Courtyard House: Home Alone

He turned and walked to the window, his figure as swift as smoke: "Xu Zheng is a master of using others to do his dirty work. His trip to Beiping is ostensibly to contact 'Ghost,' but in reality, he wants to incite you against them..."

He gestured with his lip in the direction Qingsong had left... "Mutual suspicion! Boss Dai's plan has always been to let Beiping rot in the hands of the Japanese rather than fall into the hands of others."

"You all better watch yourselves." Before he finished speaking, his figure had already darted out of the window like a night owl and disappeared among the gray-tiled rooftops.

Several startled pigeons took flight in a flurry, and the lingering sound of their whistles once again pierced the sky—this time only three short, sharp squeaks, like some kind of farewell signal.

Tang Baolin walked to the desk and unwrapped the oilcloth package. Inside was a German-made P38 pistol, still carrying the crisp smell of gun oil, and the magazine was full.

"The Tang family's residence is no longer usable?"

"The Tang family needs it, but we haven't even given Dai a second glance. I want to see which petty scoundrels dare to show their faces." Lin Yifan turned and walked to his desk, took out a map of Beiping from the drawer, and slowly unfolded it under the lamplight.

He suddenly turned his head, a cold glint insipidity beyond his years appearing on his lips: "Xu Zheng needs to know that 'Ghost' already knows he's coming."

"To stir up trouble?"

"Lue the snake out of its hole."

Lin Yifan corrected him, "Boss Dai's men are masters of scheming in the shadows. We'll force him into the open, making him have no choice but to talk to us face-to-face—if we succeed, we'll have another way out in Chongqing; if we fail..."

He didn't finish speaking.

"Xiao Fan,"

The old man suddenly spoke, his voice tinged with weariness, "You're eight years old this year (by the traditional Chinese age reckoning). Do you know what an average eight-year-old is doing?"

"Flying kites, raiding bird nests, and getting slapped on the hand by my husband."

Lin Yifan smiled, a hint of childlike innocence finally returning to his smile. "Grandpa, before my parents left, I went to my teacher's every day, but he never hit my hand."

He raised his hand and examined the small, delicate palm under the lamplight: "Ever since my parents left Beiping, I knew I would never be able to fly a kite again."

Tang Baolin didn't reply. He slowly walked to the door and stood side by side with Lin Yifan on the threshold. In the distance, the bell tower rang again, this time only once, hanging alone in the haze, like a question, or perhaps an answer.

"Old man," Lin Yifan suddenly spoke, "do you regret becoming the spokesperson for 'Ghost'?"

"Regret?" He was silent for a moment, then shook his head and finally spoke, his voice seeming to come from a great distance, "No! Never! Xiao Fan, not only do I not regret it, but I am also very fortunate to be able to do something for the people of Beiping in my lifetime."

"I've killed Western devils, Japanese, traitors, and..."

Tang Baolin paused, "I killed people I shouldn't have. In 1932, I intercepted a shipment of opium at the Tianjin docks. The owner was a member of the Green Gang, and behind him was a minister in Nanjing. I killed seven of them, and lost three fingers myself."

He stretched out his right hand, and sure enough, his ring and little fingers were shorter, with the skin and flesh at the cut points rolled up and already forming hideous scars.

Tang Baolin's voice lowered, "The Green Gang wanted my life, Nanjing wanted my life, and the Japanese wanted my life even more. I could only hide in the shadows, living like a rat."

He suddenly laughed, a laugh that appeared particularly desolate beneath the twisted scars: "But even rats have their ways of living. I helped the 29th Army transport munitions, helped wounded soldiers in the Great Wall Resistance obtain medicine, helped..."

He glanced at Lin Yifan, "You've helped some people who can't be spoken of, and done some things that can't be done."

"So you don't regret it?"

"regret?"

Tang Baolin walked to the window, gazing at the deep night outside. "What I regret is that I've committed too many sins in this life, that I dared not start a family, and that I couldn't leave an heir for the Tang family. What I regret is that I didn't save more of my apprentices back in Jinan. What I regret is..."

He turned around, his gaze piercing as he looked at Lin Yifan: "I don't regret becoming the spokesperson for 'Ghost.' Because in this life, only by hiding behind the name 'Ghost' do I feel like a human being, not a stray dog."

Lin Yifan met the old man's gaze. The flame of the oil lamp flickered in his pupils, like two faint flames.

"Old sir," he began slowly, "do you know why 'Ghost' chose you?"

Tang Baolin did not answer.

"I'm still young and don't know much about your past, but I know about your fighting in tournaments and killing Japanese soldiers. I know you are a true Chinese, so 'Ghost' will choose you..."

Tang Baolin's pupils contracted slightly.

"Xiao Fan," he finally spoke, his voice hoarse, "your parents..."

They are all fine.

Lin Yifan's voice was as calm as if he were stating the weather, "To be honest, I miss my newborn sister a little."

If I hadn't seen the newspaper article about Matsui's ironclad encirclement of Beiping, I might be with my mother and sister right now.

"Oh, right, sir, I have to go now. I need to remind the Red Party to find the mole. Otherwise, our future cooperation..."

Lin Yifan folded the map and put it in his pocket, then turned and walked towards the door. His steps were very light, as if he was afraid of disturbing something, but he stopped at the threshold.

"Sir, you still need to prepare for the banquet on February 1st as usual."

He didn't turn around; his voice, coming from behind, carried a maturity beyond his years: "I want to see the foreign devils, and I want to see the Military Intelligence Bureau too. Let them all think that 'The Ghost' is still playing its game methodically."

"And you?"

"I'm going to find Manager Zhou." As soon as he finished speaking, Lin Yifan's figure had already turned past the screen wall.

He first went to the car, and while no one was in the alley, he put the car into his spatial storage. Then he walked to the road, hailed a rickshaw, and headed towards Xilai Teahouse.

As soon as Lin Yifan entered the teahouse, Yang Weimin, who was in the lobby, greeted him: "Oh, young master, you've arrived. Please come in and have a private seat." With that, he smiled and led Lin Yifan into the back courtyard.

Hearing the noise, Manager Zhou came out from the back room and quietly asked, "Xiao Fan, what brings you here?"

"Let's go inside and talk."

Manager Zhou nodded and turned to lead Lin Yifan into the back room. Entering the private room, they saw Qingsong sitting inside. Lin Yifan smiled: "Mr. Qingsong is indeed here."

"Did you come here specifically to see me, young friend Lin?"

"I'm here to see you two." When he entered the backyard, Lin Yifan used his mental power to scan the entire teahouse and found nothing unusual.

At this point, he went straight to the point and said, "The Skinheads know about the cooperation between 'Ghost' and your party. They received the news as soon as they set off from Qingsong."

Boss Dai has already sent people to Beiping. You don't need to worry about the others; it's just the mole among you...

I hope you can find him as soon as possible. Otherwise, later...

Lin Yifan didn't finish speaking, but the weight of his words was enough. Qingsong's expression instantly turned serious, the teacup in his hand hovering in mid-air, the brown tea sloshing slightly, reflecting his furrowed brows.