Courtyard House: Home Alone

"Is the news confirmed?" Qingsong put down his teacup, his voice extremely low.

"Sure."

Lin Yifan took a sip of tea: "The Military Intelligence Bureau's men arrived today. Their name is Xu Zheng, a confidant of Boss Dai. This man is adept at using others to do his dirty work; his purpose in coming is unclear."

Shopkeeper Zhou gasped and instinctively looked out the window. The sycamore tree in the backyard was bare, its branches resembling countless withered hands in the hazy sky.

"Old Zhou is in charge of sending the messages, while the receiver is on a separate machine. I'll find out when I set off..."

Qingsong's fingers tapped unconsciously on the table. "The problem might be at the base. No, I have to contact Mr. immediately and tell him about this."

Old Zhou, you should also think carefully about whether there are any loopholes on your side.

Lin Yifan glanced at the two of them and said, "If you want to use the telegraph machine, you can use it directly. After all, Beiping is in our hands now, so there's no need to worry about the Japanese and the Military Intelligence Bureau."

"I can't help with this, so I'll be going now?"

Qingsong and Manager Zhou exchanged a glance, their expressions both somewhat complicated. Manager Zhou spoke first, his voice hesitant: "Xiao Fan, thank you for making this special trip."

Lin Yifan put down his teacup, the porcelain bottom touching the wooden table with a soft sound.

"No need. You and 'Ghost' are now in a cooperative relationship, and this matter involves your cooperation as well. I hope you can find the mole as soon as possible. Also, don't delay Number One's banquet." After saying that, he turned and walked out of the private room.

As Qingsong watched the small figure disappear behind the curtain, he suddenly whispered, "Old Zhou, do you really think this child... is eight years old?"

Manager Zhou did not answer immediately. He walked to the window, pulled the curtains open a crack, and watched Lin Yifan's figure appear in the backyard and then disappear through the side door leading to the teahouse.

"Eight years old or not, you know Old Lin, don't you?"

Shopkeeper Zhou loosened the curtains. "The person who can make Old Master Tang willingly stand half a step behind him, the person whom 'Ghost' would entrust with his life and fortune... we'd better not speculate."

Qingsong gave a wry smile, took out a small notebook from his pocket, and quickly scribbled something with a pencil: "I'll draft a telegram now. The matter of the base area needs to be handled personally by you, sir."

Whom do you suspect?

"Suspect?"

Qingsong continued writing, "From the moment I learned of the cooperation, no fewer than twenty people handled it. Confidential clerks, couriers, codebreakers, and..."

He paused, then added, "And a few of the commanders' staff officers."

Manager Zhou's expression changed: "Advisor?"

"The least likely person is often the most likely."

Qingsong tore off the page and checked it again. "Old Zhou, you send the message here. I'll personally go to the liaison point in the south of the city. If there really is a mole in the base, our telegrams might be intercepted—we'll have to use the backup code."

"Is the backup password only known to you and your husband?"

"I still have you."

Qingsong handed over the paper, his fingers trembling slightly. "Codebook No. 3, put into use in 1937, has only been used three times since."

Shopkeeper Zhou took the paper, but didn't look at it immediately. His gaze fell on the cup of tea that had gone cold, a thin film forming on the surface of the tea.

"Green pine,"

He suddenly spoke up, "What if... I mean, what if the mole was high enough to have access to Code Number Three?"

Qingsong stopped packing his briefcase.

A gust of north wind howled outside the window, making the windowpanes creak and rattle. The two fell silent at the same time, as if countless ears were hidden in the sound of the wind.

"That's beyond our control."

Qingsong finally said, his voice barely audible, "We need to ask 'Ghost'... to ask that young master to speak with the gentleman in person."

He picked up his briefcase, turned up the collar of his wool coat to cover half his face: "I have to be back before the banquet. Xu Zheng wants to see 'Ghost,' and we need to know exactly how many cards the Military Intelligence Bureau holds."

Shopkeeper Zhou nodded and put the telegram into his pocket. He escorted Qingsong to the back gate, watching the thin figure disappear around the corner of the alley with two guards before turning back to the telegraph room.

The telegraph machine was hidden in a secret compartment in the teahouse's accounting room. Manager Zhou moved the dusty statue of the God of Wealth, revealing a narrow door behind it, barely wide enough for one person to pass through. The space inside was cramped; a wooden table, a chair, and a machine covered with an oilcloth were all the owner's possessions.

He lifted the tarpaulin and hovered his finger over the telegraph key for a moment.

The third codebook was locked in an iron box in the corner, the key kept close to his body. Manager Zhou took out the codebook and, comparing it with the telegram written by Qingsong, began to translate it word by word. His movements were slow, each stroke extremely cautious, as if the letters were not lying on the paper, but floating on the tip of a knife.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock—"

The sound of the telegraph machine was particularly jarring in the confined space. As he sent the message, Manager Zhou glanced at the door out of the corner of his eye. The narrow door was half-open, and through the crack, he could see the dim yellow light from the accounting room and the ever-smiling golden face of the God of Wealth.

The telegram was short, but it took a full fifteen minutes to send. With each pause, Manager Zhou would listen intently to the sounds outside the door; with each keystroke, he would confirm that there were no suspicious figures outside the window.

Finally, the last character was sent. Manager Zhou breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't immediately shut down the computer. Following procedure, he sent another string of meaningless gibberish—an old trick to confuse eavesdroppers; even if someone intercepted it, it would be difficult to determine when the real message ended.

Just as he was about to get up, the telegraph machine suddenly started beeping on its own.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock—tick-tock—"

Manager Zhou froze. This was a signal being received, and in plaintext—the base only used plaintext calls in the most urgent situations.

He rushed to the machine, grabbed a pencil, and began scribbling rapidly on the telegram. The symbols of varying lengths transformed into words under his pen, each character like a red-hot ember, burning his fingertips.

"The mole has been identified. Codename 'Grey Rat,' deputy director of the Confidential Affairs Department. He has been apprehended."

Manager Zhou stared at the line of text, reading it three times before finally letting out a sigh of relief. Then he took out another telegram from his pocket and sent it to the base.

This is the detailed content of today's discussion with 'Ghost'.

Back home, Lin Yifan was leaning against the daybed, enjoying the grapes that Qiuju had fed him (produced in the space and stored in the cellar). Xia He was squatting beside him, massaging his legs, while Chunxing stood by, talking about things in the yard.

Since these three girls came to Lin Yifan's house, they have been eating and dressing well. Over this period of time, their complexions have become much rosier, and even their originally dry and yellow hair has become shiny.

Looking at the three beautiful girls in front of him who hadn't fully grown up yet, he had a burst of fantasies. What bad luck! He had to transmigrate into a child's body, and now he couldn't play all those fun games he wanted to play.

Although my soul has transmigrated and my body has been significantly strengthened in every way, this is still not something a child can play with! Forget it, there's no point in thinking about it.