Hidden Radiance

Raindrops pattered against the windowpane, making a pitter-patter sound.

Lu Minghui removed his right hand from the gun handle, poured the wine glass from his left hand to his right, picked it up, and took a sip.

The spiciness rolled down my throat.

The private room was silent for a few seconds. The singing from the stage outside drifted in through the door, muffled and indistinct.

Lu Minghui put down his wine glass, the bottom of which tapped crisply on the table.

"You want information about Nakajima? What will you give in exchange?"

Gu Yunqiu looked at him, a smirk playing on her lips: "Does Old Zhao's life count? If I hadn't exposed you, you'd still be sitting here drinking, instead of sitting on the torture chair at No. 76."

"That's because you have no evidence," Lu Minghui said calmly. "You dug up the body and buried it. If you go and say anything now, Nakajima will only think you have ulterior motives."

He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on Gu Yunqiu's face.

"Besides, if you reveal your identity, aren't you afraid I'll just arrest you and try to curry favor with Nakajima?"

The two looked at each other.

Lu Minghui rubbed his thumb against the bottom of the glass, circled it slightly along the rim, and stopped.

"Project Sugi," he uttered.

Gu Yunqiu's eyelids twitched, then she pressed them down. "What content?"

"I don't know. Nakajima didn't show me the plan." Lu Minghui took out a cigarette case from his pocket, pulled one out and held it between his fingers, and took out a matchbox with his other hand. "But he gave me a task: to unify the gangs and chambers of commerce in Shanghai. The 76th Division, the Special Higher Police, and even the military police brigade are at my disposal. Money if needed, manpower if needed."

Gu Yunqiu frowned.

"Your judgment?"

"To amass wealth."

stab-

He struck a match. Lu Minghui brought the cigarette closer, the flame flickering on his face.

He flicked out the match, exhaled a puff of smoke, and watched the smoke dissipate.

"Shanghai was the financial center of the Far East. Gangs had illicit funds and thugs, while chambers of commerce had supplies and distribution channels. What Nakajima wanted was not security, but to mold this disorganized group into a treasure trove and supply war materials to the Japanese army."

Gu Yunqiu did not respond.

She looked away from the smoke, glanced down at her watch, and then looked away again.

Lu Minghui noticed her glancing at her watch. He didn't ask any further questions.

"Consider this information something I owe you." Gu Yunqiu picked up her wine glass, raised it, and downed it in one gulp. The strong liquor made her cough.

"I don't owe you anything." Lu Minghui didn't respond, his gaze shifting from her face to the ring of wine stains on the table. "Your people and my people each have their own jobs. Don't cross paths next time."

Gu Yunqiu put down her wine glass, turned around, and opened the door to the private room.

"Commander Lu, it's a pleasure working with you."

The door closed.

Lu Minghui sat on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the doorknob for a long time.

The cigarette burned his fingers. He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, grinding his thumb over the filter a little longer.

Regarding the exchange of passwords, if she didn't mention it, he really couldn't think of a second explanation. But he couldn't completely rule out the possibility that Ono and Nakajima's people had caused the problem.

That night at the vault, Lao Zhao's men were moving goods at the main entrance when she collapsed forty meters away. That location happened to cover the entire moving route.

The person who knocked her unconscious didn't finish her off, didn't search her, and didn't drag her away.

Old Gui's reaction was also a bit strange; it didn't seem like the reaction one would expect when dealing with spies and traitors.

Lu Minghui picked up the wine bottle on the table and shook it. There was still a little over half left. He didn't pour it out, but put the bottle back.

Whether it's true or not, she's already tied herself to him, and he holds her life in his hands. A single word from him could send Nakajima to the interrogation room.

But what if all of this was a scheme orchestrated by Nakajima?

Lu Minghui stood up and walked to the window of the private room. Neon lights shone through the glass onto his face, flashing red and green intermittently.

Ono sealed off the area; although the gold was stolen, it couldn't be transported out of Shanghai. Nakajima's order to kill Old Zhao was given too quickly. It wasn't that he was afraid Old Zhao would talk, but rather that he wouldn't. He was afraid Gu Yunqiu wouldn't be able to interrogate him and would give him away.

If Gu Yunqiu was bait released by Nakajima, then tonight's self-destruction wasn't a negotiation, but rather a prelude to taking the bait.

As long as he doesn't contact the shopkeeper or get involved in Old Zhao's cleanup, Nakajima's side will remain empty-handed.

But Old Zhao's injury couldn't wait. A blank bullet hitting a living person isn't a movie scene. If something went wrong with the shopkeeper, he could lose his life.

Lu Minghui turned around and picked up his trench coat.

It's one in the morning. The rain has stopped.

Lu Minghui drove his Ford sedan around the streets of the French Concession three times.

After confirming there were no tails following him, he didn't go directly to Fukaisen Road. He first drove to Jing'an Temple Road, parked in front of a 24-hour coffee shop, went inside and sat for fifteen minutes, ordered a coffee but didn't drink it. He came out through the back door, walked through two alleyways, and squatted in a dark corner at the third intersection for five minutes.

There were no extra footsteps on the street. The puddles at the entrance of the alley were left undisturbed.

He then turned towards Fürth Road.

We arrived at the back wall of Yongchang Grocery Store.

He grabbed the top of the wall with both hands, used the leverage to flip over, and landed in the backyard.

The backyard was pitch black.

Lu Minghui walked to the back door of the main house, bent his fingers, knocked three times on the wooden door, paused, and then knocked twice more.

The bolt was pulled open. The shopkeeper, dressed in a long gown and carrying a Mauser pistol, looked outside warily.

Upon recognizing Lu Minghui, he stepped aside.

Lu Minghui slipped into the house.

"How is he?"

"His life is saved." The shopkeeper put away his gun, walked to the table, and lit a kerosene lamp, dimming the flame. "The blank cartridge was fired at too close range, and the impact of the blood pack broke a rib. He also hit his head on the ground. He's in the church hospital now, under a false identity."

Lu Minghui pulled out a chair and sat down.

His hands rested on his knees, remaining still. The muscles in his thighs above his knees tensed slightly, then relaxed.

"He can no longer make public appearances. Once he recovers, he should be transferred out of Shanghai immediately."

"That's the organization's intention too." The shopkeeper poured a cup of hot water and handed it over, his thumb pressing firmly on the bottom of the cup. "Old Zhao's contact line is essentially dead. Your position is special, so maintain parallel contact to prevent it from being lost. The higher-ups are assigning a new courier; he'll be coming from the Soviet area and will take a few days."

"Who?"

"I don't know. They'll contact you when they arrive." The shopkeeper shook his head. "Contacts can't overlap. Old Zhao is a special case because we already know each other."

Lu Minghui took a sip of hot water to warm his stomach. He placed the cup on the table and ran his finger along the rim of the cup.

Have you heard of Project Sugi?

The shopkeeper paused in wiping the lampshade, his brow furrowing.

"No. In what way?"

"This was brought up by Nakajima tonight. It involves unifying Shanghai's gangs and chambers of commerce." Lu Minghui put down his cup. "I suspect it's a comprehensive plunder of Shanghai's resources and finances. Report this to your superiors and see if you can find any relevant clues."

"Okay." The shopkeeper nodded, put the lampshade back on, and the flame was stabilized.

"What should we do about Gu Yunqiu?"

"She claims to be one of our people, on another front." Lu Minghui stood up. "Whether it's true or not, right now neither of us can touch the other. Don't contact her, and don't investigate her."

The shopkeeper draped the rag over his shoulder and didn't reply. He glanced at Lu Minghui, his lips moved, but he ultimately didn't speak.

"I know." Lu Minghui walked towards the back door. "The new courier has arrived. Make contact as usual. Don't contact me these next few days unless it's urgent. If it's urgent, have a guy deliver a carton of Lao Dao brand cigarettes to No. 76. Don't tamper with the cigarettes."

Open the door.

"We must remain highly vigilant during this period."

Lu Minghui's figure was swallowed up by the darkness of the alley.

2:30 a.m.

Lu Minghui returned to the apartment. He walked very quietly, bending down to tie his shoelaces at the door. The strand of hair caught in the door crack was still there, and there were no signs of forced entry into the lock.

I pushed the door open and went inside. The lights were off.

I walked to the window, drew the curtains, and then turned on the desk lamp.

I took off my trench coat and hung it on the hanger. I walked to my desk and opened the right-hand drawer.

The items in the drawer were neatly arranged. He picked up the top book, "Three Hundred Tang Poems," and turned to the middle page.

At the page number, a very small circle was drawn with a pencil.

The code for the dead mailbox left by Wang Puchen, a member of the Military Intelligence Bureau.

There's a new task.

This page was clean before I left home yesterday morning. People come during the day.

Lu Minghui closed the book and walked to the mailbox by the door. There was a piece of paper about the size of a stamp pasted on the back of the mailbox.

I returned to my desk and tore off a piece of paper.

A string of numbers was written on the piece of paper.

Lu Minghui found the codebook and deciphered it word by word by comparing the numbers.

Ten minutes later, a line of words appeared on the scrap paper.

"High-ranking Japanese military officers have recently arrived in Shanghai, preparing to carry out an assassination. Detailed intelligence will be sent later."

Lu Minghui stared at the line of text.

Japanese military high-ranking officer.

Shinichi Nakajima said in the tea room tonight, "The plan is not finalized yet. We will discuss it together when the special envoy from the Matsu Agency and the special envoy from the Sugi Studio arrive."

Nakajima will most likely entrust the security of the special envoy's trip to Shanghai to him.

The plan hadn't even been obtained yet. With the envoy dead, the Sugi Project would face new complications. The Japanese plunder wouldn't end with the death of one person; it would only become more frenzied and ruthless.

Lu Minghui picked up a match and struck it. The flame licked the edge of the straw paper before quickly turning to ash.

He swept the ashes into the ashtray, then ground them with his thumb until the powder was embedded in the grooves of his fingerprints.

I turned off the table lamp, and the room fell into darkness.

The clock ticked away.

Lu Minghui lay on the bed, his right hand resting on his chest. Powder from the ashtray still clung to his fingertips.

He rolled over. The gun slid half an inch off the pillow, the butt resting against his ear.

It wasn't pushed back.