Spying

54 Faith

No one knows exactly when Yuhuatai became an execution ground.

In Wu Jingzi’s The Scholars from the Qing Dynasty, Yuhuatai was still an ordinary place where city dwellers would go after a day’s work to enjoy the water and watch the sunset—a romantic testament to Nanjing’s charm, where even "vegetable vendors and wine servers carried the poetic air of the Six Dynasties."

Now, that poetic air has turned to the stench of blood.

The executioners were usually a pair—one holding the gun, the other restraining the "prisoner’s" upper body to prevent a misfire.

When the gunshot rang out, the crows perched on the ancient trees of the hillside also took flight, their raucous caws unsettling even in broad daylight. The sparse crowd of onlookers hunched their shoulders, as if more afraid of the dark swarm of birds than the corpse collapsing on the execution platform.

Among them, Lan Youyin tugged her hat brim lower and turned to leave. She couldn’t understand how they—one after another—could march so willingly to their deaths, their eyes devoid of despair. Just moments ago, when her gaze met Peng Yongcheng’s, she had felt a strange dislocation of time, as if she wasn’t just looking into the eyes of this doomed man but also into those of Qiao Mingyu—the man she had caught stealing Nationalist military intelligence in her home a year ago—and even further back, into the eyes of that young girl who had once abandoned a life of comfort and privilege to chase her ideal world…

It was simply unfathomable.

Before the executioners could clean up the scene, a sudden wind rose, bringing with it a downpour.

Lan Youyin didn’t look back. She didn’t know whether the blood on the ground would be dragged into longer streaks by the rain, but she was certain it would seep into the earth—Peng Yongcheng’s fervent blood, his heroic life, his unwavering faith.

So, was it because of faith?

But from years ago until now, Lan Youyin’s understanding of this matter had always been limited—or, to be more precise, she hadn’t understood it at all in the beginning. She vaguely recalled discussing it with Yin Wenrang once. She had said, Didn’t you used to be like that too—protesting in marches, joining leftist reading groups, singing those impassioned, militant songs? What had Yin Wenrang replied at the time?

"Faith isn’t just those things. Those are just empty, noisy gestures. Faith is…" For once, his eyes had lowered, his words trailing off into silence. After a long pause, as if struggling to dredge up an answer from the depths of himself, he had finally laughed self-deprecatingly. "I’m a deserter of faith."

Lan Youyin thought Peng Yongcheng certainly had nothing to do with the word "deserter."

Neither did Qiao Mingyu.

And those who came before them? Lan Youyin suddenly remembered something she had overheard not long ago— "If this Nora leaves home, even if she faces hardships, she won’t regret it. She’ll carve out her own path." Then surely, she wouldn’t be a deserter either.

Thinking of this, Ren Shaobai inevitably came to mind.

If he, too, was acting for the sake of faith—abandoning his privileged status as the son of a Nationalist martyr to spy for the Communists, refusing to flee or surrender even now—Lan Youyin suddenly wondered: Was there only one possible end for those who refused to desert?

She found a shop with an awning and stood beneath the eaves to shelter from the rain. But she couldn’t escape the fierce wind, which whipped at her trousers and sleeves, driving the chill closer to her skin. At times like this, she could at least remind herself that she still had the body temperature of a living person.Peng Yongcheng handed her a transmitter, but the choice was hers—to use it or not.

Lan Youyin's first reaction was that he must be desperately grasping at straws to resort to this. Her second thought was, had she given him some misunderstanding somewhere?

She wasn't sure if, just moments ago, when Peng Yongcheng's gaze met hers across the crowd, a glimmer of hope had flashed in his eyes.

Of course, she didn't know that this was part of a plan Peng Yongcheng had set in motion the moment he decided to report himself to the Confidentiality Bureau.

Nor did she know that while her thoughts were tangled with those on the execution platform, in two other spots among the crowd, others were watching her too.

Lu Peng sat in the passenger seat of a black Ford, watching the dense web of rain outside closing in from all directions. Logically, Peng Yongcheng's accomplices would avoid the execution site to steer clear of suspicion, but Lu Peng had stationed himself at the edge of the crowd just in case. And then, he spotted Lan Youyin.

Shen Tong was also in a car, driven by her family's chauffeur, listening to her father's incessant chatter: "What's so interesting about watching an execution? Even if they're Communists, aren't they still Chinese? Your uncle can't step down from his position, fine, but you, a young girl, getting involved in such things—don't let yourself be tainted by bloodshed..."

"Dad," Shen Tong interrupted with a frown, "stop talking."

The rain continued its relentless downpour, drumming loudly on the car roof as the sky darkened rapidly.

Dark clouds loomed over the city, threatening to crush it—though not Nanjing this time, but—

Zhengzhou.

At the Defense Ministry's battle strategy meeting, Li Helin had known from the start that he would clash with the director of the Third Department.

So far, Li Helin still only held the title of acting director. The Third Department's director sitting across from him had long grown weary of Li Helin's facade of integrity masking his ambition and tactics.

Now, regarding the battle situation in Zhengzhou, Li Helin proposed that the Second Department had a special channel: intelligence provided by an agent codenamed "Heishui," revealing that the Ninth Column had deployed a unit called the "Northern Detachment" northwest of Zhengzhou.

His intention was for the defending reinforcements to avoid the ambush, but the Third Department director, responsible for drafting the battle plan, dismissed it lightly: "The President has already ordered the 16th Corps and the 99th Army to withdraw east. We can handle field assaults just fine."

Li Helin's expression darkened slightly.

After the departmental strategy meeting, there was an internal mid-level meeting for the Second Department. Presided over by Li Helin, the first agenda item was to completely update the contact ciphers for their undercover operatives in Communist-controlled areas.

Beside him, Ren Shaobai suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

The head of the Communications Center clearly understood what Li Helin meant and agreed, stating that signals would be sent when contacting radio teams in various regions. Upon receiving the signal, the teams would switch to the next set of ciphers according to security protocols.This was originally a very common measure. When intelligence agencies sent telegrams, if the same set of codes had been used for too long, new codes would be activated to prevent interception and decryption by third parties. But this time—Ren Shaobai speculated silently—it seemed less about guarding against the Communist Party and more about keeping other factions within their own party at arm's length. Previously, the Confidentiality Bureau had demanded shared resources but made no mention of sharing codebreakers. Li Helin’s intention was likely that even if Director Mao’s people intercepted telegrams sent to the Second Department, they would only decode gibberish.

The others all understood implicitly. Ren Shaobai calmly checked off the item in the meeting minutes, though his grip on the fountain pen unconsciously tightened.

Of course, he thought of Heishui.

No one but him knew that Heishui was already dead.

The one currently maintaining contact between the Ninth Column and the Second Department was an intelligence operative from the Communist forces arranged by Minister Cai of the Political Department. Using the codebook provided by the captured radio team, they continued sending a mix of true and false intelligence to the Second Department of the Ministry of National Defense under Heishui’s name. But now, Li Helin had suddenly decided to activate a new set of codes. If the Ninth Column failed to crack them in time, the fact that Heishui no longer existed would be exposed—and Ren Shaobai, who had fabricated this deception, would face grave danger.

More importantly, in his original plan, he still needed to rely on "Heishui" to complete the next task Peng Yongcheng had assigned him. He couldn’t afford to let this channel be cut off now.

Normally, the Ministry of National Defense contacted field agents via wireless telegraphy, expecting a response within twelve hours. Therefore, Ren Shaobai had to accomplish three things within that window: first, obtain the telegram sent by the Communications Center to "Heishui"; second, decipher its new encryption rules; and third, inform the Ninth Column’s telegraph operator, who was currently impersonating "Heishui" in communications with the Second Department.

Ren Shaobai returned to his office, careful not to let anyone notice his restlessness.

The daily tasks of the Ministry of National Defense’s Communications Sub-station involved signal detection—primarily monitoring and recording radio signals over the city through operators wearing headphones. If abnormal signals appeared, they had to record the long and short waves, transcribe the corresponding numbers or letters into their logs, and then submit them to the Analysis Room at the main station.

Generally, this job required nothing more from the duty officers than focus and diligence. Since it was clerical work, the repetitive routine rarely saw major changes. Tonight’s shift of monitoring operators, like always, expected an uneventful evening.

But as it turned out, this was a very strange night.

First, signals that normally wouldn’t appear simultaneously on the same frequency kept emerging, forcing the operators to concentrate intensely to ensure they didn’t miss a single dot or dash in the transmissions. So when brief signal interference occurred, the less experienced operators panicked. Then, the office suddenly lost power. The shift leader calmed the others before going downstairs to check the circuit breakers. After flipping the switches back on one by one, the lights overhead flickered back to life. He sighed in relief—at least it wasn’t a short circuit.

The operators joked quietly, "Guess we weren’t getting off early after all."

About an hour later, when it was time to change the recording tapes, another problem arose.The duty team leader noticed his tape recorder was still running, indicating the tape inside hadn't finished. Puzzled, he took out the tape and was shocked to find it wasn't the one he'd initially loaded. Cold sweat broke out on his back as he removed his headphones, realizing the earlier signal interference and circuit trip might not have been accidents at all! But he'd been too careless—how could he have left his post unauthorized? His tape must have been switched during that time.

His hand reached for the phone on the desk. Protocol dictated he should report this to headquarters now, but...

He glanced around. Everyone else remained absorbed in their work, oblivious to his situation.

He'd only been promoted to team leader last month, finally earning slightly more than regular monitors. With his wife pregnant, he couldn't afford to lose this job now. As for the tape... headquarters only cared about the transcripts, at most checking monitoring notes—they wouldn't actually listen to the recordings. With this thought, he withdrew his hand from the phone and put his headphones back on.

Meanwhile, Ren Shaobai completed the first task from his afternoon agenda and returned home in Huiyuan Lane.

But thirty meters from his doorstep, he suddenly stopped. Squinting under the dim streetlamp's glow on the bluestone pavement, he saw Lan Youyin turn and meet his gaze. Beside her stood a leather suitcase.