Spying

60 Finale

On the evening of November 4, 1948, the 7th Corps stationed in Xin'an Town—the very target Li Helin had initially speculated Su Yu would prioritize attacking during the first formal meeting of the Xuzhou-Bengbu Campaign—was preparing for a full retreat to Xuzhou.

A retreat wasn’t just about moving troops; it also involved arranging the transport of provisions, ammunition, uniforms, and other military supplies. Corps Commander Huang Baitao already felt pressed for time, but he reassured himself that as long as his forces could set off within two days and cross the Grand Canal, they would fulfill the Ministry of National Defense’s deployment orders for the Xuzhou Bandit Suppression Headquarters.

However, he hadn’t anticipated that his "two days" would vanish just hours later.

A piece of intelligence arrived on Li Helin’s desk, reporting that the East China Field Army would attack the 44th Army of the 9th Pacification Zone in Lianyungang in four days. The source was "Heishui," a long-term undercover agent from the Second Department embedded in the 9th Column of the East China Field Army.

When field intelligence clashed with one’s instincts, deciding which to trust was one of the most agonizing dilemmas in intelligence work. Yet, there was a cardinal rule: never seek evidence to fit a preconceived conclusion, nor task agents with verifying what you already believe.

Li Helin had observed Su Yu for a long time. Su was a master of surprise attacks, striking where least expected. Thus, even though Xuzhou headquarters insisted Su Yu wouldn’t recklessly attack Huang Baitao’s 120,000-strong force before linking up with the Central China Field Army, Li Helin hadn’t dismissed the possibility.

But now, Heishui’s telegram suddenly reminded him of the European theater years earlier, where Hitler had been convinced the Allies would land at Calais—a belief reinforced by his spies—right up until the Normandy invasion.

He feared he might be falling into a similar trap.

This raised a new question: If so, who had led him there?

It was then that he heard the name "Ren Shaobai" from Lu Peng’s wife.

The phone on his desk rang—an outside line. The caller said, "Mr. Li, the batch of Yansong ink you ordered earlier has arrived. When would you like to pick it up?"

Li Helin glanced at the clock on the wall and replied, "In an hour."

He stood and left his office, only to run into Ren Shaobai heading his way. Seeing him, Ren snapped to attention and asked, "Professor, where are you going?"

"Out on some business. No need to follow," Li Helin said. But as he passed by, he suddenly stopped and asked abruptly, "Where were you at noon? Right before the hearse departed?"

"Ah? I..." Ren Shaobai hesitated. "I went out for a walk."

Li Helin turned to look at him and was startled to see his eyes swollen like fish bladders. He sighed and patted Ren’s shoulder.

Alone, Li Helin made his way to Gongyuan West Street near the Confucius Temple. Behind a stationery shop, he met Zhu Yanjun. The earlier phone call had been their coded signal, though it was usually Li Helin who sought her out—rarely did she come to him.Zhu Yanjun met him and got straight to the point—she wanted to discuss an intelligence exchange. Li Helin found this novel and asked, "Why do you think you can negotiate terms with me?"

Without a word, Zhu Yanjun slid a photograph across to Li Helin.

Li Helin glanced down. The exposure on the photo was peculiar—the background was pitch black, clearly taken at night without any light, yet there was an inexplicably bright glare at the center, so dazzling that at first glance, nothing was discernible.

Zhu Yanjun explained, "It's the headlights of a bus. Luckily, that’s why they weren’t spotted. Look at the bottom right corner—what’s that?"

Li Helin picked up the photo and tilted it for a better angle. Only then did he notice another vehicle there. The first few digits of the license plate revealed it was a Ministry of National Defense car.

"This was taken near a bus stop just over a kilometer east of Central University, close to the bushes where that policeman’s body was found a couple of days ago."

Li Helin’s brow furrowed instantly.

Seeing his reaction, Zhu Yanjun pressed on, "If, as you had me report, that policeman was killed by the Communist Party, then I know who this Communist is."

When Li Helin looked at her again, his expression had changed.

"My parents need to leave Nanjing. Let them go, and I’ll give you this person’s name."

Had he not already had an inkling of the answer, had that answer not potentially influenced more pressing decisions—or, taking a step back, had it not been such a critical moment with the Xuzhou Bandit Suppression Headquarters calling daily for updates—Li Helin might have had the patience to drag things out with Zhu Yanjun a little longer.

"Just them leaving. I’ll stay here," Zhu Yanjun added. "Me, and this person’s name, in exchange for the two of them. That’s a fair trade."

Li Helin cultivated informants like gears in a machine—only when each gear meshed perfectly would his intelligence network function smoothly. But if a foreign object, like a grain of sand, slipped into those gears, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant, it would, through repeated friction, disrupt their alignment.

That grain of sand was the reason he’d felt perpetually one step behind lately.

And now, a second name had emerged for that grain of sand.

"I couldn’t be mistaken. She once tricked and confined me in a hotel room—for days, she was the only person I saw. And don’t worry I’m framing her out of spite. The timestamp on this photo is proof, this car is proof. Surely your Ministry of National Defense knows who drove it that night?"

Zhu Yanjun spoke with conviction. That night, she had also left Central University and happened to witness Shen Tong shooting a policeman from a street away. She didn’t know the details—she had a vague sense others might have been present—but the headlights were blinding, and in any case, all she needed to know was that Shen Tong had fired the shot.

Her intent wasn’t slander. It was simply tit for tat.Thus, time, place, and people all coincided so perfectly that night, and it clashed with the story he had heard just hours earlier. Pessimistic and suspicious by nature, Li Helin scrutinized the photo again, convinced he could vaguely discern the silhouette of the little girl he had watched grow up amidst the glaring light spots on the image.

When Li Helin returned to the Ministry of Defense, as luck would have it, Ren Shaobai and Shen Tong appeared in his line of sight simultaneously. It suddenly struck him that these two had joined the Second Department of the Ministry almost back-to-back, and every incident that followed seemed inextricably linked to them.

Outside the Ministry of Defense building, Ren Shaobai and Shen Tong came face-to-face from opposite directions and paused.

Ren Shaobai pointed at Shen Tong’s arm, as if concerned about her injury, but what he asked was, "Has the teacher questioned you yet?"

Shen Tong waved her uninjured hand dismissively, as if to say she still had one good arm, and countered, "Why do you still call him 'teacher'?"

"I truly regard him as my teacher."

"What about Director Lu?"

"I also genuinely consider him my senior brother."

Their gazes met, and silence hung heavily between them. Shen Tong already knew Ren Shaobai was the Communist spy Peng Yongcheng had been handling, but she couldn’t expose him—Lan Youyin had already resolved to help him. Ren Shaobai, having just learned of her connection to Li Helin, now understood why she was held in such high regard and trust. Yet, judging by her actions, she wasn’t entirely obedient to the principles Li Helin upheld.

"The plan will proceed as scheduled," Ren Shaobai said.

Shen Tong replied, "They say intelligence operatives are ruthless, but she outdoes us all."

Without waiting for Ren Shaobai to respond, she nodded politely, waved her good arm again, and walked briskly past him as if they had merely engaged in a casual, friendly chat.

Ren Shaobai, as ever, wore a smooth, worldly smile—the kind that could strike up a conversation with anyone.

From a distance, Li Helin watched the two as he stepped out of his car. He prided himself on being cautious—even though one was his student and the other his niece, when it came to departmental secrets, he hadn’t disclosed everything to them. For instance, Shen Tong didn’t know the exact whereabouts of the intelligence channel codenamed Heishui, while Ren Shaobai was unaware of the encryption used between the Second Department and Heishui.

This created a logical loop: as long as Heishui could still transmit intelligence, neither of them should be suspect.

Among all the clues and evidence, the least reliable were human accusations. People were swayed by subjective emotions and biases—like how Lu Peng’s wife insisted on pinning the blame for her husband’s failed operation on someone, or how Zhu Yanjun harbored lingering hostility toward Shen Tong due to past grievances.

But then, another new clue emerged.

The communications headquarters reported an intriguing observation. The station chief brought in the monitoring notes from the branch station’s operator and announced, "This telegraph operator’s keystrokes show uneven pressure in one hand—likely due to an injury in the arm or shoulder."A seasoned radio operator could identify different telegraph operators by their distinct transmission characteristics—the speed, force, and pauses between keystrokes were all discernible. Based on previous analysis, this particular operator had appeared right after Peng Yongcheng's execution. That meant he was either the new "Silkworm Keeper" sent as a replacement or the spy codenamed "1207," originally under the Silkworm Keeper's supervision.

Li Helin pressed further, "When was the most recent signal detected?"

"The first was at 12:23 p.m., and the second half an hour later."

Li Helin felt slightly relieved. At that time, he and Shen Tong had just left the funeral home together. As for Ren Shaobai's whereabouts during that period, he wasn’t sure, but recalling Ren’s behavior over the past two days, there had been no signs of injury.

Suddenly, an idea flashed through his mind. He immediately picked up the phone on the desk and dialed the Confidentiality Bureau.

"From the scene, was the colleague abducted from the Ministry of Defense injured?" he asked the investigator in charge directly.

"Yes," the other party confirmed. "Quite severely, with significant blood loss."

And so, a third name emerged.

By now, it was the early hours of November 5th. Just as Li Helin hesitated over whether to trust Heishui’s intelligence and relay it to the Xuzhou Bandit Suppression Headquarters, news about Lan Youyin arrived.

First, the truck arranged by the Confidentiality Bureau was found abandoned at the foot of Lion Mountain in the northern suburbs. Then, a local farmer spotted Lan Youyin collapsed on a nearby mountain path. By the time the Criminal Division of the Police Department arrived, her body was already cold. However, after an autopsy at Central Hospital, it was determined she hadn’t died from blood loss but from a morphine overdose.

Li Helin personally went to the hospital to identify the body and listen to the cause of death analysis. By the time he left, dawn was approaching. He didn’t return home or to his office at the Ministry of Defense but went straight to the presidential residence.

This wasn’t his first visit to the Retreat Residence. Having become one of the senior advisors frequently received by the president here, he could navigate the long corridors with ease—hanging his hat on the coat rack, passing through a small hallway, ascending the stairs, walking past Zeng Guofan’s inscribed scroll on the wall, and entering the sitting room adjoining the study.

An aide asked him to wait there. Shortly after, Chiang Kai-shek emerged from the study.

Li Helin handed him the telegram from Heishui:

"Su Yu’s forces are preparing to attack the 44th Army. On November 8th, they will advance in full force toward the Haizhou-Lianyungang region with the following units: the 9th and 11th Columns, the Central-South Shandong Column, and three columns from the Northern Jiangsu Corps.

"There is a Communist spy in the Ministry of Defense—a woman. Beware of attempts to mislead."

Chiang Kai-shek returned the telegram to Li Helin and asked, "Do you believe him?"

Li Helin replied, "Yes. The Communist spy has already been confirmed."

As the light on the horizon grew brighter and the sun broke through the mist, its golden rays spread across the vast wilderness. At the 7th Corps headquarters in Xin’an Town, Huang Baitao received a call from Liu Zhi, commander of the Xuzhou Bandit Suppression Headquarters, conveying Nanjing’s new orders: hold position and wait for the retreating 44th Army from Lianyungang before withdrawing to Xuzhou together.Many years later, when scholars and enthusiasts studying the Liberation War looked back on this campaign—originally intended only to open up the northern Jiangsu front but which, due to the successful annihilation of Huang Baitao's corps before its retreat to Xuzhou, transformed from a "minor Huaihai" into the "major Huaihai" and evolved into the southern front's strategic decisive battle—they would not only marvel at Su Yu's brilliant strategy of advancing the operation date from November 8th to the 6th, but also wonder: What exactly had delayed Huang Baitao in Xin'an Town, causing the retreat plan prepared since November 4th to be suspended for two whole days?

Time rewinds to that late autumn, November 7th in Nanjing. The air was crisp and unusually dry. Ren Shaobai sat in his office at the Ministry of National Defense, where the incessant ringing of telephones had started early in the morning—all reports from the Seventh Corps: The 44th Army had finally arrived in Xin'an Town; the Seventh Corps had begun its retreat but had yet to cross the canal; the rearguard 63rd Army had already come under attack by Communist forces—the East China Field Army was right at their doorstep...

Ren Shaobai clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, as his mind flashed back to the late night two days prior. He had escorted Lan Youyin to the foot of Lion Mountain. When helping her out of the car, he felt her icy hands and instinctively tightened his grip. After walking a short distance up the mountain path, Lan Youyin said, "This is far enough. I can't go on."

Ren Shaobai knelt to let her lean against a tree. The night wind howled, swirling dust and fallen leaves. They spoke for a while—Lan Youyin asked him to handle a few matters for her. Finally, she asked, "Will they believe it?"

Ren Shaobai nodded. "They don't trust their own instincts, but they'll believe the worst in others."

Lan Youyin closed her eyes and said, "One last thing... The Central Hospital has organized an Army Temperance Association. You should sign up."

Ren Shaobai chuckled softly. "I will."