Spying

35 Bluffing

As the workday was nearing its end, Lan Youyin finished her tasks and called the motor pool at the Joint Service Headquarters to arrange a car for the next morning. She needed to deliver some documents to the Central Party Headquarters at Dingjiaqiao.

"My colleague mentioned a driver named Zhao Mingyuan is quite skilled. Is he available tomorrow?" she asked.

The sound of flipping papers came through the phone as the person on the other end checked the records.

"He has a trip scheduled at 11 a.m., but he’s free before that."

"No problem. Have him come to Huangpu Road at 8 a.m. tomorrow. He’ll definitely be back before 11."

Lan Youyin hung up, thinking: 11 a.m.—that must be for a lunch appointment. Most officials wouldn’t schedule meals too late, so based on the timing, the pickup location was likely somewhere within the city. That gave her a broad range to work with.

As for the name "Driver Zhao Mingyuan," it had been provided by Ren Shaobai.

A few hours earlier, the two had "coincidentally" met in the open space between the cafeteria and the office building for a smoke. Ren Shaobai told her that two days ago, after they arrived in Nanjing from Shanghai, a Joint Service vehicle had picked up Okamura Neiji from the train station. He had memorized the license plate and later found out the driver’s name. The release of Okamura Neiji was classified, so the circle of those in the know had to be kept as small as possible. It was highly likely that only one designated driver was responsible for Okamura’s transportation in Nanjing.

"Why are you telling me this?" Lan Youyin asked nonchalantly.

"Section Chief Lan, you’re so good at tracing things back to their source. I figured I’d ask for your help in finding out where Okamura Neiji is staying now."

"Why should I help you?"

Ren Shaobai widened his eyes theatrically. "We’re helping each other, Section Chief Lan. You want me to create an opportunity for you to assassinate Director Lu. After all, he’s my senior and a key figure in the Confidentiality Bureau. Shouldn’t I get some advance payment first?"

"You Communists… haggling over killing a Military Intelligence Section special agent?"

Ren Shaobai noticed she had stopped herself from saying "Communist Party" outright. He smirked, flicking ash from his cigarette, and figured Lan Youyin would probably agree to help.

"Section Chief Lan, you’re a real ally," he said, playfully mimicking a cupped-fist salute.

Lan Youyin shot him an impatient look. "When are you giving my things back?" She was referring to the pistol Ren Shaobai had taken from her on the train.

Ren Shaobai replied, "Let me borrow it for a couple more days."

"Why should I?"

"Didn’t Section Chief Lan insist on pinning Yang Kaizhi’s death on us? Naturally, it wouldn’t be wise to keep the murder weapon on you. At the very least, it should make a detour through Communist territory to leave some traces—that’d make the story more convincing, don’t you think?"

Lan Youyin turned her head away, recalculating the sheer number of tricks up Ren Shaobai’s sleeve.

Early the next morning, an American-style jeep parked on Huiyuanli Street in the southern part of the city. The high-clearance vehicle had just had its engine replaced the day before, preparing for the long-distance trips it would undertake in the coming days.

The man in the driver’s seat surveyed the row of garden residences before him. He knew these were also products of the Capital Plan from over a decade ago. Red walls, red tiles, gray eaves—the glass of the dormer windows refracted sunlight onto the bluestone pavement. A long alley stretched from the street inward, and from one of the two-story houses emerged Ren Shaobai.He walked up to the jeep and said to Ouyang Shu behind the wheel, "President Ouyang, let me drive."

Ouyang Shu stepped down from the driver's seat, glancing again at where he'd come from before asking, "You live here?"

"Yeah," Ren Shaobai replied, tossing his luggage into the back seat.

He thought to himself that this person was certainly no ordinary confidential secretary. Those who lived in Huiyuan were either mid-to-high-level government officials or wealthy merchants.

But if he wasn't without connections, why would Li Helin send someone like this to infiltrate Communist territory for dangerous espionage work? Those assigned such tasks were usually outstanding individuals who could be discarded at any moment.

After both men got into the car, Ouyang Shu took a file folder from his briefcase and handed it to Ren Shaobai—it contained materials for his forged identity.

Huang Qiang, journalist, 28 years old, native of Nanjing, married with a two-year-old son. The envelope also included a photo of a woman holding a child. Raising an eyebrow, Ren Shaobai slipped it into his wallet.

"Are you married, Mr. Ren?" Ouyang Shu asked out of curiosity.

Ren Shaobai smiled slightly. "Mr. Ren isn't, but I'm not Mr. Ren anymore."

Ouyang Shu paused, then nodded repeatedly. "Oh! Right."

"No need to be nervous for now," Ren Shaobai said as he started the engine. "Your identity isn't fake—just do what you normally would."

As the car accelerated forward, so did Ouyang Shu's heartbeat.

When Li Helin had assigned him this task, he hadn't explained what specific mission Ren Shaobai would be carrying out under his cover. He'd only said, "You don't need to know—this is for your protection. Just act as you normally would when investigating and reporting alongside journalists. Have you forgotten your field reporting days after being a branch president for so long?" Even over the phone, his voice carried an oppressive weight. "If you want to stop being a branch president who lives at others' mercy, don't neglect your core duties."

Once you became Li Helin's pawn, there was no escaping his control.

Noticing Ouyang Shu's stiff expression, Ren Shaobai spoke in a lighthearted tone: "President Ouyang, is your family all in Shanghai? Since we'll be working together, we should have a basic understanding of each other's situations."

Thus, Ouyang Shu cautiously shared about his family—his wife lived in Shanghai with their two children and his mother. When Ren Shaobai asked about his career, Ouyang Shu recounted his entire professional history: when he'd entered journalism, when he'd become an editor at Wenhui Bao, the impactful articles he'd edited, how he'd risen step by step to become president of the Nanjing branch... When it came to his career achievements, he couldn't help but elaborate.

Ren Shaobai smiled again and continued with his own questions: "A branch president personally going into Communist territory for reporting—was this your idea or the Communists'?"

"Naturally, the Communists want as many people as possible to see their preferential policies toward prisoners," Ouyang Shu replied.

"If no articles get published afterward, will President Ouyang's credibility with them decline?"

"We can say it was due to pressure from the central government..."

"Ah yes, that's a good reason indeed."Ouyang Shu turned to look at him and suddenly realized that he had unwittingly shared quite a bit about himself with Ren Shaobai, yet he still knew nothing about the other man. It dawned on him then why Ren Shaobai had declared himself as Huang Qiang from the very beginning—it was a direct way to avoid revealing any real information.

Belatedly, Ouyang Shu wondered if this had been instructed by Li Helin or if Ren Shaobai was just as paranoid as his superior. Despite his cheerful and easygoing demeanor, there must have been something entirely opposite concealed beneath that seemingly harmless smile.

The jeep headed north all the way to Xiaguan Ferry.

A flag bearing the official seal of the Highway Administration was planted at the front of the vehicle, allowing them to bypass queues and inspections when boarding the ferry. Once across the river, the liberated Communist-controlled areas lay scattered like stars, awaiting Ren Shaobai, who now bore three identities, to step into them for the first time.

As Ren Shaobai and Ouyang Shu boarded the ferry, Lan Youyin also got into a car driven by Zhao Mingyuan, a chauffeur from the Combined Services Headquarters, heading toward the Central Party Headquarters. The city roads were smooth and easy to navigate, and the young driver couldn’t help but glance curiously at the unfamiliar head of the First Department’s Lan Section from the Ministry of National Defense through the rearview mirror, wondering how she had specifically requested him.

As if sensing his gaze, Lan Youyin initiated the conversation: "How long have you been driving for the Combined Services?"

Zhao Mingyuan immediately straightened his back, eyes fixed ahead as he replied, "Three years. But I also drove in Chongqing before, for the Women’s Advisory Committee." He wondered if she might have been a committee member back then, which was why she knew of him.

"No wonder your driving is so steady. Some drivers are too reckless—it’s uncomfortable to ride with them," Lan Youyin remarked.

Naturally pleased by the compliment, Zhao Mingyuan said, "Madame Chiang also dislikes drivers who are too hasty."

"You’ve driven for Madame Chiang?"

"No, no. Those tasks are always handled by the fleet captain or deputy captain. I’m not at that level yet."

"But you recently drove for Director Li from our ministry’s Second Department, and he praised you too."

Zhao Mingyuan froze, then grew puzzled. He had been explicitly told not to disclose anything about that day’s assignment, so how did this Section Chief Lan know about it?

"Uh... yes," he replied vaguely.

"Your work must be tough, setting off before dawn like that," Lan Youyin continued casually, as if unaware of the classified nature of the matter, merely making small talk.

"It’s not too bad. If we depart at that hour, we usually get half a day off afterward."

"How do you all decide the shift assignments?"

Zhao Mingyuan hesitated briefly but figured this was still within safe territory. "That day was a temporary assignment arranged by the captain," he answered.

Lan Youyin nodded and didn’t press further.

Zhao Mingyuan exhaled in relief. After all, he was just a driver—he couldn’t afford to offend anyone.

When they arrived at No. 16 Dingjiaqiao, Lan Youyin leaned forward before getting out, resting her hands on the back of the driver’s seat and handing him two silver coins. "Have you had breakfast yet? I saw a wonton stall earlier—go have a bowl. I’ll make this quick so I don’t delay your next assignment."Zhao Mingyuan was flattered. After all these years working as a government driver, it was rare to receive tips. He initially wanted to politely decline, but Lan Youyin unceremoniously stuffed the money into his hand. Watching her walk away from the car, Zhao couldn't help but think—this Section Chief Lan must come from a well-off family.

Though he'd accepted the tip, Zhao didn't spend it immediately, planning instead to use it for household expenses. He dutifully waited in the car for Lan Youyin to finish her business.

In less than half an hour, he saw two figures emerge from the party headquarters gates. One was naturally Lan Youyin, but the other... Zhao found the smiling, amiable middle-aged man strangely familiar yet couldn't quite place him. He got out to open the rear door, observing as Lan and the man approached while deep in conversation.

"You shouldn't personally handle every errand—delegate these tasks to others. With Zhang Jigong gone and Old Wu having retreated to Taiwan, if you encounter any difficulties in work or life, come directly to me. I once crossed paths with your father—it's only right I look after an old friend's daughter," the man said.

"Thank you, but you're too kind seeing me off personally. The secretariat must be busy—please don't let me keep you," Lan replied.

Hearing this, Zhao started. When he looked again at the man, realization struck—this was none other than the Deputy Secretary-General of the Party Headquarters!

The second-in-command of the Central Party Secretariat exchanged more pleasantries with Lan, watched her enter the car, and only turned back toward the gates after the vehicle had driven some distance away.

Zhao couldn't resist stealing another glance at Lan.

She now produced a pack of Marlboros from her bag, briefly meeting Zhao's eyes in the rearview mirror before smiling and offering him a cigarette.

Zhao hastily declined, "No thank you, Section Chief Lan. We're not allowed to smoke during work."

"Is that so? May I then?"

"By all means."

Lan smiled again, placing a cigarette between her lips before suddenly reconsidering.

"Just remembered you have another pickup after this. Wouldn't do to leave the car smelling of smoke."

"Appreciate that."

"Where are you headed for your next passenger?"

Zhao fell silent. Through the mirror, Lan could see conflict written across his features.

"Not far."

"Nothing particularly special?"

"No, just nearby."

"Driver Zhao." Lan leaned forward from the backseat again, but this time her tone carried none of the earlier warmth. "You know who you've been transporting lately, don't you?"

After a long pause, Zhao answered: "...Yes."

"Then tell me—do you want to become a traitor to the Chinese people?"

Zhao's hands clenched the steering wheel as an involuntary shiver ran down his spine.

Lan continued: "Speak up. Don't make the wrong choice."

The car stopped at a traffic light. Zhao took a deep breath. Lan knew he was wrestling with himself.

The crux wasn't whether he possessed patriotic sentiment, but whether those ordering his silence outranked the Deputy Secretary-General he'd just met. If the directive came from Li Helin, that would carry less weight than someone likely to become full Secretary-General next year. But if it came from the Quartermaster General... harder to say. Lan pondered—surely it couldn't be coming from the very top?But in reality, Zhao Mingyuan had only received his orders from the motorcade captain.

He was to pick someone up and be responsible for their transportation in the near future, yet from the very beginning, neither he nor the captain knew who they were arranging for him to fetch. Even until just now, before Lan Youyin asked that question, he hadn’t been certain who that gloomy, emaciated man—so thin he was almost unrecognizable—was, the one he drove around every day.

An ordinary Chinese citizen, unless they frequently read the newspapers, wouldn’t have any idea what the commander-in-chief of the Japanese invading forces looked like.

But he could guess the man was a soldier. Though he himself was just a driver, over the years he had ferried countless Nationalist military officers and could always spot certain common traits. Then, yesterday, he heard the man speaking Japanese to his bodyguards. Combined with the security level and that gloomy, defeated air about him—he had also witnessed Tani Hisao’s execution at Yuhuatai, and those Japanese officers all carried that same aura—he began to form a vague suspicion.

And just now, Lan Youyin’s words had pushed his suspicions even deeper, perhaps toward an answer beyond his imagination.

“It’s on Emerald Isle, but I don’t know which exact building. Every time, I just park the car on Emerald Bridge—I really never saw where he came from.”

The traffic light changed, but Zhao Mingyuan was still dazed. Lan Youyin said, “Let’s go.” She leaned back against the seat, her gaze drifting out the window at the lush parasol-like leaves of the plane trees lining the road.

Emerald Isle on Black Tortoise Lake—the guesthouse for foreign visitors at the Encouragement Society.