Spying

41 Different Paths

Logically, Ren Shaobai had anticipated this outcome. Assassinating someone, especially a person under the government's tight protection, required meticulous planning—something they lacked under the current circumstances. Meanwhile, Peng Yongcheng quickly explained, "This is a prime opportunity for a propaganda battle. Rather than assassinating him, it’s better to let the entire nation see who the Nationalist government is shielding—acting as traitors to the country."

This was a politically motivated decision, Ren Shaobai thought. But he opened his mouth and ultimately kept the words to himself.

The nurse urged again at the door, "Ren Shaobai, concussion follow-up."

He stood and followed the nurse to the examination room. Peng Yongcheng watched him from behind for a moment, his gaze faintly uneasy.

Ren Shaobai’s head showed no lasting effects, but before leaving, he asked the doctor, "Could you prescribe me some sleeping pills?"

"Oh? Have you been having trouble sleeping lately?" The doctor sounded surprised.

"A bit," Ren Shaobai replied tersely.

The doctor knew Ren Shaobai—a young man in excellent physical and mental health, with no prior record of insomnia. Flipping through the medical records, he assumed it was likely due to increased work stress, a new issue. As part of the Central Army Hospital, they frequently dealt with officers and civil servants suffering from mental or psychological health problems caused by the warfront.

"I’ll prescribe two weeks’ worth. Don’t want you developing a dependency—you’ll need to adjust on your own," the doctor said, swiftly scribbling the prescription before sending Ren Shaobai to the pharmacy.

By the time he left the examination room, Peng Yongcheng was already gone. As for the insomnia, Ren Shaobai hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.

The main issue was that the moment he closed his eyes, he saw Heishui’s face, mangled by his own gunshot. And when he finally managed to fall asleep—thanks to his newly acquired habit of drinking whiskey—he would "become" Heishui, "realizing" the moment he entered the dream that the alcohol he’d just consumed had been poisoned. He’d feel himself suffocating, then jolt awake, gasping for air in the pitch-black darkness, struggling to distinguish nightmare from reality. After that, sleep was impossible.

He began imagining the ways he might die.

This would never have happened before.

He also kept replaying Heishui’s dying words—words spoken as a spy embedded in the enemy camp. Ren Shaobai understood every single one.

He remembered the young orderly at headquarters, praising "Brother Wanqian" with genuine admiration. He also remembered Minister Cai’s kind instructions when he’d expressed interest in "interviewing" him.

Heishui must have remembered too. Day after day, he lived among these people, treated as a comrade and friend. At some point, the once clear-cut boundaries blurred, and the initial pretense gradually gave way to sincerity.

His convictions remained, but his feelings had changed.

So, in truth, Heishui didn’t die from betrayal. He died from the struggle within himself.On nights when Ren Shaobai couldn't sleep, he often found himself dragged into emotional whirlpools, only to repeatedly remind himself that he was different from Heishui—Heishui's pain stemmed from knowing his "enemy" was a more progressive political party, a group of kinder and more selfless people, yet he still had to remain loyal to the corrupt and dark regime behind him, one that could discard him at any moment. Ren Shaobai was the opposite, so he wouldn't fall into the same spiritual crisis of questioning the meaning of everything he did, as Heishui had.

But why couldn't he sleep as soundly as he once did?

After picking up medicine from the pharmacy, Ren Shaobai walked through the courtyard between the east and west wings of the hospital when he suddenly spotted someone emerging from the administrative office in the distance—the medical officer from the military who had flown with him from Jinan. He thought about going over to greet him but froze mid-step. Instinctively, he ducked under the nearby colonnade, watching as the man exchanged a few words with the administrative staff before heading toward the hospital gate.

Only then did Ren Shaobai step out from the other end of the colonnade.

He had found the man familiar on the plane, but now, seeing him from a distance, it finally clicked where he had seen him before.

Thus, Ren Shaobai's rare day off turned into an impromptu surveillance operation.

Solo tailing in the city was actually quite difficult. Without someone to switch off or coordinate with, the target could easily slip into a maze of interconnected alleyways and emerge from an unexpected exit, leaving the pursuer behind in no time.

But Ren Shaobai had one advantage—he had spent enough time in this city. When he first arrived, he had been at the age where he loved wandering aimlessly through streets and alleys. Even after leaving for eight years, he still knew Nanjing like the back of his hand. He knew every underground passage, which buildings had multiple exits, and where each alley led.

Besides, he was in a foul mood today, and all his energy was now devoted to tailing this man who had once been a bartender at the International Club but had somehow transformed into a medical officer for the Xuzhou Pacification Command.

So, despite Yin Wenrang having learned some counter-surveillance techniques from Lan Youyin—such as stopping in front of a shop with a glass window to check reflections or doubling back—he remained oblivious as Ren Shaobai followed him all the way to A Mang's photo studio.

Lan Youyin stood in the stacks of the municipal library, in the section labeled "R," which housed original foreign-language books. Few people ever browsed here, so she was alone. She pulled a hefty novel from the shelf, flipping through it while occasionally jotting notes in an open notebook beside her. Passing librarians might have assumed she was a student or faculty member from the university's foreign languages department.

In reality, Lan Youyin hadn't absorbed a single word. She kept glancing at her watch—if the wait exceeded twenty minutes, she would leave. At the thirteen-minute mark, Ren Shaobai finally appeared on the other side of the bookshelf.

"You're late," Lan Youyin said.

"Apologies," Ren Shaobai replied.Peering over the tops of book spines across the shelf, Lan Youyin caught sight of half of Ren Shaobai's face obscured behind them. She immediately sensed something was off.

Having worked in the same building for two years, even without much direct interaction before, Lan Youyin had overheard all sorts of excuses this man concocted for his tardiness and early departures just by passing outside his office in the Fourth Bureau. She certainly didn't believe he could suddenly change his glib nature and sincerely apologize for being thirteen minutes late.

She studied him with puzzlement.

Yet Ren Shaobai seemed oblivious to her gaze. Instead, he pulled a book from the shelf, pretended to flip through it, then slid a box beneath the book toward her while asking in a low voice, "Have you located that person's safe house?"

Lan Youyin placed a folded official document atop the box.

They each took what they needed.

Inside the box was Lan Youyin's pistol. She swiftly checked the chamber.

Meanwhile, Ren Shaobai unfolded the paper to find a meticulously hand-drawn map with various locations marked by symbols.

"One bullet missing?"

"Is this inside Black Tortoise Lake?"

They spoke simultaneously, then looked up, their eyes meeting.

Ren Shaobai answered first: "Consider it borrowed. I'll return it later."

Lan Youyin frowned slightly, wanting to ask who he'd killed in the Communist-controlled area. But she hesitated, deciding some things were better left unknown, and instead addressed the safe house question: "He lives on Emerald Isle. Every day, a logistics vehicle picks him up at Emerald Bridge. The triangle marks the optimal sniper position—he'll be exposed for about five to ten meters between entering the zone and boarding."

Ren Shaobai lowered his head again, using the book as cover to study the map intently. Yet the next moment, he abruptly refolded and tore it in half.

Lan Youyin arched an eyebrow at him.

"See it and forget it. Director Lan would do well to forget too," Ren Shaobai said.

Resting a hand on the shelf, Lan Youyin met his gaze and instantly understood: "So your superiors didn't approve."

Ren Shaobai remained silent, confirming the reason for his unusual behavior today.

"I see." A mocking smile touched her lips. "How precious these Japanese are—everyone thinks they're more useful alive. National righteousness can always wait, can't it?"

Her words were cutting. Ren Shaobai frowned: "When your side keeps piggybacking on our operations with your own agendas, how can you talk about righteousness?"

"What did you say?" Lan Youyin's eyes turned cold—not at the accusation of underhanded tactics, but at his use of "your side." What did he know?

"You think we don't know? Planning to assassinate Okamura Neiji while using the chaos to eliminate Lu Peng as misdirection?" Ren Shaobai continued. "That Gao fellow from Xuzhou Command's medical office—since Director Lan is so resourceful in planting him there, you should've waited until the bombing case blew over. Lu Peng knows he's being watched now—his security's tightened. Any move now would be sending your people to their deaths—"

Before he finished, he saw Lan Youyin's pupils dilate sharply—she hadn't known that man was in Nanjing!The rest of her words were abruptly swallowed as she snapped the book shut. Lan Youyin immediately turned and strode outside, with Ren Shaobai instinctively following close behind. "Are you going to look for him?" he asked from behind her. "Do you even know where he is?"

Where else could he be? Lan Youyin thought.

In front of the backdrop that Lu A'mang couldn't bear to part with even after moving from Pingshi Street to Xinjiekou, Lan Youyin and Yin Wenrang stood face to face. If someone were to peer through the camera's viewfinder at this moment, they would surely find the scene absurd—the upside-down Big Ben of London and the two solemn figures standing inverted before it.

Lu A'mang hurried to close the shop door, hanging up the "Closed" sign before drawing the curtains over the display window across the street. When he turned back, the two locked in their silent standoff still hadn't spoken a word, each waiting for the other to offer an explanation first.

In the end, it was A Mang who couldn't take it anymore, raising his hands in surrender to break the stalemate: "It's me. I told Wenrang you've been busy lately, acting all mysterious, but I didn't know he'd suddenly come back. If I'd known, I would've stopped him—"

"What have you been busy with?"

"How did you get back?"

The two spoke simultaneously again.

But afterward, the deadlock persisted.

In such circumstances, whoever answered first would implicitly acknowledge the validity of the other's questioning. And naturally, neither Lan Youyin nor Yin Wenrang was willing to do that.

So once more, it was A Mang who spoke: "He didn't come secretly. He said it was official business from the military medical office that brought him to Nanjing."

Yin Wenrang shot him a fierce glare, as if displeased that he'd conceded on his behalf. Raising his voice, he pressed Lan Youyin again: "What's going on with that clinic in Shanghai? Are you investigating something? What are you scheming now, making decisions on your own again?"

His barrage of questions grew increasingly heated. Not long ago, she had solemnly promised not to act independently anymore, yet here she was, conspiring with A Mang to keep him in the dark...

Just as Yin Wenrang seemed on the verge of erupting, a sudden commotion erupted outside on the street. All three startled, turning their gaze toward the display window showcasing photographs.

Through the glass, they saw a newspaper boy running past, shouting something that drew passersby to crowd around. Even cars that had been driving by pulled over, causing a temporary traffic jam.

Lu A'mang stepped out of the photo studio suspiciously and soon returned with a freshly printed copy of The New Citizen Evening News, reading aloud the front-page headline: "Secretly Released After Trial Without Sentencing—Who Is Sheltering the Number One War Criminal Okamura Neiji?"

He looked up at Yin Wenrang.

And then Lan Youyin's voice followed: "That's what I've been investigating. I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid you'd do something dangerous if you knew. But Okamura Neiji has been released—he's in Nanjing right now."