Spying

34 The Real and Fake Journalist

Early in the morning at the Nanjing branch of Wenhui Bao located on Beiting Lane, Zhu Yanjun—usually the "favorite" of the office—found herself in a heated argument with the branch director and editor-in-chief, Ouyang Shu. The reason? She had written an article about the "special treatment of Japanese war criminal Okamura Neiji, who was granted medical parole less than a month after being imprisoned." However, just as the finalized draft was faxed to the headquarters for printing, Ouyang Shu ordered it to be pulled.

When Zhu Yanjun picked up the latest issue of the newspaper and couldn’t find her article, she was furious. Ignoring the editor’s attempts to stop her, she barged straight into Ouyang Shu’s office.

Faced with his subordinate’s questioning, Ouyang Shu’s reasoning sounded righteous: "You didn’t obtain any testimony from the prison authorities. Did you even try to contact the Japanese clinic mentioned in your article? Relying solely on anonymous tipsters makes the story completely unreliable. You’ve been in this field for years—you should know that any published report must have verifiable content."

Zhu Yanjun was indignant. "How is it unverifiable?" she shot back. "For sensitive topics like this, anonymity for sources is standard practice. Isn’t it our duty as journalists to protect our informants?"

But Ouyang Shu remained firm. "You don’t have concrete evidence proving Okamura Neiji isn’t in prison right now—no photos of him moving freely outside, no court-approved documents for his medical parole."

"How could such things exist?!" Zhu Yanjun’s voice rose sharply. "Releasing war criminals is done in secret—it might not even follow proper procedures, let alone leave behind paperwork!"

"Then you need to find evidence of those improper procedures."

The argument reached a deadlock. The journalist, burning with passion to expose government misconduct, was blocked by her editor-in-chief for lack of rigor. Outside the office, colleagues whispered among themselves, taking sides but making no move to mediate.

Zhu Yanjun stared at Ouyang Shu, gritted her teeth, and made up her mind. "Fine. I’ll find the evidence. And if you still refuse to publish it, I’ll take it to Shen Bao or Xinmin Bao . One way or another, this story will get out."

With that, she turned and left the office, swiftly packed her belongings, and strode out of the newspaper office with an aura that kept everyone at a distance.

Ouyang Shu watched her go, then, after a long pause, picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number.

Back at home, Zhu Yanjun pulled a suitcase from under her bed and began stuffing it with clothes and daily necessities. She then retrieved an envelope from her nightstand, took out two U.S. dollar bills, hesitated, and added one more—investigating government secrets would undoubtedly require plenty of funds. She tucked the cash into a hidden pocket in her clothes and carefully stitched it shut. Just as she bit off the thread, Mother Zhu returned from grocery shopping.

Seeing her daughter looking ready for a long trip, Mother Zhu asked in surprise, "Where are you going?"

"Shanghai," Zhu Yanjun replied curtly. "On assignment."

"Today? Should I ask your father to take you to the train station?"

"I just called his factory, but the line was busy. It’s fine—I’ll hail a cab myself."Of course, this was a lie. Zhu Yanjun had never called the capital power plant where Father Zhu worked because she knew that if her father found out, he would ask in detail about the purpose of her business trip, when she would return, and might even call the newspaper office to confirm—potentially stopping her from going to Shanghai.

Mother Zhu, on the other hand, was easier to fool.

She put on a hurried expression, grabbed her suitcase, and was about to leave when Mother Zhu called after her, “I bought some steamed cakes—do you want a bite before you go?”

Zhu Yanjun paused at the door, turned back, and ate a piece of white rice cake—her mother always knew how to reel her daughter in.

While Zhu Yanjun’s mouth was full of rice flour and black sesame, Mother Zhu quickly followed up, “Didn’t you say when you were transferred to Nanjing that it was closer to government offices and you wouldn’t have to travel anymore?”

“Mmm, special circumstances,” Zhu Yanjun mumbled indistinctly.

“Drink some water.” Mother Zhu pressed further, “So you’re going with colleagues, right? Not alone?”

Zhu Yanjun deliberately kept her answer vague. “There’ll be colleagues from the main office there.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I’ll come back as soon as possible.”

…

In the end, Mother Zhu still didn’t get any clear answers from her daughter, leaving her uneasy. Zhu Yanjun stood at the door with her suitcase, glanced at her, then walked over and hugged her. “Shanghai isn’t a war zone—nothing will happen.”

She knew exactly what her mother was worried about.

This was also why she refused to tell her parents the truth. If they knew the government had secretly released Okamura Neiji and that their daughter was going to investigate it undercover, they would surely think this trip was no safer than a war zone. After Zhu Yanjun began covering political news, Father Zhu had warned her: Don’t let a sense of justice cloud your judgment. An egg can’t break a rock. As a small-time reporter, don’t go around trying to expose the government’s scandals. If they want to retaliate, you won’t even see it coming.

But Zhu Yanjun had thought at the time—she wasn’t openly supporting the Communist Party. As an objective journalist, she was exercising the “Fourth Estate,” using her reporting to hold officials accountable. The central government should welcome that. Like when she had exposed the Defense Ministry’s Third Bureau chief for embezzling salaries—wasn’t that just helping the government clean house?

But this time, as she boarded the intercity bus, Zhu Yanjun wondered—if she could confirm that Okamura Neiji had indeed been illegally released, the next question would be: Who would be the next “weed” to be removed? The courts? The Defense Ministry? Or… the Presidential Office?

Ren Shaobai hadn’t expected that the one heading to Jinan immediately wouldn’t be Okamura Neiji—but himself.

“We have an agent embedded in the Ninth Column of the East China Field Army, codenamed ‘Heishui.’ He’s done excellent work and has obtained a detailed battle plan from the Communist forces targeting Jinan—including locations, timing, each division’s combat readiness, and operational orders,” Li Helin said to Ren Shaobai. “He’s currently in Weixian, east of Jinan, but can’t deliver the intel himself.”

This was the first time Ren Shaobai had heard of this news—and of “Heishui.” Suppressing his unease, he asked calmly, “Is there a dead drop we can use?” Meanwhile, he thought to himself: Peng Yongcheng needs to contact the East China Field Army immediately to root out the Defense Ministry’s mole in the Ninth Column. But Li Helin said, "That's not secure. I believe in face-to-face handovers."

He looked at Ren Shaobai, who instantly understood—this task had fallen to him.

Li Helin spread out a road map of Shandong's automobile traffic on his desk and said, "Let's plan the route first. We'll depart from Nanjing at six tomorrow morning. It's a long journey, so I'll arrange someone to take turns driving with you."

Ren Shaobai waited to hear who his partner for this mission would be, already running through the list of possible candidates in his mind. He assumed it would be one of the management trainees who had joined around the same time as Shen Tong. Compared to the seasoned veterans under the Second Department, he sensed Li Helin had more faith in newcomers—not because he was particularly keen on giving young people opportunities, but because new recruits were always the most eager to demonstrate loyalty and the most willing to be used by their superiors.

However, Li Helin surprised him with a name he hadn’t expected: "Ouyang Shu."

"Who?" Ren Shaobai frowned.

"The editor-in-chief of the Nanjing branch of Wenhui Bao ."

Ren Shaobai was taken aback. "So my cover identity in the Communist-controlled area is a journalist?"

"Correct." Li Helin nodded, pleased by his quick deduction.

This was another bombshell. In Ren Shaobai’s eyes, Wenhui Bao had always leaned pro-Communist. How could its branch editor-in-chief be cooperating with Li Helin on a covert operation to hand over intelligence in Communist territory?

"This Ouyang Shu... is he your informant, sir?" Ren Shaobai asked.

Li Helin smiled faintly. "You’re the one who inspired me. The higher-ups have long been dissatisfied with their editorial stance, but they’ve refrained from forcibly shutting them down due to public opinion concerns. I thought, rather than resorting to such crude measures, why not turn them into a tool for our use? This Ouyang Shu has long harbored ambitions to become the chief editor of the main office. Once a person has desires, they can be manipulated."

After a pause, he glanced at Ren Shaobai as if casually adding, "Have you been in touch with that journalist, Miss Zhu, lately?"

Ren Shaobai shook his head.

Li Helin continued, "She’s quite resourceful. Just recently, she was hounding the Ministry of Finance, and yesterday, somehow, she got wind of Okamura Neiji’s medical parole. I thought it might have something to do with you."

"Sir!" Ren Shaobai immediately stood at attention before Li Helin could finish, swearing solemnly, "The leak definitely didn’t come from me. I swear on my father’s honor."

"I never said it was you—"

"If I really wanted to leak information to a journalist, I certainly wouldn’t go to Zhu Yanjun! You know she and I have history—wouldn’t that be admitting guilt outright?"

Li Helin watched as Ren Shaobai flushed red, his expression tense and voice strained in self-defense. With a dismissive wave, he said, "Alright, I know it wasn’t you. Ouyang Shu mentioned she might have caught wind of something from Jin Chuanlong’s clinic, but the article has already been suppressed." Then, with an amused look, he added, "Look how scared you are."

Ren Shaobai raised his eyebrows. "Of course I am, sir. My back’s drenched in cold sweat right now."

Li Helin chuckled and shook his head, smoothly shifting the topic as if the earlier exchange had never been a test.He then pointed to the map on the table, outlining the route he had arranged for Ren Shaobai: which highways connected to which, the major towns along the way, and the fallback routes to take if something went wrong—whether it was a failed intelligence handoff or being exposed by a Communist Party checkpoint. Even within the areas already marked in red on the map, there were several safe houses under the Ministry of National Defense, equipped with phones that could directly dial his office. However, calls had to be kept under ten seconds to prevent Communist intelligence from triangulating their location...

It was during Li Helin’s briefing that Ren Shaobai grew increasingly unsettled. He had never imagined that in Shandong, already more than half liberated, there still existed an underground spy network directly controlled by the Ministry of National Defense.

"Your false identity and work documents will be prepared by President Ouyang. Your 'interview mission' will focus on how the Communist forces treat captured Nationalist officers and soldiers. Since Wen Hui Bao has always leaned left, it aligns well with Communist propaganda. Once you reach the Communist command post in Weixian for the interview, Heishui will make contact with you. After completing the handover of the battle plan, you and President Ouyang will disguise yourselves and proceed to Jinan to deliver the intelligence directly to Commander Wang Yaowu of the Second Pacification Zone." Li Helin paused, then looked at Ren Shaobai again. "Any questions?"

"No," Ren Shaobai replied solemnly. "I’ll ensure the mission is completed."

But Li Helin continued to stare at him.

"...Teacher, should I have a question?"

"You should ask what happens if you’re unlucky—if the mission fails and you don’t make it to a safe house, but instead fall into Communist hands." Li Helin slowed his speech, enunciating each word. "In that case, the Ministry of National Defense will not acknowledge you. The Nationalist government will not acknowledge you."

Ren Shaobai remained expressionless. "Success or martyrdom."

Li Helin studied him, then pulled open his desk drawer and retrieved something.

"There’s an additional task," he said. "This is a prop prepared for you."

A few minutes later, Ren Shaobai left Li Helin’s office.

Li Helin, meanwhile, continued to study the Shandong map before him. Given the current situation, Jinan was like an isolated island, surrounded by over 300 kilometers of territory already under the control of the Communist East China Field Army. The supply lines to Qingdao and Xuzhou had been severed. Thus, sending Ren Shaobai to Weixian to receive the latest battle intelligence from Heishui was akin to "plucking the head general from a million-strong army."

And Heishui was the only breach in that million-strong army.

Yet precisely because of this, Heishui had mentioned in his encrypted message to Li Helin that he wished to return to Nationalist-controlled territory with the battle plan—clearly believing his intelligence was valuable enough. But Li Helin had refused.

First, because Li Helin was reluctant to lose Heishui’s position within the East China Field Army. Planting a mole in the ranks of an army so adept at intelligence warfare was an exceedingly difficult feat. Second, he had decided to use this as a test for Ren Shaobai.

This wasn’t because he suspected Ren Shaobai of anything. Rather, a man like him maintained a skeptical attitude toward everything. He relied on that skepticism.

And those around him? Naturally, they had to keep proving themselves—passing test after test.The office door was knocked from the outside. Li Helin snapped out of his thoughts, carefully refolded the map, and then said, "Come in."

Shen Tong pushed the door open and entered. She walked up to Li Helin and, with no one else around, affectionately addressed him, "Uncle." Then she added, "You told me to come see you after Mr. Ren left."

Li Helin nodded. She was the only one exempt from his suspicions.

"I have a task for you," he said.

"What task?" Shen Tong asked.

"Go to Shanghai. Find a reporter from Wenhui Bao named Zhu Yanjun. Keep her under surveillance and don’t let her return to Nanjing."

"Zhu Yanjun? I know her," Shen Tong blurted out.

"Oh?" Li Helin studied his niece. After hearing her explanation, he asked, "Do you think that will make carrying out this task difficult for you?"

He thought to himself—young girls were prone to soft-heartedness, to letting emotions interfere.

But Shen Tong answered without hesitation, "Not at all." Her dark, grape-like eyes gleamed shrewdly, and a sly smile curled at the corner of her lips. "In fact, it’ll be even easier."