Hidden Radiance

late at night.

A brand new safe house in the French Concession.

The telegraph machine ticked away.

Lu Minghui watched the paper kite send a message.

The telegram was extremely brief: Mao Sen has been arrested and is being held under heavy guard by the Mei Agency; there is currently no possibility of rescue. To preserve any remaining fire, please order a period of silence throughout the Shanghai area.

Signed: Shanghai Agent Station Manager, Paper Kite.

After typing the last character, the kite turned off the radio.

"You're forcing the Director to make a statement." Paper Kite lit a cigarette.

"Mao Sen controls 90% of the Shanghai Military Intelligence Bureau's manpower and contact points." Lu Minghui took the draft of the telegram, lit it on a match, and said, "If he utters just one word, the Shanghai Military Intelligence Bureau will be wiped out. I can't handle such a huge burden."

The paper kite watched as the paper rolled into black ash and then said nothing more.

The following morning.

Chengda Company, third-floor office.

Gu Yunqiu pushed open the door and came in, holding an internal briefing from the South Manchuria Railway Company.

"The Japanese East China Expeditionary Army is frequently mobilizing troops." Gu Yunqiu pushed the briefing in front of Lu Minghui.

Lu Minghui glanced at it. Japanese troops were assembling on a large scale along the Jinhua and Quzhou line in Zhejiang.

"This isn't a routine sweep," Gu Yunqiu said in a low voice. "The South Manchuria Railway Dispatch Department received orders to allocate fifty sealed carriages within three days and send them to Hangzhou. The escort level is top-tier."

Lu Minghui raised his head.

"1644".

Gu Yunqiu didn't reply, her fingers tightening around the briefing. She didn't need to. Both of them knew what those numbers meant.

The tragedy in Changde is still fresh in our minds. Once these sealed train cars, filled with special raw materials contaminated with plague and cholera, arrive at the front lines, Zhejiang will become a living hell.

"Warehouse No. 3 in Chengda Courtyard is heavily guarded by Ishihara." Gu Yunqiu frowned. "Those red skull wooden crates that Yamamoto Kenzo brought were also sent in last night. The ink and bacteria are mixed together."

Lu Minghui stood up and walked to the window.

In the courtyard, Major Ishihara was patrolling with his wolfhound.

"Nakajima put all the deadly stuff in Chengda just to muddy the waters," Lu Minghui said. "We need to find a reason to make the door to Warehouse No. 3 open by itself."

late at night.

The back street of the Catholic Church.

The Ford sedan was parked in the shadows. Paper Kite opened the car door, got into the passenger seat, and handed over a deciphered telegram.

Lu Minghui looked in the dim light of the street lamp.

There are only two lines of text.

"The entire Shanghai station is now under the complete control of Zhiyuan, and will remain in indefinite silence. Zhiyuan will decide whether to lift the order. Zhiyuan officially assumes the position of head of the Military Intelligence Bureau's Shanghai station."

"Mao Sen is a pillar of the Party and the State. Save him if you can, kill him if you can't. The special ink must be destroyed, and the Shan Project must be destroyed as soon as possible."

Lu Minghui held the telegram paper, his thumb pressing on the word "kill".

Paper Kitty held a cigarette in his mouth, saying nothing. The only light in the car came from the flickering glow of the cigarette butt.

Lu Minghui took out a match from his pocket and struck it. The telegram burned between his fingers, and black ash scattered through his fingers.

He brushed the dust off his fingertips and started the car.

"How do you blast the ink?" Paper Hawk asked. "Kenzo Yamamoto stays by my side every step of the way."

"Kenzo Yamamoto is human, and humans have weaknesses. Let's deal with Mori's matter first. Nakajima has been keeping him waiting for three days; tonight is the deadline."

For three days, the underground interrogation room of the Mei Agency became a vacuum.

Nakajima gave a strict order: no water or food, and exposure to intense sunlight. No beatings or scoldings, just endurance.

During this period, the area surrounding the Mei Agency was far from peaceful. Military intelligence agents relentlessly attacked from the perimeter—rickshaw pullers crept up the back walls, vegetable delivery drivers hid explosives, and teahouse teachers set up rifles. Three waves came in over three days, and none returned alive. Those who came alive left wrapped in shrouds.

On the evening of the third day.

In the consultant's office.

Nakajima flipped through the kill reports from the past three days and casually tossed them into the trash can.

"Section Chief," Lu Minghui said, standing in front of his desk, "It's been three days. Mao Sen's willpower should have reached its limit."

"He's a tough nut to crack." Nakajima picked up his teacup. "Dai Li's confidants aren't so easily broken. The deaths of these small fry on the periphery will only fuel his fanaticism."

"What does the section chief mean?"

"It's almost done." Nakajima stood up. "He's been sitting around for three days; it's time to serve him the main course. Let's go see our Major General."

Underground torture chamber.

The iron gate was pushed open, and a stench hit us.

Mao Sen was tied to an iron chair. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything for three days; his lips were cracked and peeling, and his eyes were sunken. The 1,000-watt light overhead had left him completely dehydrated, and his clothes were covered in a layer of white salt frost.

Hearing footsteps, Mao Sen struggled to lift his head.

Nakajima walked up to him, pulled up a chair, and sat down. Lu Minghui stood behind Nakajima.

"Mr. Mao," Nakajima handed over a glass of warm water, "It's been three days. Have you thought it through?"

Mao Sen stared at the glass of water, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. He suddenly leaned forward and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto Nakajima's leather shoes.

"Bah!" Mao Sen's voice was hoarse and cracked, "Japanese pirates... kill them if you want."

Nakajima wasn't angry. He took out a handkerchief and slowly wiped the bloodstains off his shoes.

"You think death can solve the problem?" Nakajima threw his handkerchief on the ground. "You burned the telegrams and smashed the radio. But your courier, Zhou Liangguang, has already given away the information about the three safe houses at Shanghai Station."

Mao Sen's pupils suddenly contracted.

"I didn't go to arrest anyone," Nakajima laughed. "I'm waiting. Waiting for those people to come forward on their own. In the past three days, either to save you or to silence you, the Military Intelligence Bureau has already lost seventeen men. All of them were your brothers."

Mao Sen's breathing became rapid, and his chest heaved violently.

"Dai Li has given up on you." Nakajima continued to press the issue. "He only wants you dead now. You're holding on here, but people outside are risking their lives for a pawn."

"You're talking nonsense!" Mao Sen roared.

"Minghui." Nakajima tilted his head.

Lu Minghui stepped forward, took out a stack of photos from his briefcase, and slammed them in front of Mao Sen.

The photo shows the Kuomintang agents who were killed. Their bodies are scattered haphazardly, a gruesome sight.

Mao Sen stared intently at the photo, his eyes bulging.

"Mr. Mao," Lu Minghui looked down at him, his tone flat, "the Empire's patience is limited. If you don't speak up, the number of people in the photos will only increase day by day."

He rested his right hand on the photograph, his index and middle fingers tapping the table casually.

The rhythm of the tapping is uneven. Two short taps, one long tap, one short tap.

During the intervals between the knuckle tapping, the ring finger also moves, but the movement is so subtle that it is almost imperceptible.

Mao Sen's eyeballs shifted slightly. It was a fleeting, almost imperceptible movement.

He then turned back and stared intently at Lu Minghui's face.

"Traitorous dog!" Mao Sen suddenly looked up, veins bulging on his neck.

"Lu Minghui!" He struggled violently, the chains rattling, his voice cracking, the sound booming from deep within his chest, "You'll die a horrible death! Your whole family will die a horrible death!"

Saliva mixed with blood and foam flew out and splattered on the front of Lu Minghui's trench coat.

Lu Minghui remained expressionless. His jawline was taut, and his masseter muscles twitched twice.

Nakajima stood up.

"Give him some salt water," Nakajima ordered. "Keep him alive. Starting tomorrow, I want him to spit out the list of the Shanghai Military Intelligence Bureau, word by word."

Nakajima turned and walked out of the interrogation room.

Lu Minghui stopped in his tracks.

Two military policemen came over carrying a basin of salt water and grabbed Mao Sen's chin.

Mao Sen clenched his teeth and stared intently at Lu Minghui's face, past the military policeman's shoulder.

Lu Minghui looked at him.

He turned around and walked towards the iron gate.

The moment he stepped out of the door, a piercing alarm suddenly sounded from the end of the corridor.

The red warning lights throughout the entire Meiji Agency lit up.

Nanzo Yunzi came running over in her military boots, her face ashen.

"Section Chief!" Nanzo Yunko rushed to Nakajima, her voice trembling. "Something's happened at Chengda Company!"

Lu Minghui stopped in his tracks.

"Warehouse No. 3..." Nanzo Yunko gasped for breath, "Major Ishihara is dead."

The sirens ripped through the night sky.

Lu Minghui's left hand, which had been clenched in his pocket all night, slowly loosened at this moment. His ring and little fingers remained stiff and motionless in his palm.

The door to Warehouse No. 3 should be opened.