Spying

16 Entering the Game

While Zhu Yanjun was developing the photos she had riskily taken in the newspaper office’s darkroom, while Peng Yongcheng led a group of transport soldiers from the northern Jiangsu liberated zone to load the weapons originally meant for smuggling to Southeast Asia onto trucks, and while Ren Shaobai mistook the figure slipping away through the warehouse’s sewer pipes for a black-market scavenger, Lan Youyin stood in a public phone booth in the city and dialed Wang Xianrong’s home number.

It took Wang Xianrong, drowsy with sleep, a long moment to realize what the voice on the other end was saying. He jolted awake, his fingers gripping the receiver so tightly they formed stiff curves.

“Their target may be someone else, but Boss Wang, if I were you, I wouldn’t get myself involved,” Lan Youyin’s voice sounded different from usual—not because of the distortion from the electromagnetic waves.

“...Who are you? How do you know all this?” Wang Xianrong asked, though the moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to already have an answer. “Are you after the things in my warehouse too?”

Lan Youyin didn’t answer, only reiterated, “You don’t have much time to decide. By this time tomorrow, it’ll probably be too late.”

Wang Xianrong grew irritated. There wasn’t a trace of the usual flattery in Lan Youyin’s tone, and the unspoken implication made him feel deeply betrayed. Yet he couldn’t resist adding, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll drag you into this too? Is that why you’re calling—to silence me? Once I’m branded with Communist affiliation, I’ll naturally name everyone who’s suddenly appeared around me lately.”

“Boss Wang, right now, is it more important to drag someone else down with you, or to treat this early warning as good luck and save your business and assets?”

Wang Xianrong fell silent. Just as he sensed the other party was about to hang up, he suddenly spoke again, “We can leave together.”

Lan Youyin also paused before giving a brief reply, “No need.” With that, she hung up.

Wang Xianrong stood frozen, the dial tone buzzing in his ear, only belatedly realizing that the cold, indifferent voice on the phone—neither friendly nor hostile—might have been Lan Youyin’s true face all along.

That same day, Wang Xianrong didn’t contact Liu Kangjie. Instead, he quickly packed his belongings, dismissed his employees, and boarded a cargo ship bound for Hong Kong before sunset. Standing on the deck, he watched the sailors raise the anchor and the figures on the dock grow smaller and smaller. The Sichuan merchant, who had spent half his life hustling, didn’t yet know that this would be his final farewell to mainland China.

Wang Xianrong’s escape was unexpected for Ren Shaobai and Peng Yongcheng, but it turned out to be a stroke of luck. It created the impression that he had fled because he sensed the operation was exposed, further solidifying Liu Kangjie’s charge of Communist affiliation.

When Peng Yongcheng wrote his summary report, he defined the operation’s outcome as killing two birds with one stone: Ren Shaobai had earned merit in Li Helin’s eyes, and the East China Field Army of the People’s Liberation Army had acquired a batch of advanced weaponry. As a reactivated secret intelligence agent, Agent 1207 had undoubtedly won a brilliant first battle.

But Peng Yongcheng had actually missed counting one more “bird.”Secretary Zhang was laid off. It didn't happen immediately after Liu Kangjie's incident, but some time later. Because the Ministry of National Defense was preparing for the "Three-Year Suppression of Communist Rebellion Review Meeting" early next month, relevant departments were holding preparatory discussions. Apart from strategic policies and countermeasures against Communist military tactics, Li Helin—who had recently been elected to the National Defense Construction Promotion Association—proposed an adjustment to the personnel structure of combat units.

"While we reorganize troops at the frontlines, corresponding measures should also be taken in the rear. First, we must acknowledge that recent infiltration incidents stem from redundant positions created for individuals. Second, with national defense expenditures being massive and military budgets untouchable, we can only start with administrative offices. Thus, downsizing is the only option."

For a time, unease spread through the Ministry of National Defense. Although higher-ups claimed that laid-off personnel would be reassigned to other units, leaving the General Staff meant transitioning from military system benefits to ordinary clerical roles—not only halving monthly salaries but also losing military and dependent rice rations.

Secretary Zhang initially held onto hope. After Liu Kangjie was suspended on suspicion of Communist affiliation, he spent several anxious days but found himself completely untouched by the fallout. Just as he was privately celebrating, his relief was short-lived—he received a termination notice in what seemed like an unrelated mass layoff.

During the preparatory meeting chaired by Li Helin, Secretary Zhang paced nervously in the hallway. Seizing a break, he rushed to his long-time superior, nearly in tears.

Yet Li Helin responded with his usual polite but detached tone: "Secretary Zhang, I recall your background was in communications. This could be seen as returning to your roots." Lowering his voice to avoid eavesdroppers, he added, "Director Liu's case remains ambiguous—some senior officials believe he was merely exploited for money rather than being an actual defector. But if others who had financial dealings with him were to surface now, they wouldn't hesitate to pin Communist affiliation charges on a scapegoat. Do you really think you'd still get that arsenal dispatcher position then?"

Secretary Zhang stared at him in horror. So he knew everything.

For every fall from grace, there's a rise.

Ren Shaobai, who had languished in mediocrity at the Fourth Department for years, became the confidential secretary of the Second Department. Though technically a half-rank demotion, the sensitivity of his new responsibilities made it a clear promotion in disguise.

On moving day, Wei Ningsheng helped pack his belongings, lamenting, "I'm still hungover from your last promotion party, Chief. Don't forget to visit after you relocate."

Ren Shaobai chided, "Whoever replaces me won't appreciate hearing you talk like you treat work as play."

Wei chuckled before offering, "If there's anything our department can still assist with, just say the word."

Carrying overstuffed desk drawers—a common practice since ministry furniture was standardized—they walked together toward the Second Department.To save himself a few extra trips, Wei Ningsheng had stacked four drawers in his arms, completely blocking his forward view. He could only barely see the path and people around him by peeking sideways. Colleagues he encountered along the way "considerately" gave him a wide berth. However, at the stairwell between the first and second floors, he was startled by someone suddenly emerging from around the corner.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Wei Ningsheng watched in horror as the top drawer teetered precariously, but fortunately, the person who appeared reacted swiftly, steadying it with a quick hand. Through the towering wall of drawers, he heard a familiar voice.

"Let me take two of those for you. Bend down a bit." It was a clear, pleasant female voice.

As the visual barrier was removed, Wei Ningsheng saw Shen Tong's face, slightly flushed from the sudden weight. He hurriedly said, "Put them back, they're really heavy."

"It's fine. Let's hurry—where are you headed?" Shen Tong replied.

"No, no, I should take them," Wei Ningsheng insisted.

"Really, it's no trouble. Which office are you going to?"

"Maybe just take one, and I'll—"

"You two." Ren Shaobai, standing on the steps behind them, finally couldn't hold back and interrupted. "By the time you finish this back-and-forth, you could've already reached the office and put the stuff down."

And so, they finally arrived at the Second Department's secretary office. After stuffing the drawers into what was originally Secretary Zhang's desk, Shen Tong extended her hand warmly and said, "So you're the new confidential secretary. Hello, I'm Shen Tong."

Ren Shaobai shook her hand and introduced himself, "Ren Shaobai."

"Mr. Ren." She then turned to Wei Ningsheng. "And you? What's your name?"

Heaven knows why Wei Ningsheng's ears inexplicably turned red, and his usually quick tongue suddenly tied itself in knots.

"Ah, I'm Wei—Wei Ningsheng."

Shen Tong's eyes curved into a smile. "I thought you said your name was 'Wei-wei.'"

Wei Ningsheng replied, "That works too..."

"Huh?"

"No, I mean... well, I remember you! That day in the cafeteria, you spoke up for Section Chief Lan from the First Department and really put that guy who was gossiping in his place. It was so satisfying—like a heroine!"

"Heroine is a bit much. I just couldn't stand listening to it anymore..."

Ren Shaobai's gaze flickered between the two, a faint smile playing on his lips before he quietly excused himself from the conversation.

Standing once again in Li Helin's office, he now held a different position.

Li Helin didn’t bother with pleasantries—meaning he gave Ren Shaobai no time to adjust to his new role.

"Here’s the agenda for next month’s Suppression of Communist Rebellion Review Meeting. Draft a speech outline for the intelligence and operational coordination section. I’ll need it for my report." Just like that, they dove straight into work.

There were also numerous other tasks completely unlike anything Ren Shaobai had handled in the Fourth Department. Li Helin rattled them off in one breath without pause. At the end, noticing Ren Shaobai still standing motionless, he asked, "Can you remember all that? Don’t you need to take notes?"

Previously, since Ren Shaobai hadn’t been his direct subordinate, assigning tasks had been more like asking for extra help. Now that he was officially part of the team, everything was taken for granted. Moreover, because Ren Shaobai had handled the previous matter exceptionally well—much to Li Helin’s satisfaction—the latter found himself, for the first time in years, genuinely wanting to mentor Ren Shaobai again.This scene felt eerily familiar to Ren Shaobai, as if he had been transported back to his days at the Central Military Academy. As an instructor in political science and intelligence operations, Li Helin had admonished him in the same tone: "Ren Shaobai, you may be clever, but do you really think wit alone can win an intelligence war against the enemy?"

How had he responded back then?

Back then, the idealistic and hero-worshiping Ren Shaobai had retorted: "Reporting, Instructor! Neither wit nor intelligence alone can defeat the enemy."

"What did you say?"

"Enemies are repelled by the bullets and artillery shells of frontline soldiers, not by a few analyzed intelligence reports from the rear. Do you think spies alone can drive the Japanese out of our territory? That kind of thinking is the greatest insult to the soldiers bleeding and sacrificing on the battlefield."

How could Ren Shaobai have imagined then that years later, he would indeed become a spy—facing the very teacher who had once explained to him the significance of intelligence work.

Now, Li Helin looked at him with eyes deeper and more penetrating than ever, possessing an almost unsettling ability to see right through people.

"So you've come to do intelligence work after all."

For a moment, Ren Shaobai sensed an underlying implication in those words, but he quickly steadied himself and replied calmly, "Yes, I’ve come to work in intelligence under you."

"Do you remember our discussion about its purpose?"

"I remember. You once said the purpose of intelligence isn’t about subduing the enemy without fighting—that’s the stuff of legends, not the real world."

Back then, Li Helin had been about the same age as Ren Shaobai was now. Faced with a defiant student’s provocative remarks, he hadn’t lost his temper.

He had told Ren Shaobai that yes, frontline soldiers fought and bled in battle after battle to defeat the enemy. But critical, accurate intelligence could alter the course of a campaign, influence the war in ways the enemy couldn’t see, and ultimately determine whether the conflict would end in three months or three years. That was its true purpose.

Li Helin had believed this then and had remained steadfast in that conviction over the years, practicing what he preached. Now serving in the Intelligence Bureau, he continued to uphold the same principles.

At the preparatory meeting for the Suppression of Communist Rebellion Review Meeting, while other departments emphasized morale and fighting spirit, Li Helin spoke bluntly: over the past two or three years, it wasn’t that the Communist Party’s strategies were more advanced or their soldiers braver—it was that their intelligence operations had simply been better. But intelligence warfare was a long game, and he had both the patience and an already unfolding plan to regain the upper hand.

Yet, blinded by his own perspective, Li Helin failed to see that as he once again discussed the purpose of intelligence work with his former student, they now stood on opposite sides in another dimension.

When the Silkworm Keeper reestablished contact with Ren Shaobai at Location 1207, his mission was clear: infiltrate the core departments of the Ministry of National Defense.

Ren Shaobai had completed the first step. He, too, believed Li Helin’s words—that intelligence was meant to influence the frontline. But unlike his teacher’s plans, his sole purpose was to bring an end to this fratricidal civil war as swiftly as possible.