Spying

31 Blue Steel Express

"Okamura Neiji."

A day earlier, Ren Shaobai heard Li Helin, standing with his back to him, utter this name while facing the direction of Purple Mountain.

The former commander-in-chief of the Japanese invasion forces in China, who had once participated in the surrender ceremony right where they now stood, was, in the eyes of ordinary Chinese people, someone who deserved to be sentenced to death a thousand times over. Yet in reality, Okamura Neiji not only escaped trial at the Far East Military Tribunal due to his appointment to oversee the repatriation of Japanese military personnel and civilians but was also only transferred earlier this year from his secret house arrest in Nanjing to the Gaojingmiao War Criminal Prison in Shanghai.

Countless reasons flashed through Ren Shaobai’s mind, but in the end, he had to ask, "Why bring him here?"

Li Helin turned around, his lips twisting into a sardonic smile. "To serve as the President’s military advisor."

"...No trial?"

Though he hadn’t faced an international tribunal, people still held out hope for the military court in Shanghai, just as the Nanjing Military Tribunal had sentenced Tani Hisao to execution the previous year. Yet the preliminary hearing half a month ago had ended without a verdict. Journalists in Shanghai had surrounded the courthouse, waiting for the announcement of the next public trial date.

So why was he being secretly brought to Nanjing now?

Li Helin, of course, knew what Ren Shaobai was thinking, but he could only say helplessly, "It doesn’t conflict. The next public trial probably won’t happen until next year."

Ren Shaobai pressed further, "But he’s in a war criminal prison now. Not to mention the prison guards watching him, the courts, prosecutors, even the Foreign Ministry are all keeping an eye on him. What pretext do we have to get him out?"

Li Helin replied, "He has a bone disease—medical parole. The warden is cooperating. He’s already at a Japanese clinic in Hongkou. All we need to do is safely bring him to Nanjing without the journalists in Shanghai or Nanjing finding out and causing a scandal."

The next day, passengers who had purchased tickets for the Blue Steel Express—departing Shanghai at 10 p.m. and arriving in Nanjing at 3:30 a.m.—felt incredibly lucky. Traveling alongside them was a film crew from the Shanghai Kunlun Film Company, who had booked an entire carriage for their trip to Nanjing to hold the premiere of their new movie. The crew included not only the director and screenwriter but also the famous lead actor starring in the film. Fellow passengers whispered on the platform about sneaking past their carriage once onboard to catch a glimpse of how these movie stars behaved in private.

However, the film company, no stranger to events in the capital, soon encountered a problem. Their reserved Carriage No. 21—the train’s sole luxury parlor car—had been requisitioned at the last minute. The conductor refused to disclose who had taken it, but several uniformed traffic inspectors blocked the entrance to the carriage before other passengers could board, denying entry to anyone and refusing to engage in conversation.

The stationmaster personally apologized to the film company, explaining that the order had come directly from the Railway Bureau and was beyond their control. He promised a discount on their return trip. After some reshuffling, the crew was dispersed among other first-class carriages, with the producer securing complimentary meal vouchers for unrestricted access to the dining car, Carriage No. 15.

"Our dining car serves DDS Coffee and Sullivan’s pastries," the conductor informed them.The film company had no choice but to compromise to avoid delaying the next day's premiere. Meanwhile, their original luxury carriage No. 21 remained tightly shut, with only occasional staff entering or exiting under the guards' meticulous inspection.

What outsiders didn't know was that there were only a few people inside.

Ren Shaobai and Li Helin, who had boarded early and personally inspected the entire train, sat by the window near the door on plush seats, their gazes occasionally drifting toward the depths of the carriage—where the "secret military advisor" to the president, whom they were escorting, remained. Since boarding, the man had barely moved, sitting with his arms crossed, head bowed in rest. Accompanying him were an aide, an interpreter, and Dr. Jinchuan from a private clinic in Hongkou. Jin Chuanlong, once a military doctor in the Japanese army, had become Okamura Neiji's attending physician after the latter was granted medical parole, treating his alleged worsening bone disease due to poor prison conditions.

The Blue Steel Express departed from Shanghai North Station, passing through Suzhou, Wuxi, Changzhou, and Zhenjiang before arriving in Nanjing—a journey of five and a half hours.

Yet throughout the trip, the Japanese men barely spoke. Only when Okamura Neiji's joint pain flared up from the nighttime chill halfway through the journey did he gesture at Jin Chuanlong toward his knee. The doctor promptly retrieved painkillers from his medical kit. At first, Okamura frowned, seemingly dissatisfied with the treatment, but after Jin Chuanlong murmured something in Japanese, he reluctantly took the offered water and swallowed the pill.

In contrast, Ren Shaobai and Li Helin, perhaps freed from the constraints of the office environment—and given Ren Shaobai's natural lack of restraint—spoke more casually on the train, their hierarchical boundaries loosened. Li Helin noticed the dark circles under Ren Shaobai's eyes and his frequent yawns, prompting him to ask, "Didn’t sleep well last night?"

Ren Shaobai replied, "Afraid I’d dream of my old man—he’d scold me even in my sleep."

Li Helin knew Ren had been discontent with this mission, personally assigned by the Minister of Defense, since the day before. In truth, he himself had initially found it frustrating, so he responded leniently, "Once we reach Nanjing, you won’t have to see him again. Just treat this as if it never happened."

"You mean pretend I didn’t do something history will condemn me for."

Li Helin’s expression hardened as he shot Ren Shaobai a stern look. "A little grumbling is fine. But military orders are absolute—no defiance. If your father were here, he’d understand that better than either of us."

Ren Shaobai countered, "I’m a soldier in name only. Never fought a single battle, never joined the '100,000 Youths, 100,000 Soldiers' campaign. And now I’m escorting a Japanese devil, drenched in the blood of our soldiers, away from justice. Teacher, this wasn’t why I enrolled in military academy."

As he spoke, his gaze returned to the other end of the carriage—to the narrow-faced, bald, gaunt figure sitting rigidly. Ren Shaobai couldn’t fathom how the man could walk so unflinchingly across the very land where he had committed so many wartime atrocities."Once you enter Whampoa, you're a soldier. And what's there to say about your original intentions?" Li Helin said bluntly. "Your original intention was failing the aviation academy, and the instructors took pity on you by recommending you for the army. From that day on, obeying orders became your duty. What's the point of whining after the fact?"

Ren Shaobai fell silent, turning his head to watch the layered shadows outside the window rush past. No leaks, no disobedience, he thought self-deprecatingly. What were the odds if he suddenly drew his gun right now and pulled the trigger in Okamura Neiji's direction?

"You're not actually thinking of turning this reception mission into an assassination to rid the people of a scourge, are you?"

Ren Shaobai turned back. "Seems I'm still not cut out for intelligence work."

"You deliberately wear your emotions on your face—isn't that just to show me your dissatisfaction?" Li Helin said coldly. Yet as he looked at Ren Shaobai, despite his critical words, he felt his own inner turmoil ease slightly precisely because the younger man's emotions were so transparent.

After a moment, Li Helin smiled with unexpected leniency. "Still, there's progress. In the past, just mentioning your aviation academy failure would've made you jump in anger."

Unable to refute, Ren Shaobai gave a wry smile and leaned back resignedly. After a long pause, he suddenly asked, "Teacher, deep down, you feel the same way, don't you? The President's move is truly unconscionable."

Li Helin remained silent.

Ren Shaobai sighed and returned his gaze to the pitch-black window.

Much later, Li Helin finally spoke in a low voice: "I understand your emotional resistance, but I don't share your thoughts right now. And you should drop this—don't repeat what you just said. You must realize things are constantly changing. The Japanese are no longer our enemies; they won't devour the Republic of China's territory anymore. But the Communists will. The Red Army from the mountains keeps coming wave after wave—we must stop them north of the Yangtze. And if Okamura has solutions, whatever he's done before, at this moment he's our secret weapon."

Ren Shaobai had no rebuttal. He closed his eyes in feigned sleep, and the carriage fell completely silent.

Soon, however, commotion arose from the Japanese contingent.

Okamura Neiji suddenly raised his voice at Dr. Jinchuan: "Your medicine doesn't relieve my pain! I need my tonic!"

It turned out the veteran Japanese general couldn't bear his joint pain. Despite Dr. Jinchuan administering morphine-laced painkillers, he insisted on taking a Chinese herbal tonic purported to strengthen bones and muscles. Yet the doctor protested: "Your tonic contains Nux Vomica—it's somewhat toxic."

"What do you know? Discussing toxicity without dosage—where did you study medicine?"

They were speaking Japanese. Li Helin, having studied in Japan, understood, but Ren Shaobai looked utterly lost and turned to him in confusion. "Are they arguing?"

Li Helin said mildly, "Just a doctor-patient dispute. Not our concern."But what he really thought was that this Okamura Neiji had indeed stayed in China long enough to understand everything—no wonder the old man saw him as a lifeline. Times had changed, and the words he had just spoken to Ren Shaobai were also meant for himself.

Unable to withstand Okamura’s forceful demeanor, Jin Chuanlong had no choice but to relent. He reopened his medical case and handed over the tonic prescribed by his trusted old Shanghai herbalist, treating it as nothing more than a placebo. Of course, he had already checked the toxic components of Nux Vomica in the tonic—indeed, the dosage was kept below the lethal threshold.

The train car finally settled into silence.

By the time they reached Zhenjiang, the last stop before Nanjing, it was already past midnight, and a heavy fog had rolled in. Even Li Helin couldn’t suppress a yawn.

Still, some passengers from other cars stepped onto the platform for fresh air or a smoke. Ren Shaobai made as if to stand, only to be stopped.

"Just over an hour left—hold it in," Li Helin said.

Ren Shaobai looked incredulous. "Professor, do you really think I’d try something?"

Li Helin replied, "If anything goes wrong, a wise man doesn’t stand beneath a crumbling wall."

From one of the forward cars, a conductor leaned out, ringing a handbell to signal passengers to reboard. Soon, the train clattered back into motion—the next stop was Nanjing.

Once the train regained steady speed, Okamura Neiji spoke a few more words to Jin Chuanlong. The doctor stood and approached Li Helin. "Mr. Okamura would like some coffee."

Li Helin nodded. Ren Shaobai rose. "I’ll go."

"Leave your gun here," Li Helin said.

Ren Shaobai hesitated but then drew the pistol from his waistband and slammed it onto the table between them before turning to leave the compartment, heading toward the middle of the train.

Ren Shaobai knew Li Helin wasn’t actually suspicious of him—there was no need to be. Given the mission’s high secrecy, even the guards stationed at the car connections were merely following orders, unaware of whom they were protecting. So if anything suspicious arose—whether an assassin seeking justice or a reporter chasing the truth—Ren Shaobai was the only possible leak. This time, he truly couldn’t act.

But was he supposed to stand by while their president treated a blood-soaked Number One War Criminal as an honored guest, then used his so-called combat expertise to slaughter even more Chinese?

Ren Shaobai couldn’t just do nothing.

The dining car in the early hours was nearly empty. A few passengers dozed at their tables, and the attendant leaned against the wall, nodding off, head bobbing. A sudden jerk from inertia startled him awake, and he blinked to find a bespectacled, scholarly-looking man standing before him—the kind you’d expect in second class.

"Any coffee left?" Ren Shaobai asked.

The attendant glanced at the empty pot on the counter. "None. We’ll have to brew a fresh batch—you’ll have to wait."

"Fine, I’ll wait. But make it strong."

"It’s imported—of course it’s strong."

"Freshly ground? The VIP in Car 21 can tell the difference between fresh and instant."Faced with Ren Shaobai's skepticism, the waiter seemed offended, but upon hearing he was a passenger from Carriage 21, simply said, "Why don't you come with me and watch me brew it? Then you'll see we never cut corners."

Ren Shaobai followed the waiter into the kitchen. As their figures disappeared behind the kitchen door, a passenger who had been resting with their head on a table slowly raised their head.

Half a quarter-hour later, Ren Shaobai walked back carrying a full pot of freshly brewed coffee. But just as he stepped out of the dining car into the passageway between two carriages, a figure suddenly darted out from behind the wall. Before he could even discern whether it was a man or a woman, the cold muzzle of a gun was pressed against his temple.

Ren Shaobai's first thought was: Even on such an expensive train, there are robbers?

The wind howled loudly in the space between the carriages, forcing him to raise his voice. "My wallet is in my right trouser pocket. There's also a pocket watch in the left inner pocket of my jacket. It's my late father's keepsake, but if you fancy it, you're welcome to take it."

As he spoke, he tried to gauge the robber behind him with his peripheral vision—short, rather thin, but it was unclear if they were trained in martial arts. His own half-baked grappling skills might not be enough to subdue them. Damn it, why did Li Helin insist he leave his gun behind? Guarding against their own people but not outsiders...

At this thought, he suddenly felt a chill—could their secret have been leaked?

The gunman behind him made no move to search him. Could their target not be him, but someone in Carriage 21?

Unsure whether the person was friend or foe, Ren Shaobai could only strive to stay calm. But just as he was about to probe further, the icy female voice that spoke next made every hair on his body stand on end—

"One-two-zero-seven, your identity is worth far more than this pocket watch."