Spying

Extra Chapter: 1971 (Part 2)

Much later, Hu Tai Li would only learn indirectly from others why Uncle Yin Wenrang—someone both her parents knew separately without realizing their mutual connection—had defied Chinese tradition by insisting on changing the name given to him by his parents.

“He had a relative, a cousin or something, who used to work at the Ministry of National Defense. They say she was a Communist spy.”

Even the usually composed Tai Li felt her heart pound at the word “spy.” She was familiar with the term, not just because it was frequently mentioned in school—like how the defeat in the 1948 Xubang Campaign was attributed to ambiguous leaks by PLA spies—but also because, when she had just started elementary school, her family had nearly been implicated in a “Bandit spy” case.

It seemed old accounts had been dug up, accusing them of being too closely associated with people later confirmed as spies.

Tai Li, alone in the next room, could vaguely catch fragments of conversation from her parents’ bedroom, along with a few names never mentioned before or since.

Even at her young age, Tai Li had heard on TV and radio about people labeled as Communists being sentenced to “death,” while others who had aided them received “life imprisonment” or “fixed-term sentences.” But she had never asked her parents for confirmation. That was how she had always been—hearing many things but keeping those she instinctively felt might cause trouble locked inside.

The confirmation finally came on the night of January 4, 1971, the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month.

“Why did he come up to Taipei today?” Shen Tong suddenly asked on their way home after dinner. “And he told Lu Changping so abruptly, as if he wanted people to know.”

“Your professional instincts are acting up again,” Hu Qian said, shaking his head. Just one look at his expression made it clear where Tai Li—who always acted like a little adult—had learned it from. “Don’t be suspicious of everything.”

Shen Tong fell silent. Gripping the steering wheel, she turned from Changchun Road onto Zhongshan Road, heading south.

Normally, Tai Li wouldn’t have thought much of it. She would have agreed with her father, quietly critical or even dismissive of her mother. But after that evening, hearing her father’s words unsettled her. Because according to Uncle Yin, her mother twenty years ago was far from the “useless” housewife who stayed at home relying on her family for support.

After a few rounds of drinks, as Hu Qian and Battalion Commander Guo lit cigarettes and Mrs. Guo stood up to reheat the Laba porridge, Shen Tong went to help, asking for tips on how to keep the porridge from sticking to the pot. Yin Wenrang watched her retreating figure with surprise before turning back and locking eyes with the little girl whose features bore a striking resemblance to Shen Tong’s.

Tai Li asked him, “Earlier, you said you’d met my mother once before—at Zutang Mountain in Nanjing. What kind of place is that?”

Yin Wenrang paused, seemingly taken aback by her directness, but answered honestly without evasion: “It’s a cemetery outside Nanjing.”

Tai Li was startled, finally understanding why everyone had fallen silent at the mention of the location.

“Was it the funeral of someone you knew?”

“Not quite a funeral—just a burial.”

“So, not a martyr or anything?”Yin Wenrang looked at the girl before him, whose features held both maturity and childishness, but his mind drifted back to the winter of 1948 when he first met Shen Tong. Back then, if not for her and Ren Shaobai’s joint efforts, the person in the coffin might not have been properly buried. Instead, they could have ended up like another woman from even earlier—hastily discarded in a mass grave, their soul scattered to the winds.

“If it’s difficult, you don’t have to answer,” Tai Li added. “Pretend I never asked.”

Yin Wenrang was slightly surprised but took it graciously. “Thank you.”

As the two whispered, a cigarette was offered to Yin Wenrang. He looked up to see Hu Qian and quickly waved his hand in refusal. “I don’t smoke.” After a pause, he explained, “My lungs haven’t been well these past two years…”

“Ah!” Hu Qian raised his chin. “Right, you’re a rehabilitation specialist yourself. I heard Old Chief Liu is recuperating at your hospital?”

“Mm.” Yin Wenrang gave a brief response.

Hu Qian nodded, noticing his daughter’s puzzled look, and explained, “Do you know, little one? That’s General Liu Zhi, the former commander of the Xuzhou Bandit Suppression Headquarters. He was also my instructor back in Whampoa.”

“Oh…” Tai Li mirrored her father’s chin-lifting gesture in mock realization. “Pig General.”

The whole table burst into laughter. Hu Qian lightly tapped her head, about to scold her, but Battalion Commander Guo cut in first. “The kid’s absolutely right—he is a Pig General!”

Lu Changping, the only one at the table who still held a shred of respect for their former superior, asked, “I almost forgot to ask—how is Chief Liu doing lately?”

Yin Wenrang replied, “About the same as before.”

Tai Li studied him curiously. She didn’t know how others perceived his tone, but to her, ever since her father mentioned Liu Zhi’s name, he seemed reluctant to speak further—far less open than when he had been talking to her earlier.

The conversation was interrupted when Guo’s wife and Shen Tong emerged from the kitchen, carrying bowls of Laba porridge.

“Enough, enough,” Guo’s wife chided as she placed the first bowl in front of Tai Li. “Just now, Hu Qian was talking about living in the present. I say, to live well, one must first be grateful—not stew in resentment, especially not in front of children.” She softened her voice. “Little Tai Li, you must be tired of hearing all this every time you visit, hm?”

Tai Li shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”

But Battalion Commander Guo, still riding the buzz of alcohol, boomed, “Of course I’m grateful—just not to him ! He doomed 550,000 of our Nationalist brothers on the Huaihai front. If I don’t spend every day cursing him to an early grave, it’s only out of mercy…”

Shen Tong had returned to her daughter’s side when Yin Wenrang suddenly leaned toward her and said, “Your daughter is truly sharp—she seems far more mature and sensible than other children her age.”

Shen Tong smiled, glancing at her daughter. “Not much like me, is she?”

“Of course she is. It’s clearly the result of your upbringing.”

“People say that if a pregnant woman vividly imagines the kind of child she wants—the more detailed, the better—the baby will turn out that way. So I did just that. Sincerity makes it real.”

Yin Wenrang stared at her, stunned.

Shen Tong said nothing more and lowered her head to sip her porridge.Tai Li was hearing this for the first time. Surprised, she instinctively replied, "Then why don't you imagine me looking like Li Xianglan?"

Unexpectedly, Shen Tong's expression darkened. "Why would I want my daughter to resemble a Japanese woman?"

"I didn't say I wanted to be Japanese—I just like her appearance—"

"No matter how pretty, she's still a Jap!" This was the first time Shen Tong had spoken to her daughter so harshly today. "All the uncles here have fought against the Japanese and carry deep blood feuds with them. How could you say such a thing?"

Tai Li hadn't expected her casual remark to provoke such a scolding from her mother, especially in front of so many people. Her face flushed crimson, and a surge of humiliation made her abruptly stand up. "I'm full," she said stiffly, pushing her porridge bowl away before turning to run out the door.

"Tai Li—" Mrs. Guo tried to call her back, but the girl was too fast, disappearing under the porch light in an instant.

For a moment, even Battalion Commander Guo sobered up slightly, stunned.

After a long pause, Lu Changping's wife attempted to ease the tension. "Ah, children these days just don't understand. And Taiwan—it was occupied by the Japanese for so many years. The atmosphere here is different from the mainland..."

Mrs. Guo fretted, "It's late at night—she wouldn't run out of the village, would she?"

Hu Qian also set down his wine cup, frowning at his wife. "Why did you suddenly lose your temper with her? If she said something wrong, we could educate her at home. The way you just acted only embarrassed her in front of everyone."

Shen Tong kept her head lowered in silence. After a while, she stood up. "I'll go find her."

"I'll come too," Yin Wenrang suddenly spoke up. Under the surprised gazes of the others, he pointed at his empty bowl and smiled. "I just finished eating anyway."

The two stepped outside, searching street by street along Xinyi East Village. When they neared the end, Yin Wenrang paused. "She couldn’t have really left the village, could she?"

Shen Tong shook her head. "No, I know her. She acts tough, but she’s not that bold. She knows the village well—she’s probably hiding somewhere."

Just a short distance away, behind a life-sized mailbox, Tai Li sat with her back against the post. She had heard her mother's voice, and the fact that she had been so easily figured out only fueled her frustration. She was about to quietly stand up and run farther away when Yin Wenrang's next words made her freeze, her hands still pressed against the ground.

"You got so angry earlier because of me, didn’t you? Did she ever tell you that my parents and older brother were killed by the Japanese?"

Tai Li's heart jolted, her face burning again—but this time, not from anger.

"She never mentioned it, but Ren Shaobai later told me some things. I pieced together the rest from archives." That was her mother speaking.

Tai Li was baffled, but her heartbeat quickened. A strange premonition came over her—she was about to hear something the adults would never normally tell her.Unaware that her daughter was nearby, Shen Tong continued under Yin Wenrang's astonished gaze, "You enrolled at Qilu University in Huaxiba, Chengdu in the 29th year of the Republic (1940), and were an active member of the reading club at the time. Just as a bright future seemed to unfold before you, the following year brought consecutive blows—first, the girl you admired died in the Chongqing tunnel, then your family back home was killed by the Japanese army. You dropped out of university, became addicted to opium, and were later saved by her. From then on, you followed her, becoming an accomplice on her path of revenge."

Moonlight flickered across Yin Wenrang's face. After a long silence, he chuckled softly and said, "Truly worthy of your background in intelligence—almost flawless. No wonder you once cornered her to the point where she had no choice but to win you over rather than oppose you."

Shen Tong's heart trembled, but she muttered gloomily, "So what? In the end, I couldn’t even handle my own daughter... Wait till you have kids—you’ll be humbled too."

Yin Wenrang replied, "Someone like me probably isn’t suited to raising children."

"Oh, you mentioned earlier that you were always traveling to and from Southeast Asia." Shen Tong assumed he was referring to his unsettled lifestyle and asked, "What about after that? You’ve been in Taichung for over half a year now—still not planning to settle down?"

"Hmm..." Yin Wenrang hesitated, then suddenly seemed to recall something and quickly changed the subject. "Ah, I didn’t mention this earlier, but a few years ago, I ran into Ren Shaobai in Indonesia."

Shen Tong immediately pressed, "When?"

"1965, during the September 30th Incident."

Shen Tong was stunned. Even in Taipei, she knew about the coup and massacre that had erupted in Indonesia due to the "anti-communist movement," along with the diplomatic conflict that broke out with communist mainland China. Why had Ren Shaobai been there?

Before she could ask, Yin Wenrang anticipated her question and explained, "Ren Shaobai was sent as a political counselor by mainland China. Because he had prior experience dealing with Indonesians, he was assigned to help stabilize the embassy and evacuate overseas Chinese."

Shen Tong’s lips parted slightly, momentarily speechless. This was the first time in so many years that she had heard any news about Ren Shaobai after 1950.

"As for why he had dealings with Indonesians—it was because he had once been entrusted to search for the real Lan Youyin’s family, long before that—"

Tai Li, hiding behind the mailbox, was caught off guard as unfamiliar names tumbled out one after another. Fragmented phrases she had overheard as a child in the room next to her parents’ resurfaced. The memory and analytical skills she had unwittingly inherited from her mother sent her mind racing—who was Ren Shaobai? Who was Lan Youyin? And why was there such a prefix before her name?

"That seems to have been the last thing she entrusted him with," Yin Wenrang added.

And who was this "she" (or "he") they kept mentioning?

Then, Tai Li heard her mother’s hesitant voice again: "Could it be they never knew their daughter had already..."

"They thought she had secretly gone to Yan’an back then and didn’t dare speak of it."

Another forbidden word, another long stretch of silence."We should keep looking for Tai Li," Shen Tong broke the silence, glancing up at the half-moon in the sky—too dim to illuminate anything. "I'll go back and get a flashlight. Could you check over there again?"

Yin Wenrang nodded in agreement, watching as Shen Tong hurried back the way they came before slowly turning toward the mailbox not far down the street. Step by step, he approached until he saw Tai Li curled into a ball, hugging her knees. He cleared his throat softly.

Hu Tai Li could no longer play the ostrich. Reluctantly, she raised her head to look at the middle-aged man before her—someone she was meeting for the first time but who carried far more significance than she had imagined, with deep ties to her family.

"I'll keep your secret," he said gently. "But if you have questions, I may not be able to answer them."

Tai Li scrambled to her feet, standing straight in front of him. "No need for the trouble. I'll figure it out myself."

Yin Wenrang wondered why Shen Tong thought this girl bore no resemblance to her.

"But when did you notice me?" Tai Li frowned.

"Not from the start." Yin Wenrang pointed at the mailbox beside them. "I thought this was a trash can—the ones in Taichung and Taipei look different—and I happened to have something to throw away."

Tai Li gave him a strange look before pointing across the street. "That’s the trash can over there."

"Oh!" Yin Wenrang seemed pleasantly surprised. "Wait here a moment." He quickly crossed the street, and Tai Li watched as he pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the bin—which, indeed, was the same color as the mailbox.

When he returned, Tai Li asked, "What did you throw away? Did you carry trash all the way from Taichung?"

Her sharpness startled him again, and perhaps that was why he found himself unwilling to brush off her questions from the start. "An empty medicine bottle."

"What kind of medicine?"

"Strychnine."

Tai Li’s frown deepened. She stared at Yin Wenrang but said nothing.

"I thought you’d ask what that was—"

Before he could finish, a beam of flashlight cut through the darkness from a distance, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Do you need me to keep your secret?" Tai Li asked.

Yin Wenrang paused, then smiled. "Then I’ll trouble Miss Hu for that favor."

On the way home, Tai Li lay slumped in the back seat, eyes closed as if asleep.

Shen Tong, behind the wheel, certainly thought so. She glanced at her daughter in the rearview mirror, then at her husband in the passenger seat. Her earlier speculation about Yin Wenrang’s motives for coming to Taipei had been dismissed, leaving her hesitant about whether to bring up something else she had learned that night.

"Earlier… I didn’t mean to imply you were wrong," Hu Qian said, noticing her hesitation. He sighed, softening his tone. "I’m just worried you’re overthinking things—it’s exhausting. And now that you’ve left that job, knowing less might actually be safer… But I spoke too harshly. I apologize. If there’s anything else you want to say, go ahead. Between us, there shouldn’t be any secrets." He reached out and placed a hand on Shen Tong’s knee, a gesture of reconciliation.Shen Tong listened to him finish, then patted his hand with a faint smile before whispering, "It's about Ren Shaobai... They say he worked at the Chinese Communist Party's embassy in Indonesia a few years ago."

As she spoke, she felt half of Hu Qian's body stiffen. When he turned to look at her, his mouth slightly agape, his expression was likely identical to hers from a few hours earlier.

"After the embassy closed, no one knew where he went. Maybe he returned to the mainland, or perhaps he was reassigned to another country," Shen Tong continued speculating. "Of course, it's also possible he continued intelligence work under diplomatic cover—every country does it, and he... was quite skilled at it."

"If that's the case..." Hu Qian turned his gaze back to the road ahead, speaking slowly, "Well, at least... it's for the best."

"You don't hate him anymore?" Shen Tong asked.

His wife had screamed and lunged forward. At first, he was still conscious, but the next moment, the world spun violently—the sky suddenly felt too close, while the faces and voices around him grew distant.

In the backseat, Tai Li, with her eyes tightly shut, felt the car turn left at an intersection. She knew they were almost home.

"Yes, so many years have passed..."

Of course, days later, when they read in the newspaper about the death of Lieutenant General Liu Zhi of the Republic of China's National Revolutionary Army on January 5th at a convalescent hospital in Taichung, that was another story altogether.

Rumors suggested that before his death, he had exhibited symptoms of convulsions, muscle spasms, and constricted pupils. However, since it occurred at midnight and the deceased had not consumed any food or drink for several hours prior, poisoning was ruled out. The attending physician at the hospital stated that General Liu Zhi had long taken a traditional Chinese tonic containing Nux Vomica, and the symptoms might have been caused by insufficient metabolism of strychnine—also known as brucine—present in the seeds.

In 1948, before assuming the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Xuzhou Bandit Suppression Headquarters, General Liu Zhi had also served as the Commander of the Chongqing Garrison. During his tenure, in June 1941, the Japanese launched a massive air raid on Chongqing, resulting in the infamous Tunnel Tragedy. Liu Zhi was subsequently dismissed and subjected to central investigation, only to be reinstated toward the end of the Anti-Japanese War.

The Kuomintang's "Central News Agency" obituary read: "Merits and faults remain unsettled at the coffin's close; right and wrong shall be judged by posterity."