Agent: Intercepting Yu Manli at the start!

To put it bluntly, even the sound of the patrol officers' footsteps was background music in his script.

An assassination was staged flawlessly.

True brilliance lies not in the grand scale of the plan, but in the precision of the details.

Zhou Xiao is a man who can truly digest and digest human nature, time, and terrain, and then spit out a flawless facade.

Ten minutes later, the special operations headquarters convoy came to an abrupt stop.

Lan Yanzhi and Feng Manna jumped out of the car, their steps quick and swift.

Feng Manna grabbed Zhou Xiao's arm, her voice trembling, "Third Brother! Where are you hurt? Let me see! Should we take you to the hospital?"

"It's only been two days since things calmed down, and those anti-Japanese elements are already causing trouble again! They're even firing shots in the street—it's utterly lawless!"

Zhou Xiao withdrew his hand and brushed the dust off his shoulder: "The person is fine, just a scratch on the back of their hand. It's a pity about this car, I'm afraid it can't be repaired."

Lan Yanzhi leaned against the car door with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow, and smiled slyly: "Director Zhou is indeed special—when others are attacked, they touch their chest first, but you, on the other hand, worry about the car first."

"Sister Rouge, you don't know," he sighed, shrugging, "I'm poor. This car's broken down, so I have to walk to and from get off work. I heard your family owns a bank, you're quite wealthy, how about... you lend me one?"

Lan Yanzhi didn't even blink: "Okay, I'll bring it up tomorrow."

The first port in China to see automobiles arrive was Shanghai. In 1902, the first tin-bodied rickshaw drove onto the Bund. Ten years later, there were only a little over a thousand cars on the entire Bund – a number that was considered extremely rare in the bustling metropolis of Shanghai.

A regular sedan cost 2,700 silver dollars. That amount was enough for twenty-seven rickshaw pullers to work a full year, tightening their belts. Even worse, with war looming, gasoline was exorbitantly expensive; a liter of gasoline on the black market could buy half a bag of flour. Even with a car, running out of fuel was a frequent problem. For an ordinary person to even touch the steering wheel? Pure fantasy…

But Lan Yanzhi didn't even blink and agreed on the spot.

The Lan family has deep roots and a powerful presence in Shanghai, with wealth and influence comparable to several foreign firms.

Zhou Xiao's lips curled into a smile: "Then I must thank Miss Rouge."

Seeing the two chatting and laughing so freely, Feng Manna felt a pang of sadness in her heart and quickly changed the subject: "Third Brother, you are the head of the Action Department. The Special Operations Headquarters should have provided you with a car long ago. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Zhou Xiao shook his head and chuckled: "Far from it. What Miss Rouge gave me was her private property, it's mine; what headquarters allocated is public property, it's under the management of the archives—two completely different things."

Lan Yanzhi's eyes flickered slightly as she looked at him with a smile: "Director Zhou is indeed extraordinary. Having just dodged an assassination attempt, you can still talk and laugh with ease. I admire you from the bottom of my heart."

"What's there to be afraid of?" He raised his hand and brushed off a few charred bullet marks on the car door, his tone as calm as if he were talking about the weather. "Since we chose this road, gunshots were just a matter of time."

"They didn't kill me today, but tomorrow they'll be the ones having trouble sleeping."

Feng Manna followed up, "Third Brother, have you caught them? How many were on the other side?"

Zhou Xiao said, "He came out all by himself. He suddenly darted out from the alley entrance and started shooting."

"The gunfight lasted less than half a minute before the police rushed in. When the man saw the sirens, he turned and disappeared into the back alley without a trace."

"I reckon it's because I tightened my grip on a few lines recently and stepped on their tails, that's why they're seeking revenge."

"To commit a violent act with a gun in broad daylight, they're getting bolder and bolder."

This statement was logical and watertight, and Feng Manna couldn't detect the slightest flaw in it.

She nodded and said, "I'll send someone to search the area around the station again; maybe we can find some clues."

Zhou Xiao glanced at his watch: "The new head of the Special Higher Police is taking office today. It seems the game in Shanghai will have to be replayed—we'll see just how capable this new head of the Special Higher Police really is."

The news of Zhou Xiao's assassination attempt caused an uproar at the Special Operations Headquarters. Everyone slammed their fists on the table and angrily denounced the anti-Japanese elements as utterly depraved.

Meanwhile, the Japanese and the Wang Jingwei regime breathed a sigh of relief—this time, they truly believed Zhou Xiao was one of their own. Trust, sometimes, is hidden in a bloody coincidence.

Shanghai Railway Station.

This bustling thoroughfare, a melting pot of faces from all directions, was a popular stop for merchants and students from unoccupied territories. Yet, no matter how lively the station, it was ultimately in the hands of the Japanese military police.

11:30 a.m.

A squad of military police silently surged onto the platform, cocking their rifles and firmly blocking all entrances and exits. The air was thick with tension.

Ken Oshima stood in the front row, his military uniform perfectly straight.

Such a grand display was all for one person—Sendou Kaede, the newly appointed head of the Special Higher Police Section, who was arriving in Shanghai by train from the three northeastern provinces.

I took a slow train from Fengtian southwards for two days and two nights, the tracks rattling loudly.

Kenjiro Oshima was originally the head of the Sugimoto Agency and also served as the captain of the military police. They had worked together in the Manchukuo region in their early years and had a close personal relationship. How could he be absent when his old friend was taking up his post a thousand miles away?

Woo-woo-woo-woo

The whistle tore through the air, and the train slowly glided onto the platform and came to a steady stop.

A short while later, a figure stepped down the stairs from the carriage.

His black felt hat was pulled low, his silver-rimmed glasses gleamed coldly, his skin was so white it was almost transparent, and he was wrapped in a long, flowing, dark cloak with sleek, knife-cut trousers—his whole being exuded an indescribable feminine charm.

If this were today, he would definitely be called a "pretty boy" idol.

This person is none other than the newly appointed head of the Special Higher Police Section, who has been parachuted into Shanghai—Sendou Kaede.

On the surface, he's a pampered young master, fond of perfume, speaking softly, and always smiling with his sleeves twirled. In reality, his father is a high-ranking general in the Japanese army, and his mother comes from a prominent family in Northeast China; the cold-bloodedness of the old aristocracy flows in his veins. His superficial charm is merely a carefully crafted facade; inside, he's like a precision clock, adept at discerning subtle whispers and capturing fleeting glances, calling himself a "truth hunter," and loving to unravel mysteries from the fog.

The more delicate a flower looks, the deeper its roots grow, and the more potent its poison.

Ken Oshima stepped forward with a warm smile: "Sendoh-kun, welcome to Shanghai."

Xian Daofeng took off his hat, his gaze sweeping over the mottled stained glass of the dome, the throngs of people, and the hazy riverbank in the distance. He sighed softly, "Shanghai, truly lives up to its reputation."

"Before I came here, I heard that this is a lonely city living in a world of extravagance and debauchery, and that every brick has a story buried in it."

"Compared to the area outside the Great Wall, this place is more chaotic, darker, and more difficult to navigate... but I love this brain-teasing challenge."

The laughter was soft and gentle, with a slight upward inflection at the end, making one's ears tingle.

Ken Oshima nodded in agreement: "Headquarters sent you here precisely because they hoped you could stir up some clear water in this murky place."

Xian Daofeng rubbed the brim of his hat with his fingertips: "If it weren't for some weight, I'd rather stay in the snow in Fengtian and take a nap."

On this trip to his new post, he only brought one attendant—Old Six. Lame, taciturn, and so fast that even a shadow couldn't catch him; he was a ruthless character who could break bones without making a sound.

This pair, one skilled in literature and the other in martial arts, one open and one covert, became the most enigmatic duo in the undercurrents of Shanghai.

Before leaving, Xian Daofeng thoroughly investigated the major powers in Shanghai: Special Forces Headquarters, No. 76, Shang Mansion... Every file was filled with annotations, and he even noted down how many sugar cubes a certain section chief added to his coffee.

He glanced at his watch: "Oshima-kun, we should go."

Ken Oshima gestured to stop him, saying, "Wait a moment, there's another guest who wants to come into the city with us."

"Oh?" Sendoh Kaede raised an eyebrow slightly. "Who is it?"

"Shen Fang, the deputy section chief transferred from the Jinling Security Command."

Xian Daofeng's lips curved into a smile, but the smile didn't reach his eyes: "Shen Fang? The name sounds interesting."

About two minutes later, a man in a Zhongshan suit strolled toward Ken Oshima and Kaede Sendoh.

He was rather thin, with an old leather bag slung over his shoulder and a fedora pulled low on his head. His steps were unhurried, yet they carried a heavy weight.

Shen Fang.

The deputy head of the intelligence section, transferred from the Jinling Security Command.

He was personally recommended by Yamamitsu Ichiji, the chief of staff of the special agency—it was because of this endorsement that Oshima Kenji held him in high regard and treated him with great respect.

Shen Fang stopped in front of the two men, without exchanging pleasantries or bowing, and simply stated his name: "Shen Fang, Jinling Security Command."

Sendoh Kaede slowly extended his hands—fair, slender, with delicate fingers, like an actor who had just finished playing the piano, a smile playing on his lips: "Sendoh Kaede, the new head of the Special Higher Police, from the Northeast."

Shen Fang glanced at the hands, not even lifting his eyelids, and simply nodded, saying, "Hello."

—Shake hands with this kind of person? Your hands aren't clean enough.

It's so cloying.

Sendoh Kaede, however, didn't mind at all. He grinned, his laughter both hearty and exaggerated: "Hahaha, that's tough enough! I like it."

But when the sound entered his ears, Shen Fang felt a tightness in the back of his neck, and the hairs on his neck stood on end.

Ken Oshima spoke up at the opportune moment: "Alright, everyone's here. Let's head back to the Special Higher Police."

The group then turned back.

According to Doihara's transfer order, Shen Fang was assigned to Shanghai with the title of "Special Affairs Committee Member," nominally in charge of all the city's intelligence agencies, but in reality, he had no authority to handle frontline intelligence affairs—he was neither in charge of interrogations nor in charge of fieldwork, making it a purely nominal position.

Shen's heart sank slightly: a promotion in name only, he was now wearing official robes, but his power had shrunk by half.

But this wasn't the time to be selective about where to lie low. He could only accept orders and carry them out.

Sendoh Kaede always wore that smiling face, like a knife wrapped in sugar coating, cloyingly sweet and chillingly cold.

A smile can conceal poison.

No one knows what he's planning.

Kenjiro Oshima was so focused on the currency war that he didn't bother with anything else.

Whether it's the Special Higher Police, the Special Operations Headquarters, or even 76th Division or the Shang Mansion—as long as they're willing to serve the Sugi Agency, he'll turn a blind eye.

Each of the three had their own thoughts, and the journey home was unusually quiet. Occasionally, they would exchange a few words, but it was as fleeting as a dragonfly skimming the water, leaving no trace.

A new broom sweeps clean. Xian Daofeng was no exception.

As soon as he stepped into the Special Higher Police Department's gate, he immediately issued an order: summon the heads of the Special Operations Headquarters, the No. 76 Special Agent Headquarters, and the Shang Mansion to a meeting immediately.

The Special Higher Police (THT) was the Japanese military's intelligence hub in Shanghai. Nominally subordinate to the military police, it actually operated above most intelligence units.

Currently, its three main forces are the Special Operations Headquarters, the 76th Special Agent Headquarters, and the Shang Mansion.

The former two were under the control of the Special Service Committee, while the latter was an intelligence outpost built by the Japanese army itself.

As soon as the order was given, the top officials from the three parties set off immediately.

Zhou Xiao, Feng Manna, and Chen Shen have arrived at the Special Operations Headquarters;

The Shang Mansion sent Sakurada Kaoru, the head of the Special Affairs Section, and Chen Shan, the captain of the action team;

At No. 76, the Director of Operations, Liang Zhongchun, and Wang Manchun jointly attended the event.

Almost all the leading figures in Shanghai's intelligence circle were gathered together.

Inside the Special Higher Police Division's conference room, the smell of smoke mingled with the scent of ink.