Hidden Radiance

Outside the Broadway Building.

The night breeze from the Huangpu River rushed into my collar, carrying the distinctive salty smell of the river.

Li Shiqun was dragged down the steps by two Special Higher Police officers, who were holding his arms. His face was ashen, and his lips were taut as a white line. His Adam's apple bobbed twice, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Lin Zhijiang stood on the bottom step, carrying the briefcase containing the ruby ​​necklace in both hands. His hands trembled violently, and the corner of the briefcase repeatedly hit his kneecaps with a dull thud.

She Aizhen raised her left hand, spread her fingers, and pressed down.

The guards lowered their guns in unison and retreated to both sides of the street.

Browning tucked his hands back into his waistband. Her gaze swept across Li Shiqun's face, her lips twitched slightly, but she remained silent. Her right hand slid into her trench coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Sanpaotai cigarettes, flicked one out, lit it, and struck a match. The light illuminated half her face, the other half hidden in shadow.

Nanzo Yunzi put on her military overcoat and walked towards the car.

He took two steps, stopped, and turned around.

"Mr. Minghui." She looked at Lu Minghui, "Director Li caused trouble at the Special Higher Police, so I took him back to Hongkou. Dinner tonight was very pleasant."

Lu Minghui walked down the steps and stopped half a step in front of the car door.

"Li Shiqun is a mad dog; he'll bite if you push him too far. I'll give it to you."

"No need." Nanzo Yunzi raised her hand, clad in a black lace glove, and gently blocked the way. "Akira-kun, please get some rest. I'll thank you another day."

The car door closed.

The taillights turned the corner, and the red light disappeared into the rain and mist.

Lu Minghui stood on the steps, his gaze fixed on the direction in which the car had disappeared.

Across the street, two black sedans were parked. Ten minutes ago, Nanzo Yunzi brought three vehicles with her. Now only one remained.

The other two were empty.

He glanced at both sides of the Broadway Building entrance. The plainclothes officers who had been standing behind the pillars smoking were gone. All the available manpower had been withdrawn, leaving only the bare minimum personnel to escort Li Shiqun.

Lu Minghui turned around abruptly.

Instead of heading towards the Ford, he crossed the street and pushed open the folding door of the corner phone booth.

Insert coin. Dial.

Two beeps, connection established.

"My car is wrecked, please drive it to the repair shop for me." He spoke very quickly.

"Understood." Gu Yunqiu's voice was completely flat.

Click. The call ended.

I pulled up the collar of my trench coat and slipped into a dark alley without streetlights.

At the end of the alley, a bicycle was parked with the lock loosely fastened—one of the backup transportation points that Gu Yunqiu had set up throughout the French Concession.

Step on, grip the handlebars with one hand, and pedal with all your might.

The sling on my left arm swayed with the bumps, and with each step, the vibrations traveled up my spine to my shoulder blades. The pain in my bones grew sharper and sharper with each jolt.

The front wheels rolled over the puddles, causing the bike to slip. He gripped the frame tightly with his knees and managed to keep it steady.

Three streets. Four streets.

My ears were ringing, and cold sweat trickled from my temples into my collar.

Six streets.

He abandoned his car at the intersection of Xiafei Branch Road and sneaked in close to the wall.

The border between the French Concession and the International Settlement. The road with the fewest checkpoints when walking back to the heart of the French Concession from the Broadway Building.

If you're going to take action, do it right here.

Xiafei Branch Road.

Wang Puchen walked on the slippery bluestone slabs.

She Aizhen exposed his identity to his face, but did not take any further action.

Warning.

She wanted to defect to the Military Intelligence Bureau?

Wang Puchen quickened his pace. His right hand had already slipped into his suit's inner pocket, gripping the handle of a Browning pistol.

The streets were deathly silent. Two streetlights were broken, and only a sliver of cold light from the distant neon lights shone through, reflecting a dark red glow onto the puddles on the ground.

Around the corner ahead, there was a black sedan with its engine still running. White smoke was billowing from the exhaust pipe.

He didn't recognize that car.

Wang Puchen paused in his steps.

Use your thumb to release the safety and your index finger to press against the trigger guard.

Behind them, three people emerged from the shadows.

They were all wearing black raincoats and carrying the Nambu Type 14.

Extracurricular activities for students with special needs.

"Mr. Chen," the lead plainclothes officer said in broken Chinese, "come with us."

Wang Puchen didn't waste any words.

Draw gun. Turn around. Pull the trigger.

boom!

The leader of the plainclothes officers exploded in a cloud of blood from his chest and crashed backward onto the bluestone slab.

Gunfire ripped through the night. Two other men opened fire simultaneously. The door of the car in front was flung open, and four men jumped out, brandishing Type 100 submachine guns.

Wang Puchen rolled on the spot and shrank behind a rusty tin trash can.

The bullets clanged against the metal, sparks flying all over my face. Shards of metal grazed my arm, leaving a cut.

They're completely surrounded.

He removed the empty magazine, took out a spare from his waist, and clicked it up.

The enemy's firepower was too intense. Submachine guns fired in crisscrosses, blocking all escape routes. Several holes were punched through the metal barrel, and bullets flew past our ears.

"Take them alive!" (Japanese)

Two plainclothes officers, armed with guns, took turns providing cover as they approached him.

five meters.

Four rounds left in the magazine. Six people on the other side.

Wang Puchen gripped the gun handle tightly, his back pressed against the metal barrel. Four bullets—once they were gone, it was certain death.

He clenched his back teeth and pressed his thumb against the hammer.

Just then—

Flames spewed from the side of the alley, atop the low wall.

boom! boom! boom!

The first shot hit the back of the head of the plainclothes officer approaching Wang Puchen, sending him tumbling into a puddle. The second shot pierced the shoulder blade of another plainclothes officer, who spun halfway before falling. The third shot swept past the gunman on the side, striking his ribs, causing him to bend over and drop the gun.

The remaining plainclothes officers turned their guns and unleashed a hail of fire at the low wall. Submachine guns shattered bricks on the wall, sending rubble flying.

The wall was too thin. The bullet pierced through the brickwork, and rubble rained down on Lu Minghui's face.

I can't hold on any longer.

His right hand gripped the wall tightly, using the protrusions in the brickwork to drag his body to the side. His left arm hung limply, the sling digging into his flesh, the newly set bone sending a sharp, shattering pain through him.

He gritted his teeth and climbed over the wall, landing on the other side of the alley.

His knee slammed into the broken bricks. A burst of bullets swept across the wall, but missed.

It rolled to the side and just managed to roll into the back of a cart at the edge of the alley.

Three holes were punched through the wooden plank, and debris splattered all over his face.

Lu Minghui half-squatted, wiping away the wood shavings from the corner of his eye with his right hand. He clenched his fist, his fingertips going numb, and forced himself to relax.

The muzzle of the Colt M1911 protruded from the edge of the cart.

boom!boom!

Two plainclothes officers armed with submachine guns fell to the ground.

The last one, hiding behind the car, stuck half his body out, aiming his gun at the trash can—Wang Puchen had just poked his head out.

Lu Minghui rushed out from behind the cart.

Take a big step to the side to gain a firing angle. The muzzle of the gun is locked on the opponent's head.

The other person caught sight of him out of the corner of their eye. The gun barrel suddenly veered off course.

Both men pulled the trigger at the same time.

boom!boom!

The bullet struck Lu Minghui's left arm. His cloth suspenders were instantly soaked in blood, and the torn muscle twisted open. The bullet shattered the unhealed bone, and excruciating pain exploded from the bone; his vision went white for a moment.

My body swayed. My knees almost buckled.

But the trigger had already been pulled.

His bullet pierced the car window and struck the other man squarely in the face.

The alley was quiet.

Only the car engine was still idling, its exhaust pipe emitting white fumes that blended into the night fog.

Wang Puchen stood up from behind the trash can. He lowered his gun, looking at the corpses scattered on the ground, then at the blood gushing from Lu Minghui's left arm.

Lu Minghui tucked the Colt back into his waistband. He pulled half a box of Old Knife brand cigarettes from his pocket with his right hand, and bit off a lighter with his teeth. The lighter's flint took three strikes to produce a flame—his fingers were trembling.

He crouched down and pulled open the collar of the raincoat of the corpse closest to him. Underneath, the body was dressed in dark civilian clothes, with half a piece of cardboard protruding from the left breast pocket. Lu Minghui pulled it out with two fingers—an operation order for the Special Higher Police's field operations, stamped with the newly engraved section chief's seal in the issuer section.

He stuffed the order back into the body's pocket.

He was leaning against the hood of the car. Not standing, but supporting himself.

The firelight illuminated his bloodless face. His left arm hung limply at his side, blood trickling down his sleeve, dripping from his fingertips into the puddle at his feet. Drop after drop.

"Kite." Wang Puchen walked over, his throat dry. "You—"

"You can't be hurt." Lu Minghui exhaled a puff of smoke, his voice much softer than usual. "If the string breaks, the kite is ruined."

Wang Puchen leaned against the wall, his chest heaving violently.

"Nanzo Yunzi Qian?"

"She wants Lita Bank. And she wants you too." Lu Minghui leaned against the car door, his right hand pressing tightly against the top of his left arm. "Catching you is a military achievement. She wants to have her cake and eat it too."

"How did she know my whereabouts?" Wang Puchen lowered his voice. "No more than five people know."

"There's a ghost around you." Lu Minghui stared into his eyes. "She received the news as soon as you arrived in Shanghai. The rendezvous point was also cleared out."

Wang Puchen clenched his back teeth.

"Don't trust anyone except the kite." Lu Minghui pointed to the corpse on the ground with his cigarette-holding finger. "Even She Aizhen recognizes your face. This is where you die. Get out of here now."

Wang Puchen remained silent for a few seconds.

"Brother Lu," he changed his form of address, his tone heavy, "Your kindness is beyond words."

"By water. Tomorrow morning at six o'clock, at the Shiliupu Wharf." Lu Minghui stubbed out his cigarette and put it in his pocket. "Wan Molin has arranged a boat. We'll go straight back to Chongqing."

Wang Puchen nodded and turned to walk into the depths of the night.

Lu Minghui watched his figure disappear into the alleyway.

My body slid down the car door. The pain in my left arm pierced deeper, and dark shadows appeared at the edge of my vision.

He pressed his right hand firmly against the wound and stood up straight, gritting his teeth.

I walked towards the other end of the alley. Each step was slower than the last.

French Concession. Safe house.

Gu Yunqiu cut open Lu Minghui's sleeve.

The flesh was a bloody mess. Bone fragments were mixed in with the rotting flesh, and white bone shards were embedded in the dark red muscle tissue.

She didn't say anything. She unscrewed the cap of the alcohol bottle and poured it directly onto the wound.

Lu Minghui leaned back in his chair, his forehead covered in cold sweat. He didn't make a sound, only his breathing became heavy, and his chest heaved more and more.

The tweezers probed into the wound. The sound of metal hitting the bullet was very faint. Lu Minghui's right hand suddenly gripped the armrest of the chair, his knuckles turning white.

Gu Yunqiu exerted force with her wrist and pulled sharply.

Clang.

The deformed bullet fell into the enamel plate, along with a small piece of bone.

"The car has crashed into a utility pole," Gu Yunqiu said while threading a needle. She glanced at the blood seeping from her left arm, picked up a piece of gauze, gathered it below the wound, folded it, and put it in the metal box. "Have someone smear this on the steering wheel later."

"Well done." Lu Minghui closed his eyes.

"The Colt cartridge cases will remain at the scene." Gu Yunqiu's tone was flat, but his hand holding the needle tightened a little more than usual.

"There are no fewer than three hundred people in Shanghai using Colts," Lu Minghui said softly, his eyes closed. "She can't trace it back to me. But she'll remember."

Gu Yunqiu tied a knot and cut the stitches. The bandage was wrapped tightly, round and round. On the last round, her fingers paused for a moment longer, and the pressure was much lighter than before.

"You can let me meet you." Gu Yunqiu put away the tweezers and pushed the enamel plate to the corner of the table. She wiped her hands on her apron twice, but the bloodstains didn't come off, so she wiped them again.

Lu Minghui turned his head away. "Take me to the Hongkou Military Police Hospital. The official story is—a car accident where I crashed into a utility pole, and someone took advantage of the chaos to open fire and rob me; I was shot. Have Wan Molin make arrangements with the police station to ensure the police report is properly filed."

He glanced at the deformed bullet in the enamel plate and fell silent.

Wang Puchen knew Shanghai was a dangerous place, yet he still showed up in person. The fifty boxes of penicillin were just a pretext; what he truly wanted—was it related to the Litai Bank or the Black Dragon Society?

Hongkou. Special Higher Police.

Nanzo Yunzi sat behind her desk. Li Shiqun was locked in the basement; she didn't go to interrogate him.

The phone on the table rang.

He answered the receiver. "Speak."

"Section Chief, Operation Xiafei Branch Road has failed." Takeda's voice came through, unable to hide his shock. "All seven field agents were killed in action. The target escaped."

Nanzo Yunko's hand holding the receiver remained still.

"Who did it?"

"A third party intervened. Colt M1911 shell casings were found at the scene." Takeda paused for a moment. "The marksmanship was extremely precise; most of our men were killed with a single shot. There was also a pool of blood on the ground—the third party was also wounded."

Nanzo Yunzi hung up the phone.

She stood up and walked to the window. Her deep purple evening gown was reflected in the glass.

Colt. Precision shot. Wounded.

He turned around, his gaze falling on the action log on the table. Lu Minghui's Ford hadn't returned to No. 76 after he left the Broadway Building that evening.

There was a knock on the door.

The adjutant pushed open the door and came in, looking hurried.

"Chief, a call from the military police hospital's emergency room. Chief Lu Minghui's car crashed into a utility pole in the French Concession, seriously injuring his left arm. He's been admitted to the hospital. The people from No. 76 reported the incident."

Nanzo Yunzi turned around.

He looked at his adjutant, his expression blank. But his right hand was already reaching for the military overcoat on the hanger.

"Prepare the car."

The military overcoat was draped over the evening dress, and the buttons were fastened one by one, very slowly.

"To the military police hospital." She opened the door and continued walking.

The adjutant followed behind, hesitatingly speaking, "Section Chief, the cleanup of the Xiafei Branch Road—"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow." Nanzo Yunko didn't even turn her head. "Let's go see Akira-kun first. I'm worried about his left arm injury."

As I walked to the end of the corridor, my high heels clicked softly on the wooden floor.

The hem of the evening gown peeked out from under the military overcoat, the deep purple silk gleaming coldly under the lights.

Car accident. Left arm. Colt.

Her steps faltered for a moment.

During dinner tonight, his hand was very steady when he held the wine glass in his right hand.