Spying

50 Severed Tail

Due to his pursuit of the gunman at Black Tortoise Lake, Lu Peng hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in several days. That morning, as he sipped on a strong, bitter cup of tea, he sorted through the mail delivered by the distribution office. Most of it was routine administrative content, nothing confidential, so he skimmed through quickly. But when he came to one particular envelope, his hands froze.

The kraft paper envelope bore no stamp or postmark, yet his name was clearly written on it.

Even the fastest intra-city mail would take two or three days, and the postmark would reveal the sender’s address. Lu Peng concluded that someone had placed it directly into the Confidentiality Bureau’s distribution office to ensure he received it as quickly as possible.

He immediately set the envelope down and pulled a pair of gloves from his drawer. This was to avoid adding more fingerprints to the letter, though he knew that from the distribution office to his desk, plenty of hands had already touched it.

But at least the contents remained unknown.

Confidently, he slit the envelope open with a blade and shook out two sheets of paper. One was a travel pass from Nanjing to Jinan, expired half a month prior; the other was a photograph—a middle-aged man in a suit standing outside the Zhejiang Xingye Bank on Xinjiekou. Though taken from a distance, his features were still discernible.

Lu Peng recognized that face. It was one of the key surveillance targets under the watch team. The purpose of the letter was immediately clear: an act of denunciation, not uncommon, informing him, the head of the Confidentiality Bureau’s Operations Division, that the man in the photo was suspicious. However, while anonymous tips were frequent, not just anyone could slip a letter unnoticed into the Bureau’s internal mail.

He promptly sent both the travel pass and the photo to the forensics lab for fingerprint analysis. Watching the technician dust them with powder, he waited for a result. The technician was optimistic: “Could be a concerned citizen. Why not just bring the guy in for questioning?”

But Lu Peng didn’t feel elated by this unexpected “windfall.” On the contrary, he felt that his plans for the past few days had been disrupted.

Previously, he had assumed there was only one gunman. However, the rifle recovered from the Liangzhou crime scene bore fingerprints from more than one person—a revelation that had actually clarified things for him. Not only did it align with the fact that the previous assassinations couldn’t have been carried out by a lone wolf, but it also meant that more people increased the chances of mistakes. In a group, it was hard to ensure everyone was perfectly controlled.

Then, following Li Helin’s suggestion, he began cross-referencing suspects present at Black Tortoise Lake that day with individuals connected to banks. But with over sixty banks in the capital—aside from a few foreign-owned ones—all closed for the Mid-Autumn Festival, the overlapping scope of these two conditions was still quite large. With the surveillance team stretched thin, he devised a plan to flush out the suspects: arrest a few targets in batches and observe the reactions of the rest.

Whether the real suspects were within or outside the overlapping scope, they would inevitably communicate under such circumstances. With luck, he could capture the entire group in one sweep.However, the sudden appearance of this photograph narrowed his focus back to a single individual.

The fingerprint results came back as he had feared—both the photo and the pass were smooth, devoid of any prints. The photographic paper, which should have easily retained fingerprints, showed nothing but fabric fibers. Clearly, the sender had meticulously wiped down every surface they had touched to conceal their identity.

For a fleeting moment, Lu Peng’s instincts told him to pretend he had never received the letter and maintain the status quo. But if the person in the photo fled while he hesitated, wouldn’t that mean losing both the battle and the spoils?

More importantly, the pass was even more critical than the photo. The holder had visited Jinan half a month ago. What was the informant trying to convey by sending this along? Beyond exposing the name of a suspect already known to the Confidentiality Bureau, there was another possibility—Lu Peng thought of Wu Huawen, who had defected during the Jinan campaign. Could Peng Yongcheng have gone to meet with him?

This wasn’t a decision he could make alone. So, he took both items to the director’s office.

It was no wonder veteran agents of the Military Intelligence Section privately dismissed Director Mao as mediocre in intelligence work. The moment the Confidentiality Bureau chief heard the person in the photo might be linked to Wu Huawen’s betrayal, he immediately ordered Lu Peng to hand him over—Jinan might not hold out for another twenty days. If the situation turned sour, this Peng Yongcheng could be a bargaining chip to curry favor with the Ministry of Defense.

Faced with such situations, Lu Peng rarely allowed himself a flicker of resentment. In the Confidentiality Bureau, even at his level, intelligence officers were ultimately tools of politics. Still, before handing Peng over to Director Mao, the man would have to pass through his hands first.

Half an hour later, Lu Peng entered the Industrial Bank with agents from the Operations Division.

The general manager was trembling in fear—first an employee was arrested the day before, and now they had stormed the bank’s lobby? Surely the authorities wouldn’t label them a Communist Party stronghold! Peng Yongcheng, however, remained calm when his arrest was announced. As if he had expected this, he descended the steps and locked eyes with Lu Peng, who stood with his hands behind his back, exuding arrogance.

“Mr. Peng’s legs have healed? The police overseeing park security on Mid-Autumn Festival said you entered on crutches.”

So the Confidentiality Bureau had been tracking his every move, Peng Yongcheng realized. Without resistance, he let the agents step forward, cuff his hands behind his back, and escort him to the car.

The Confidentiality Bureau’s black Ford sped arrogantly down Zhongshan Avenue in broad daylight, even overtaking a Ministry of Defense vehicle without hesitation.

At the wheel of that Ministry of Defense car was Ren Shaobai, also en route to the Confidentiality Bureau. The night before, he had called Lu Peng, saying he’d been asked to inquire about a recently detained suspect. True to form, Lu Peng had been cautious, refusing to disclose any classified information over the phone and instead instructing him to come in person the next day.Now, two cars came to a stop almost one after the other outside the No.1 Building of Honggongci. Ren Shaobai stepped out from the driver's seat and, before even closing the car door, saw Peng Yongcheng being shoved out from the back seat of the car in front by special agents.

It was as if he had been thrown into an ice cellar. He stood frozen in place, his hand still on the door handle, limbs stiffened by the cold, his spine chilled, unable to move. The next second, Peng Yongcheng turned his head and saw him too. There might have been something flickering in his eyes, but it was quickly cut short as the special agent escorting him grabbed the back of his neck—

"What are you looking at!" The agent forced his head down roughly before pushing him through the gates of the Confidentiality Bureau.

At that moment, Lu Peng, who had gotten out from the passenger seat of the Ford, also spotted Ren Shaobai standing by the car behind.

"Ah." Lu Peng tilted his head back in frustration. "I forgot to tell you—I had an operation this morning. I should've told you not to come."

Ren Shaobai blinked, forcibly pulling together his nearly shattered composure from a moment ago. He lifted his chin slightly in response. "Looks like the operation was a success. Who's that?"

Lu Peng didn’t answer his question directly. Instead, he said curtly, "You can tell Wei Ningsheng that the person he was asking about is fine. He’ll probably be released in a couple of days after going through the formalities."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The last round of arrests was just to stir things up, to make the real suspect nervous."

"Oh, 'smoke the snake out of its hole.' So why do you look so unhappy?"

Lu Peng looked at Ren Shaobai and gave his arm a firm slap. "Kid, don’t be so sharp-eyed." Finally, he cracked a helpless smile and added, "The snake wasn’t smoked out by me. Someone sent photos and evidence to expose him."

Ren Shaobai froze, instinctively asking, "Who exposed him?"

Lu Peng gave him a strange look. "Of course it was anonymous. Even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t tell you—you know the rules... Ah, sorry about today. I don’t have time to entertain you. I’ll treat you to a meal another day. As for the one who just went in... I can’t say much now, but it won’t take more than a couple of days. You’ll find out soon enough."

"Alright." Ren Shaobai nodded, playing along understandingly. "You go ahead."

He watched as Lu Peng entered the Confidentiality Bureau before getting back into his car. He stepped on the gas, driving all the way beyond the main road before suddenly braking. Then, with both hands on the steering wheel, he bent forward and buried his head deeply.

The first thing Peng Yongcheng faced after being taken into the Confidentiality Bureau was having his fingerprints taken for comparison. Lu Peng didn’t interrogate him immediately but left him alone in the interrogation room.

"Give him the high-pressure lamp," Lu Peng said.

In the interrogation room, when the blinding high-pressure light suddenly flashed on, Peng Yongcheng didn’t panic like others might have. Instead, he squinted toward the one-way mirror. Lu Peng noticed that he even seemed to be smiling.

"I know what you're doing."—That was likely the message he meant to convey.Using prolonged intense light to stimulate the nerves of the interrogated is an enhanced interrogation technique designed to quickly fatigue and weaken the subject before questioning even begins. Clearly, Lu Peng wanted to extract what he needed from Peng Yongcheng before the bureau chief intervened.

Judging by Peng Yongcheng's reactions, Lu Peng had no doubt that he was indeed a well-trained Communist agent. Over the years, Lu Peng had developed an instinct—he could tell at a glance which interrogated subjects would be easy to break and which would be difficult, if not impossible. The man before him now most likely belonged to the latter category.

Peng Yongcheng sat quietly, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed under the harsh glare of the lights.

Lu Peng began to wonder—could this man, a Communist, also be the assassin who had orchestrated one secret killing after another out of some inexplicable hatred for the Military Intelligence Section?

Several hours passed. When Lu Peng noticed the sweat dampening the sides of Peng Yongcheng’s temples, he finally stood and entered the interrogation room.

The brightest light was turned off, softening the illumination in the room. Lu Peng sat across from Peng Yongcheng, in no hurry to speak, waiting instead for him to slowly open his eyes.

As Peng Yongcheng’s unfocused gaze gradually sharpened, he saw a photograph placed on the table before him—one of the secretly taken pictures he had once discovered in A Mang’s photo studio.

"Do you know who took this photo?"

Peng Yongcheng remained silent.

"I think it was one of your comrades."

Still, Peng Yongcheng said nothing.

"I think he was afraid—afraid he’d be the next one caught, so he gave you up." Lu Peng stared into his eyes. "It’s this specific. Can’t you guess who it might be?"

Peng Yongcheng turned his head away, maintaining his silence.

Lu Peng turned and gestured toward the one-way mirror behind him. A light suddenly flashed directly into Peng Yongcheng’s face, and Lu Peng watched with satisfaction as his body jerked back instinctively, as if trying to escape. But how could he?

Another gesture, and the light went out. Peng Yongcheng shuddered involuntarily.

"Do you know who took this photo?" Lu Peng repeated the same question.

As the setting sun turned the horizon a deep, bloody red, it was the liveliest time of day in residential areas like Peach Blossom Village. The scent of home-cooked meals drifted from apartment windows, mingling with the chatter of different dialects, weaving together the most ordinary yet precious illusion of peace. Lan Youyin moved through this bustling human world that had nothing to do with her, alone, climbing the stairs of the apartment building. She took out her key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside what had once been called "home."

But the moment she entered, she sensed a sudden, sharp hostility—someone was hiding behind the door, gripping a gun, its cold, familiar muzzle pressed against her forehead.

Click.

The door closed softly, accompanied by the sound of Ren Shaobai releasing the safety.

Lan Youyin lifted her gaze, expressionless, meeting Ren Shaobai’s icy stare.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

"That’s my question for you," he replied.

"I don’t understand.""Why did you report Peng Yongcheng? Did you think doing this would bring A Mang back? Or do you simply not care about A Mang at all, and only wanted to save yourself? How can you be so selfish? First, you used everyone, then sacrificed them all, making others pay for your mistakes. Do you have no conscience at all?!"

Ren Shaobai's voice trembled, but the hand holding the gun remained steady. His gaze at Lan Youyin was cold and unyielding. Ever since learning that Peng Yongcheng's arrest was due to someone sending incriminating photos to the Confidentiality Bureau, he had considered no other possibility. His entire body shook with a mix of fury and overwhelming regret—how could he have trusted Lan Youyin? How had he ever believed in her?

After hearing his barrage of accusations, Lan Youyin finally understood the situation—Peng Yongcheng had been captured by the Confidentiality Bureau, and Ren Shaobai was pushed to the brink of collapse. He was now utterly distraught and lost.

"It wasn't me," Lan Youyin said calmly. "I didn't send those photos to the Confidentiality Bureau. I didn't report Peng Yongcheng."

"You're lying!" Ren Shaobai nearly growled, pressing the gun harder against Lan Youyin's forehead.

Lan Youyin frowned, staring at the man who was beyond reason. "Fine, let's say I am lying. Let's say I did report Peng Yongcheng. What will you do? Kill me? This gun isn't silenced. The neighbors are all home—they’ll hear the shot. Do you think you can escape? And even if you do, what then? This gun, these bullets—they’ll tell Lu Peng that besides Peng Yongcheng, there’s another accomplice out there. So tell me, Communist spy, do you still want to keep hiding?"

Ren Shaobai stiffened. When he looked at Lan Youyin again, her gaze burned brighter than ever, utterly unflinching.

"Think rationally. We’re on the same boat. What good would it do me to capsize it before it’s absolutely necessary?"

"...So it really wasn’t you?"

Lan Youyin shook her head.

Ren Shaobai’s eyes clouded with confusion. If it wasn’t her, then who?

In the interrogation room of the Confidentiality Bureau, Peng Yongcheng rasped, "I don’t know who took those photos. I have no accomplices. I acted alone."

When a wolf pack is hunted, if one wolf willingly walks into the trap, the others may yet slip back into the depths of the forest.