao Mingyu’s former superior, Qiu Qingquan.

This was also the very division Liu Kangjie had falsely claimed to command—the fictitious 15,000-strong regiment.

As it turned out, Lan Youyin had long suspected Liu Kangjie’s embezzlement scheme while handling personnel files for high-ranking officers. At the time, she had kept silent, seeing no reason to involve herself. But when she heard Ren Shaobai mention it to that Wenhui Daily reporter, she suddenly realized it could be an opportunity for her.

Of course, she could always procure what she needed from the black market. But when an entire warehouse of American military equipment lay before her, ripe for the taking, why pass it up?

Besides, prices had skyrocketed to absurd levels. She still had to make ends meet—daily necessities like firewood, rice, oil, and salt—so saving where she could was only practical.

Lan Youyin soon uncovered Liu Kangjie’s partnership with Wang Xianrong. After staking out a Sichuan restaurant near the latter’s salt shop for a few days, she deliberately criticized their Fresh Pot Rabbit dish, successfully drawing the attention of the salt merchant who had made his fortune in Zigong.

"Transportation is a major issue these days. With bean paste in short supply, we’ve had to improvise by using soybeans instead of broad beans to make our own—it’s no easy feat," Wang Xianrong interjected, smoothing things over for the waiter. "If the young lady misses the taste of home, I might have some connections. Sending a small jar to Nanjing wouldn’t be too much trouble—it could ease your homesickness for a while."

Lan Youyin glanced at him before distractedly looking away. "Never mind. My hometown is gone—what homesickness is there left to ease?"

Wang Xianrong observed her—young, well-dressed, and clearly from a respectable family, yet unaccompanied by either a husband or servants, her words tinged with melancholy. He couldn’t help but romanticize the encounter, thinking, Kindred spirits adrift in the world need no prior acquaintance to connect.

"Even without sorrow, one can still find solace," he offered. "There’s a teahouse in the southern part of the city specializing in Sichuan Lidded Cup Tea . Their Heavenly Prefecture Dragon Bud and Mengding Mountain Tea are flown in by cargo plane. If you’ve no reservations, perhaps we could visit another day for a tasting?"

Lan Youyin hesitated briefly before meeting his gaze with resolve. "Very well. Meeting a fellow countryman in a foreign land—what reservations should I have?"What a delightful encounter with an old friend in a foreign land, and such a beautiful one at that—Wang Xianrong quickly became acquainted with Lan Youyin through their lively exchanges. Lan Youyin skillfully expressed curiosity about his salt company’s branch in Nanjing, prompting him to invite her to tour the salt production facilities at the factory. He enthusiastically elaborated on the contributions of Sichuan salt to the nation during the war effort, only to lament how it now found itself in a precarious position under the government’s preferential policies toward Huai salt...

Lan Youyin gazed at him with admiration. “So, Mr. Wang is fighting for the future of all Sichuan salt merchants.”

This was no ordinary beauty—she was also a perceptive confidante. Wang Xianrong was so flattered he could hardly contain his delight.

Little did he know that this perceptive confidante was, in fact, a master thief. After familiarizing herself with his salt company, she effortlessly stole his private seal and keys from his office one night, only to return them the next day without a trace.

Nor was he aware that on Pingshi Street, there was a skilled artisan specializing in replicas. Not only could he mimic the texture of an ivory seal with stone, but his extensive experience also allowed him to identify at a glance which key belonged to a salt industry bank’s safe deposit box and which to an industrial bank’s vault. Recently, he had even expanded his business to forging documents—rumor had it he could replicate even a U.S. passport stamp with flawless precision.

Thanks to her connections, Lan Youyin ensured that the existence of this transaction remained as untraceable as a polished seal stone. Should anyone ever investigate, she had already prepared a convincing alibi for the artisan: she would simply be dismissed as a spy sent by a Huai salt merchant, using underhanded tactics to steal trade secrets and undermine competitors.

Yet even after the scandal broke—exposing the corrupt dealings between “a certain high-ranking Defense Ministry official, Liu” and “a Sichuan salt merchant, Wang” involving embezzlement of military funds, illegal money laundering, and war profiteering—Wang Xianrong never once suspected Lan Youyin. Or, to be more precise, he never had the chance to suspect her.

In any case, Lan Youyin had the audacity to openly visit the Industrial Bank under Wang Xianrong’s name and access Vault No. 156. There, she uncovered not only the scheme of converting military pay into gold but also the Defense Ministry’s approved supply transport routes for the Fifth Army’s operations in Henan, along with the transit permits and customs clearances meant for later arms relocation.

Lan Youyin left everything untouched for the time being, but her plan was already advancing to the next stage.

However, before everything was in place, there was one day when Lan Youyin would set aside all her ongoing tasks.

Despite over a decade of the New Life Movement, deeply traditional Chinese customs remained unchanged. Every household still kept an Old Almanac—a relic of the “old life.” Flipping to the first day of the sixth month in the Wuzi year, Minor Heat, the almanac read: “Auspicious for memorial rites, inauspicious for funerals.”

Lan Youyin took an unprecedented day off. It wasn’t until lunchtime, as her office colleagues nibbled on the seasonal osmanthus-glutinous lotus root prepared by the canteen chef, that one suddenly realized—wasn’t today Qiao Mingyu’s seventh-week memorial?

The others quickly counted on their fingers and agreed it must be so.

By now, news of Qiao Mingyu’s sudden heart attack in custody and subsequent death at Central Hospital had spread like wildfire through the Defense Ministry. Whether he had been investigated for corruption or was, as rumors suggested, an underground Communist spy, no one cared anymore. What they whispered behind Lan Youyin’s back was that not a single colleague had attended Qiao Mingyu’s funeral—if there even was one. No one knew if anyone had bothered to arrange it for him.Some busybodies even dug up the fact that Qiao Mingyu's personnel file listed him as an orphan—no parents above, no children below—making his fate all the more pitiable and lamentable. His only wife had washed her hands clean of him after the incident, proving that choosing a spouse shouldn’t be based on looks alone; one ought to prioritize kindness and loyalty, so at least someone would burn paper offerings at their grave after death.

That was, until this day, when people realized Lan Youyin had, after all, fulfilled her duty as a widow. The tone shifted slightly, with some female colleagues remarking, "She’s had it hard too. Not only was Chief Qiao an orphan, but she never mentioned her own parents either."

But soon, others brought up how the staff officer from General Lu’s office had come looking for her several times recently, only to find her absent each time. Had she already moved on to someone else? Women, after all, had it tough, so it was only natural they’d seek higher ground, clinging to the next sturdy tree for support.

These remarks were just idle gossip over tea, but to the right ears, they sparked serious contemplation.

Ren Shaobai quickly calculated in his mind: if today was the seventh-week memorial, then the actual date of Qiao Mingyu’s death couldn’t possibly align with the rumors of him being sent to the central hospital. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that the Confidentiality Bureau had killed him during interrogation and then staged a hospital visit for appearances.

What continued to puzzle him, however, was Lan Youyin’s role in the whole affair.

That day at the bank, he had asked Peng Yongcheng: if Lan Youyin wasn’t a registered comrade in the organization, could she have been the one to expose Qiao Mingyu?

Because no matter how he turned it over in his mind, he couldn’t fathom why the Confidentiality Bureau would let her off the hook.

Peng Yongcheng didn’t dismiss his speculation. The arrests of Qiao Mingyu and others had been the trigger for the exposure of the underground Communist intelligence station in Nanjing, but the exact circumstances leading to their discovery remained a blind spot. Peng Yongcheng explained that his trip to Nanjing served two purposes: to restart the Silkworm Keeper plan and to investigate whether the Qiao Mingyu incident might leave lingering repercussions.

"Lingering repercussions" was a euphemism. What he really meant was whether, beyond the already halted plans and radio stations, there were any other leads—or people—that could allow the Confidentiality Bureau to trace further. If so, they would naturally need to eliminate the traitors.

The Central Social Department’s records on Qiao Mingyu and Lan Youyin offered no more information than what Ren Shaobai already knew. The two had married in 1944, and Qiao Mingyu secretly joined the Communist Party in 1945, reporting his family situation to the organization at the time. For an undercover agent, a stable marriage was actually excellent cover—people were always more suspicious of loners.

When Ren Shaobai heard this, he shot a glance at Peng Yongcheng, who quickly added, as if afraid he’d take it the wrong way, "You’ve already cemented that image, so it’s fine."

Ren Shaobai replied, "I’ll take that as your endorsement."However, what he didn't confess to his new superior was his belief that for Qiao Mingyu, marriage meant yet another person from whom he had to conceal his true identity as an underground communist operative—not just colleagues and enemies, but also his wife. It meant he could never drop his disguise, not even with his most intimate partner, always holding back the unspoken truth. Unless, of course, he recruited his wife as a "colleague" in his underground work, but given the current circumstances, that possibility seemed increasingly unlikely.

In fact, a sudden thought struck him—what if the opposite were true? What if Lan Youyin was actually a Confidentiality Bureau informant planted beside Qiao Mingyu? After all, she had worked at the Sino-American Institute and was practically half Military Intelligence Section herself.

"These arguments make no sense at all—full of contradictions, trying to have it both ways with praise and slander."

—Even in the strictly disciplined military canteen, an environment thick with the greasy smells of food and humanity, a clear voice suddenly cut through the air. It interrupted the neighboring table's malicious gossip about Lan Youyin's private life and snapped Ren Shaobai out of his tangled thoughts.

For a moment, no one could tell who had spoken. Heads turned until all eyes landed on a young female clerk in the southeast corner. She had set down her chopsticks and, ignoring the warning glances and attempts to hush her from her colleagues at the Second Department table, continued loudly as if delivering a public address: "I've never met this Section Chief Lan and don't know what kind of person she is or what she's done. But spreading baseless rumors behind someone's back—and in such crude language—is utterly disgraceful!"

Caught off guard by this direct challenge, the gossiping group from the First Department immediately flared up. One man rose with such force his chair scraped back. "Who do you think you are? Who's being disgraceful here?"

"Whoever gets defensive first."

As tensions escalated, Secretary Zhang from the Second Department's director's office quickly stood to mediate. "We're all colleagues here. Let's all calm down. A step back means a broader view—we should practice tolerance, not internal conflict..."

Ren Shaobai studied the young woman with interest. Wei Ningsheng, ever observant, leaned in and whispered, "That's Shen Tong, new recruit at the Second Department. Part of their so-called management trainee program. Must have some connections—how else would she dare speak so boldly, with Secretary Zhang backing her up?"

Ren Shaobai gave him a sidelong glance. "How do you always know everything?"

Wei Ningsheng grinned, visibly pleased with his own underutilized efficiency.

But Shen Tong's words had struck a chord with Ren Shaobai. Had he, too, been influenced by those unfounded rumors, developing suspicions about Lan Youyin without concrete evidence?

He decided the most effective approach would be to do as he had before—go sound out Lu Peng for information.