Hidden Radiance

The archives had no windows, and the air was filled with the musty smell of old paper.

Lu Minghui stood in front of the tall metal cabinet, his finger tracing across the rows of case file labels.

Safe House No. 2 is located on Fuxu Lane, south of Xiafei Road. It is a detached two-story villa with a separate backyard.

Lu Minghui's gaze moved quickly across the blueprints. The front door, back door, ventilation ducts, and drainage system were all visible.

He took out a piece of white paper and sketched the building's internal structure with a pencil, especially the dead-end alley outside the backyard wall that could only accommodate one person at a time.

After noting down all the dimensions and orientations, fold the white paper and put it in your underwear pocket.

2 PM, Ferguson Road.

The curtain at Yongchang Grocery Store was lifted. Lu Minghui walked in, wearing a black trench coat, and shook the water droplets off his shoulders.

The shopkeeper stood behind the counter, fiddling with an abacus, and glanced up at him.

"Give me two packs of Lao Dao brand." Lu Minghui knocked on the counter.

The shopkeeper turned around, took two packs of cigarettes from the shelf, and pushed them over. "Sir, the rouge from last night wasn't the right color."

"The goods have been switched." Lu Minghui lowered his voice, pressing two banknotes under the cigarette box. "Gu Yunqiu pulled a switcheroo, leaving a death row inmate for No. 76. The real Old Zhao is in safe house number two in Foch Lane in the French Concession."

He then took out the copied drawings and handed them to the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper's hand stopped on the abacus, the clinking of the beads ceased abruptly, and he quickly put away the drawings.

Lu Minghui didn't linger, turning and heading towards the backyard of the general store. The shopkeeper gave his assistant a wink, then followed him into the backyard, casually locking the wooden door behind him.

Several large water vats were piled up in the backyard.

"The person is still in Gu Yunqiu's hands, and there's a constant risk of exposure." The shopkeeper's voice was heavy. "How can we rescue them?"

"We can't force it. That's a safe house belonging to the South Manchuria Railway Company. A direct assault would be tantamount to collecting Old Zhao's corpse." Lu Minghui looked at the gloomy sky reflected in the water tank. "Shinichi Nakajima just gave me a death order. Go to the safe house tonight and silence Old Zhao."

The shopkeeper suddenly looked up.

"This is an opportunity." Lu Minghui's tone was flat. "Give me two blank rounds from a Browning pistol and two blood packs."

The shopkeeper frowned.

"Old Zhao is 'dead' after being shot. You'll handle the rest." Lu Minghui stared into the shopkeeper's eyes. "The South Manchuria Railway agents won't handle the body themselves; they'll delegate it to their subordinates. Your men will go after him. Whether you can get the body back alive depends on your skills."

The shopkeeper gripped the rim of the water vat in front of him, his knuckles turning white.

"Ten o'clock tonight." Lu Minghui spoke very quickly.

"Time is too tight," the shopkeeper said, calculating the manpower needed.

"It has to be done." Lu Minghui turned and walked towards the side gate of the backyard. "If I can't, I'll be exposed."

The wooden door opened.

Lu Minghui disappeared into the shadows of the alleyway.

The shopkeeper stood there for three seconds, then turned around and quickly walked back to the front shop.

Mei's office, section chief's office.

Shinichi Nakajima sat behind a large desk, holding a white cloth and wiping a Japanese military sword. The blade gleamed coldly under the light.

The door was pushed open. Gu Yunqiu walked in and stood still.

"Section Chief."

Nakajima didn't look up; the white cloth slowly slid down the spine of the knife. "Yunqiu, go to the No. 2 safe house in the French Concession tonight."

Gu Yunqiu adjusted his glasses. "Go interrogate that coachman?"

"Go and monitor Lu Minghui." Nakajima put down the white cloth, sheathed his sword, and made a crisp clanging sound.

Gu Yunqiu's pupils contracted slightly. "What's Lu Minghui doing at the safe house?"

"kill."

Gu Yunqiu stepped forward, placing her hands on the edge of the desk. "Section Chief! That rickshaw driver is a key liaison for the Red Party in Shanghai; he controls their network! Give me time, and I'm sure I can get him to talk! Killing him now will cut off all our leads!"

"If the clues go cold, we can look again." Nakajima looked up. "But if he's alive, the Empire might suffer even greater losses."

Gu Yunqiu looked at him, puzzled.

Nakajima stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Gu Yunqiu. "What did you hear him say in the interrogation room?"

"He sang 'The March of the Volunteers'," Gu Yunqiu replied. "I also suspect he used tapping to transmit a code, but I didn't get the codebook and can't decipher it."

"What else?"

There's nothing there.

Nakajima turned around and stared into Gu Yunqiu's eyes. "He came into contact with something he shouldn't have. We don't need to know what it is. He must die."

Gu Yunqiu gritted her teeth, swallowing all her resentment. "I understand. But why send Lu Minghui?"

"Because I need an answer." Nakajima opened a drawer, took out a Nambu Type 14 pistol, and pushed it in front of Gu Yunqiu. "In the gold robbery, the Military Intelligence Bureau suffered heavy casualties but gained nothing, so we can rule out that he was a member of the Military Intelligence Bureau. But whether he is a member of the Communist Party, I am not yet sure."

Nakajima looks directly at Gu Yunqiu.

"Tonight, you'll be in the shadows. If Lu Minghui decisively fires and kills that coachman, he will be the Empire's most loyal blade. The Red Party will never kill its own comrades, especially when rescue is possible."

Gu Yunqiu picked up the pistol on the table and gripped it tightly.

"If he hesitates, or tries to rescue you," Nakajima said coldly, "you shoot. Both of you will die."

"Yes!" Gu Yunqiu holstered the pistol, turned around and strode out of the office.

The night was deep, and a light drizzle fell.

No. 2 Safe House, Foch Lane, French Concession.

This is a dilapidated two-story Western-style building with no streetlights around it.

On the rooftop of a three-story apartment building opposite the Western-style house, Gu Yunqiu lay prone on the waterlogged tiles. She wore a black raincoat and held a Type 97 sniper rifle with an optical scope in her hand.

The gun barrel protruded from the parapet, its crosshairs firmly locked onto the second-floor window of the safe house.

The curtains were drawn, letting in a dim, yellow light.

10 o'clock sharp.

The rain is getting heavier.

A black Ford sedan drove into Foch Lane and stopped in front of the safe house.

The car door opened. Lu Minghui, wearing a black trench coat and holding a black umbrella, stepped out. He didn't look around, but walked steadily towards the gate.

Gu Yunqiu's crosshairs moved from the back of Lu Minghui's head to his shoulder, following his figure all the way to the door.

Lu Minghui folded his umbrella, pushed open the door, and went inside.

The first floor of the safe house was dimly lit, and the air was filled with the smell of musty wood and a faint stench of blood.

Lu Minghui climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor, the steps creaking under his feet. He paused at the corner, listened to the sounds upstairs, and continued upwards.

Push open the door at the end of the corridor.

In the center of the room was an iron chair. Old Zhao was tied to the chair. His tattered cotton-padded coat was soaked with blood, and his head drooped limply on his chest.

Two South Manchuria Railway agents stood on either side. Hearing the door open, the agents warily drew their guns. Only after recognizing who had entered did they put their weapons away.

"Commander Lu." The agent bowed and saluted.

"Chief Nakajima's orders." Lu Minghui took out the special pass from the Mei Agency and handed it over.

The agents checked the passes and then stepped back to either side of the entrance.

"Go outside and wait." Lu Minghui didn't look at them; his gaze fell on Old Zhao.

The two agents exchanged a glance, left the room, and closed the door behind them. The footsteps in the hallway stopped three steps outside the door, not going far.

There were only two people left in the room.

Lu Minghui walked up to Lao Zhao and squatted down.

Old Zhao slowly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, but still clear. When he saw Lu Minghui, the corner of Old Zhao's mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything.

Lu Minghui reached out and pinched Lao Zhao's chin, turning his face to the side as if to confirm his identity. With his other hand, he took out a blood pack from the inside pocket of his trench coat and, using his body as cover, stuffed it into the lining of Lao Zhao's cotton-padded jacket collar.

My fingers slid down the front of the cotton-padded jacket, and the second blood pack was pressed into the cotton wadding on my chest.

The movements were fluid, as if they were checking the prisoner for anything hidden on his person.

Lu Minghui released his grip and stood up.

I walked to the table in the corner and turned on the old-fashioned radio. A crackling sound came from the static, mixed with a woman's voice singing Shanghai opera, the tune drawn out.

He drew the Browning pistol from his lower back.

Click.

The bullet is loaded.

He came to Old Zhao's side, grabbed his head, and pointed the gun barrel at the back of his neck.

boom.

Old Zhao's eyes bulged, and his mouth opened wide as he smiled.

The rooftop across the street.

The rain obscured the view, making it difficult to see clearly.

Gu Yunqiu stared at the blurry figure projected onto the curtain through the scope.

The light cast two shadows on the curtains. One was standing, the other was sitting.

The gunshot rang out, and the person sitting down only swayed slightly.

Gu Yunqiu's finger rested on the trigger, her breathing slowed.

boom.

The second shot.

The person who was sitting fell down.

Gu Yunqiu released her index finger from the trigger and placed it outside the sights. She turned the scope to its maximum magnification and stared at the figure standing on the curtain.

The figure withdrew its arm and turned to walk towards the door.

They walked without stopping or looking back, and not very fast.

Gu Yunqiu kept his eyes fixed on Lu Minghui until an agent returned to report: "He's dead. One bullet to the back of the neck and one to the chest."

"Go and tidy up."

Gu Yunqiu waved her men away and pulled the bolt of her sniper rifle back to the safe position. Rainwater pelted her raincoat and streamed down her hood.

The second floor of the safe house.

Old Zhao fell to the ground, the blood clots on his chest and the back of his head burst open with a muffled sound inside his cotton-padded coat, and dark red liquid seeped out from the tattered cotton and flowed onto the cement floor.

The Shanghai opera was still playing on the radio, the woman's melodious voice drowning out the last silence in the room.