Hidden Radiance

Shinichi Nakajima whirled around, the armchair sliding back half a meter from his impact, the screeching sound drowning out the alarm.

"Ishihara is dead?" Nakajima stared at Nanzo Yunko, his eyes twitching.

"Just received a call. The door to Warehouse No. 3 is wide open, and Major Ishihara is dead." Nanzo Yunko spoke very quickly, a layer of sweat beading on her forehead.

Nakajima kicked over the brazier in front of him.

The charcoal chunks rolled down, sparks flying everywhere.

He turned to look at Mao Sen, who was tied to the iron chair. Mao Sen's head was hanging low, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, as if he had already fainted.

"Send an additional company of military police to guard the interrogation room! Anyone who approaches will be killed on sight!" Nakajima strode out of the iron gate. "Minghui, Yunzi, come with me to Chengda!"

Lu Minghui turned around and followed.

Three black cars sped out of Meiji, their tires screeching as they screeched through the flooded streets.

Lu Minghui sat in the passenger seat, watching the windshield wipers swish wildly.

Ishihara is dead.

Warehouse No. 3 was guarded like a fortress by Ishihara, with three wolfhounds on the inner perimeter and two sentry posts on the outer perimeter. Ishihara was the only one with the key.

With this level of defense, forcing your way in is absolutely impossible.

The convoy braked suddenly in the Chengda Company compound.

The searchlights illuminated the entire backyard in a stark white light. The iron gate of Warehouse No. 3 was wide open.

All twelve military police officers on duty lay dead in the rain. There was no blood, no gunshot wounds.

Nakajima opened the car door and strode over.

Kenzo Yamamoto stood in front of the warehouse door. He was still wearing that gray suit, carrying a black briefcase in his left hand and a white rubber glove on his right, looking down at a corpse on the ground.

Major Ishihara.

Ishihara lay face up inside the iron gate. His eyes bulged, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. His mouth was wide open, his jaw dislocated. A very thin glass tube was inserted into the right side of his neck.

The tube is empty.

Lu Minghui stepped forward and squatted down.

He didn't touch the body. His gaze fell on the glass tube.

Injection needles for medical ampoules.

A single blow pierces the carotid artery, injecting the lethal agent directly into the bloodstream. Death occurs within three seconds. There's no chance to even draw the knife.

The three wolfhounds lay in the corner, foaming at the mouth. Poisoned.

"Mr. Yamamoto," Nakajima said, his voice deep as he approached the door, "this is your ink transport officer."

Kenzo Yamamoto raised his head, his eyes filled with malice.

"Advisor Nakajima, is this the absolute security you assured the Army Headquarters?" Kenzo Yamamoto stepped aside, giving him a view of the warehouse interior.

It was a complete mess inside.

The wooden crates containing the special ink had been rummaged through. But the real problem lay with the crates bearing the red skull and crossbones logo.

The topmost skull-shaped wooden crate had been pried open. The planks were broken. Sawdust, which had been used for shock absorption, was scattered all over the floor.

empty.

Nakajima stood frozen at the doorway.

He pushed aside Kenzo Yamamoto, rushed into the warehouse, and stared intently at the empty wooden crate.

"The ink isn't missing," Yamamoto Kenzo said coldly from outside the door. "But one box of your special supplies is missing. Advisor Nakajima, you mixed the 1644th Unit's supplies with my ink, attracting thieves. If the ink is lost, you'll pay with your life."

Nakajima turned around, his eyes bloodshot.

"Investigate!" Nakajima roared. "Block out Chengda Company! Not a single fly is allowed to escape!"

Nanzo Yunko immediately led a group to check on the fallen military police.

Lu Minghui remained squatting beside Ishihara's corpse.

His gaze shifted from Ishihara's neck to the ground.

Rainwater washed over the cement ground.

Ishihara clenched his right hand into a fist.

Lu Minghui put on gloves and pried open Ishihara's stiff fingers.

He held a brass button in his palm.

The button has a fine serration around its edge. It's not a standard Japanese military uniform button, nor is it a button from a regular suit.

Decorative buttons on the cuffs of Manchuria Railway uniforms.

Lu Minghui's hand stopped there.

Behind her, Nanzo Yunzi's military boots waded through the puddles, getting closer and closer.

"Section Chief, the military policeman who's fallen to the ground—"

Lu Minghui braced himself with his left hand on the ground, leaning forward slightly to block Ishihara's right hand. With a flick of his right thumb, a button slid into his sleeve.

When he stood up, Nanzo Yunko had already walked three steps away.

Lu Minghui took off his gloves and turned to face her.

"How is it?" he asked.

Nanzo Yunko's gaze swept across his face and landed on Ishihara's corpse.

"The military police still have gas, it's from a strong anesthetic," she reported. "But they didn't see anything. The anesthetic gas was pumped in through the ventilation duct upwind."

Lu Minghui nodded and walked to Nakajima's side.

"Section Chief," Lu Minghui said, "the door lock is intact. Ishihara opened the door himself."

Nakajima suddenly turned to look at him.

"The outer military police were drugged with anesthetic gas, the wolfhound died from poisoned flesh, and Ishihara was killed with an ampoule-poisoned needle, one shot was enough to kill him." Lu Minghui pointed to the shards of glass on the ground, "The person who came here understands pharmacology, he's an expert."

Nakajima gritted his teeth.

Lu Minghui didn't continue. He simply looked into Nakajima's eyes and paused for two seconds.

"The most crucial question is—why did Major Ishihara open the door by himself in the middle of the night?"

After saying that, Lu Minghui shut up.

Nakajima's brow twitched.

Midnight. Warehouse No. 3. The fully armed guards were taken down. Ishihara opened the iron gate himself.

Who can get Ishihara to open the door?

Does anyone know what's in the warehouse?

Who was recently kicked out of Chengda and is holding a grudge?

Nakajima gripped the riding whip so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Inoue Muneo." He squeezed out the name through gritted teeth.

Lu Minghui did not respond.

Nakajima recalled the negotiations two days prior. Inoue Muneo had readily conceded 70% of the profits. That wasn't a concession at all.

They were secretly removing the ladder.

"Section Chief," Lu Minghui spoke when Nakajima was at his most emotional, "Warehouse No. 3 can no longer be guarded by the military. With Ishihara dead, the defenses have collapsed. Mr. Yamamoto's ink is still inside. If something else happens, no one can afford the consequences."

Nakajima turned to look at Lu Minghui.

Lu Minghui met his gaze calmly. He had spent the entire night at the Mei Agency, accompanying Nakajima in interrogating Mao Sen.

"Minghui," Nakajima ordered, "From now on, Warehouse No. 3 is under your complete control. All security personnel will be replaced by the Special Operations Team of 76. Without my order, no one, including the military, is allowed to approach the warehouse."

"Yes." Lu Minghui stood at attention.

Kenzo Yamamoto snorted coldly, picked up the briefcase, and turned to walk towards the office building.

Nakajima left Nanzo Yunko to handle the scene, while he got into his car, seething with anger. He was going to the Naval Club immediately to demand Inoue Muneo's return.

Only Lu Minghui and the Special Higher Police remained in the courtyard.

Lu Minghui stood in the rain.

He raised his right hand and touched the brass button inside his sleeve through the fabric.

Gu Yunqiu.

She's gone mad.

Lu Minghui turned around and strode towards the office building.

The second-floor corridor was deathly silent.

The door to the finance office was ajar. The lights were off.

Lu Minghui pushed open the door and locked it behind him.

In the darkness, a strong smell of alcohol and a very faint smell of blood wafted over.

Lu Minghui didn't press the switch. He walked to the window and drew the heavy curtains.

Light a match.

A faint light appeared.

Gu Yunqiu leaned against the shadows behind her desk.

She took off her heavily armored coat, leaving her in only a white shirt. The right sleeve of the shirt was rolled up to her elbow, and a bandage was wrapped around her forearm. The bandage was oozing blood.

She held a Browning pistol in her hand, the muzzle hanging down beside her legs.

The match burned out when it reached the end of its life.

The room fell into darkness again.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Lu Minghui's voice rang out in the darkness, deep and heavy.

"Cut off the source of the poison." Gu Yunqiu's voice was a little hoarse, but very steady.

"Just you alone?"

"Lu Xuzhang had injected anesthetic into the pre-installed interface of the ventilation duct beforehand. A Bing was equipped with poisoned needles and poisoned flesh." Gu Yunqiu's breathing was a little heavy. "I just need to wait for the military police to fall down, then climb in through the window."

Lu Minghui walked to the table.

"You killed Ishihara."

"He heard the dog stop barking, so he came out with his keys to check," Gu Yunqiu's voice came from the depths of the darkness. "I jumped down from above the ventilation duct and gave him a shot."

She paused for a moment.

He pulled out his knife and slashed me.

"Where are the things?" Lu Minghui asked.

"I destroyed them," Gu Yunqiu said. "I pried open the wooden box and smashed all the petri dishes inside into an iron drum filled with high-concentration disinfectant. They turned into water."

Lu Minghui remained silent.

Right there in Warehouse No. 3, the box of toxic bacteria was destroyed on the spot.

"You think you've done a clean job?" Lu Minghui pulled the button out of his sleeve and threw it on the table.

when.

The brass struck the wooden tabletop with a crisp sound.

"Before Ishihara died, he ripped off the button on your cuff. If I hadn't checked the body first, Nanzo Yunko would have already kicked down your door with her men."

Gu Yunqiu remained silent.

In the darkness, her grip on the gun tightened.

"All the Chinese employees are under investigation today. As the South Manchuria Railway Commissioner, you have a private office and freedom of movement." Lu Minghui placed his hands on the table, leaning forward and getting closer to her. "Nakajima now suspects Sakata Inui. But once I take over the warehouse, Nanzo Yunko will definitely search every corner of Chengda. How do you explain your injuries?"

Gu Yunqiu raised her head to meet his oppressive gaze.

"I have no intention of explaining." Gu Yunqiu placed the gun on the table and pushed it toward Lu Minghui. "You can hand me over. Just say I'm the mole. If that box of germs is destroyed, the people of Zhejiang can survive."

Her hand loosened its grip on the gun handle.

All ten fingers were laid out on the table, and not a single one was trembling.

That's enough.

Lu Minghui stared at her.

Lu Minghui suddenly sat up straight.

"Your life isn't worth a box of germs."

He turned around, walked to the door, and placed his hand on the doorknob.

"Clean the wound thoroughly. Tomorrow morning, change into a well-done outfit."

Lu Minghui opened the door and paused for a moment.

"Starting tomorrow, Warehouse No. 3 will be under my control. Don't touch anything again."

He went outside.

"One box of toxic bacteria cannot contain 1644."

The words came in from outside the door, but the sound had already faded into the distance.

The door closed.

Gu Yunqiu sat in the darkness, listening to the fading footsteps in the corridor.

She reached out and touched the brass button on the table, clutching it tightly in her palm.

The following morning.

Outside Warehouse No. 3, the Special Operations Team of No. 76 took over all the sentry posts. Sun Yaozu, holding a submachine gun, stood in front of the iron gate like a guardian deity.

Lu Minghui went up to the second floor.

When he passed the finance office, the door was tightly closed. He neither slowed down nor quickened his pace.

The general manager's office is on the third floor.

A copy of the latest intelligence was placed on the table.

Last night, Nakajima led a group to the Navy Club and had a huge argument with Inoue Muneo. They almost drew their guns. Although there's no concrete evidence, Nakajima has completely excluded the Navy from the Sugi Project's security system.

He was in charge of all the material allocation for Chengda Company and the special inks for Denghu Research Institute.

There was a knock on the door.

Song Qingyuan pushed the door open and came in. He was still wearing that long gown and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Director Lu," Song Qingyuan said, walking to the table, "the printing machines in the workshop have been debugged. The ink sent by Mr. Yamamoto is ready to be used at any time."

Lu Minghui looked at Song Qingyuan.

"Advisor Song," Lu Minghui leaned back in his chair, "where were you last night?"

"I'm in the workshop watching the machines," Song Qingyuan said without changing his expression.

"Never gone out?"

"no."

Lu Minghui nodded.

"Kenzo Yamamoto is keeping an eye on the ink." Lu Minghui picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. "He won't allow us to touch his things easily. Destroying the ink won't be easy."

Song Qingyuan smiled.

"Forced frying won't work," Song Qingyuan said, placing his hands on the table and lowering his voice. "But what if the ink ignites on its own?"

Lu Minghui stopped twirling his pen.

"The ink that Yamamoto brought contains a large amount of magnesium powder and phosphides to ensure its anti-counterfeiting effect," Song Qingyuan stared into Lu Minghui's eyes. "It's extremely flammable. Once the temperature reaches the critical point, it will explode upon contact with water."

Lu Minghui looked at him.

"What is the critical point?" Lu Minghui asked.

"The steam pipes of the workshop boiler room pass right through the basement of Warehouse No. 3." Song Qingyuan straightened up. "With just a slight modification, the temperature underground in the warehouse will reach its ignition point tonight."

Lu Minghui put down his pen.

"Wait for my orders," Lu Minghui said.

Song Qingyuan nodded, turned around and went out.

Lu Minghui turned to look out the window.

The sky was overcast, brewing another round of heavy rain.

Mao Sen is still burning the midnight oil in the basement of the Mei Agency. The ink will turn to ash tonight.

But Lu Minghui's gaze went beyond the wall of Chengda Company and toward the French Concession.

The dedicated telephone on the table suddenly rang shrilly.

Lu Minghui answered the receiver.

"Minghui." Nakajima's voice carried a suppressed excitement, the last syllable rising slightly. "Maosen has spoken."

Lu Minghui's left hand, which was holding the receiver, suddenly twitched in his ring finger.

"What did he confess to?" Lu Minghui asked calmly.

"He uttered a name," Nakajima said, emphasizing each word: "Kite."