Spy game? Stop guessing, I really am an undercover agent!

Chapter 280 You don't even have the right to die by his hand.

In Shanghai, the plane tree leaves in the French Concession drooped listlessly, looking utterly lifeless.

With global war yet to break out, the concessions remained relatively peaceful, like a thin layer of sugar coating concealing a growing crisis within.

The agents of No. 76 and the undercover agents of the Japanese military police roamed the bustling streets and alleys like ghosts.

Pharmacies in the French Concession...

Yesterday's transaction failed, and Lu Zhihan was very anxious. He knew the importance of this intelligence, and had no choice but to use the emergency contact code to contact Mimosa again to exchange intelligence!

According to organizational rules, if the handover fails the first time, a safety assessment must be conducted for the second handover, but it is too late now.

This intelligence must be sent out as soon as possible, otherwise...

In Shanghai, the "Chongwen Bookstore" located at the corner of Lüban Road is a rare quiet place amidst the hustle and bustle.

The two-story Western-style building, with its neatly arranged Chinese and foreign books in the shop windows, exudes a sense of tranquility in the afternoon sunlight.

The bookstore owner was a man around forty years old, wearing a neatly pressed gray suit and gold-rimmed glasses, who was standing on a ladder arranging books on the upper shelves.

He was refined in demeanor and spoke with gentle manners, and was known as "Mr. Song" in the cultural circles of the concession.

At this moment, he seemed focused on organizing the books, but out of the corner of his eye, he kept an eye on the movement at the door.

He received an urgent order that his superiors needed to borrow his bookstore to wait for a special guest, a messenger who had come all the way from the Soviet area.

The brass bell on the glass door rang out with a clear, crisp sound.

A young female student wearing a moon-white short-sleeved cheongsam and with two jet-black braids pushed open the door and entered.

She had delicate features and clear eyes, and carried several heavy Western-style books under her arm, looking every bit like a female student from a university in Shanghai.

She wore a light green scarf tied around her wrist, which looked particularly refreshing in the sweltering air.

If Lu Zhihan were present, he would recognize her as a special envoy from the Soviet Area Political Security Bureau, codenamed "Mimosa".

"Mimosa's" gaze swept across the bookshelves, carrying just the right amount of curiosity, before finally settling on the counter. Her clear voice asked, "Sir, do you have George Orwell's new book, *Animal Farm*?"

Song Tao slowly descended the ladder, gently dusting the dust off his cuffs with a feather duster. His tone was gentle yet distant: "Miss, you jest. Our shop wouldn't dare stock Mr. Orwell's books. In these times, it's safer to read some ancient texts."

"Mimosa" showed a hint of disappointment on her face at the opportune moment, then asked, "Do you have a Song Dynasty edition of *Dream Pool Essays*? My father has been looking for a good copy."

“The Song Dynasty edition of ‘Dream Pool Essays’ is already a rare find. Our shop only has a Republic of China lithographed edition. Would you like to take a look, Miss?” Song Tao took out a blue-covered thread-bound book from under the counter.

"A lithographic edition would be fine too, sir. Please bring it over for me to see." "Mimosa" took the book, her slender white fingers gently turning the pages.

The secret code was exchanged at that moment. The book title, the edition, the timing—everything was perfect.

Song Tao nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping across the window. Across the street, a shoeshine vendor gave a barely perceptible nod, indicating it was safe.

"Miss, please come with me to the library on the second floor. Perhaps there are a few books in better condition," Song Tao gestured, stepping aside.

"Mimosa" understood and followed him up the creaking wooden stairs.

The second-floor library was quieter than the downstairs room, with books lining all four walls and the air filled with the distinctive smell of paper and ink.

The blinds were half-closed, cutting the afternoon sunlight into thin strips of light that fell onto the deep red carpet.

At that moment, someone was already waiting on the second floor!

As expected, this person was none other than Lu Zhihan, the pharmacy owner from yesterday!

If Wu Sibao hadn't suddenly appeared, the transaction would have been completed yesterday!
“Comrade Mimosa,” he said, cutting straight to the point without any pleasantries, his voice deep and clear, “You’ve worked hard.”

"Mimosa's" eyes sharpened, her student-like demeanor instantly vanishing, leaving only the focus and composure of a special envoy: "Comrade Jianbing, hello."

"The Japanese plan is to carry out a bombing at the Lenin Mausoleum viewing platform in Red Square, Moscow, on August 22nd." Lu Zhihua spoke slowly, but each word carried immense weight. "The core of the plan is to use Young Pioneers laying flowers at Stalin's tomb to disguise specially made high-explosive plastic explosives as bouquets of flowers and detonate them! According to intelligence, the execution team has been trained by the intelligence department under Special Agent Director Takeda Takeo, and plans to infiltrate via the Nordic route."

As he spoke, he took out a thin piece, about the size of a silver dollar, from the inner compartment of the Encyclopedia Britannica's box. The piece was wrapped very tightly in oiled paper.

"These are fragments of explosive composition analysis diagrams and a hypothetical infiltration route map obtained by our comrades. They're all on microfilm; the originals couldn't be taken out. He drew the key parts from memory."

"Mimosa" solemnly accepted it, her fingertips able to feel the hard edges of the oil paper wrapping.

Instead of immediately putting it away, she quickly asked, "Characteristics of the task force? What was the detonation device? What was the specific route of the infiltration into Northern Europe?"

"The characteristics of the person are unclear, but at least one Slavic person is known to be fluent in Russian."

"The remote control device is presumably an early radio detonation device with a limited range, requiring close-range operation."

“The Nordic route might go through Finland, using the border forests to infiltrate,” Lu Zhihan replied succinctly.

"How reliable is the intelligence source?"

"Very reliable, it comes from our comrades who have infiltrated the ranks and witnessed it firsthand!"

"However, we must be quick, we must get ahead of the enemy, and not give them any opportunity to take advantage,"

A brief silence fell over the room. "Mimosa" could sense the heavy weight behind this intelligence.

She quickly stuffed the oil paper package into a specially designed hidden pocket inside her cheongsam and whispered, "'Mimosa' received. Mission accomplished."

Just then, a dull thud came from downstairs as a book fell to the ground. This was a signal from the guards on the perimeter: something was wrong!

Their expressions changed simultaneously.

With a thud, Song Tao pushed open the door and entered. He seemed prepared, quickly shoving a gold-embossed copy of Shakespeare's sonnets into "Mimosa's" hands, and whispered, "Comrade Special Envoy, go through the servants' stairs at the back door. It leads to Maxiertiello Road. Take this book; a rickshaw will pick you up at the third alley entrance."

Without the slightest hesitation, "Mimosa" took the book and gave Lu Zhihan and Song Tao a deep look, her eyes filled with respect and determination.

She turned and pushed open an inconspicuous small door on the other side of the library, her figure quickly disappearing into the dimly lit passageway.

"Old Lu, you go through the side door, I'll take care of things here!"

"Old Song, take care..."

Without hesitation, Lu Zhihan quickly climbed out of the attic and left following the route Song Tao had planned...

Seeing the two important figures leave, Song Tao took a breath, a familiar shrewdness appearing on his face, and hurriedly went downstairs: "Oh, gentlemen, are you buying books?"

………………

On the second floor of a Shikumen building in the French Concession of Shanghai, the air was filled with a suffocating smell of rust.

In the cramped cubicle, the indicator lights on the two radios flashed wildly in the dim light, like the eyes of two dying beasts.

One machine was cold and silent, while the other emitted a continuous, nerve-wracking ticking sound, as urgent as the beat of a dying drum.

Every second of silence felt like a hammer blow, striking Kazuo Takaji's chest.

"Still... no reply?" Kazu's voice was dry and hoarse, as if his vocal cords had been filed down.

He irritably pushed aside the mountain of secret telegrams in front of him, the top of which was a letterhead with the words "Top Secret" printed on it by the Tokyo Military Police Headquarters!
This is a copy of the receipt for the whistleblower letter they sent out. The word "copy" is circled in bold red pen, like an ugly scar.

Since there is a receipt, it means that their letter of complaint has been sent to the Military Police Headquarters and has been received by the Inspection Department!

Despite all the painstakingly collected evidence, testimonies, and physical evidence, the local authorities remained eerily calm, offering not a single piece of information.

Impossible, absolutely impossible! How could a deputy minister of transport have the ability to suppress a clearly stated whistleblower letter?
This is equivalent to two bureau-level officials in China today sending their whistleblower letters to the central inspection team, only to have them completely ignored!

This doesn’t make sense…

“Three days! A full seventy-two hours!” He suddenly stood up, slammed his fist on the table with a piercing sound, and dug his knuckles into the cold surface so hard that his nails almost snapped off.

"What exactly are they trying to do on the mainland? How can they handle such a big case so carelessly? Are they expecting us to admit that everything was fake, that the supplies were gnawed on by rats in the supply warehouse, or that they were fed to the fish in the Huangpu River?"

Yoko Minamida did not respond immediately.

She sat upright behind her desk, her military cap pressing down on her forehead, the shadow cast by the brim like a cold blade, dividing her face between light and shadow.

On the table in front of him lay the same copy, next to which sat a Colt M1911 pistol, polished to a gleaming shine.

Her long, slender, and icy fingers were wiping the gun body again and again with an almost cruel patience, using a white velvet cloth soaked in gun oil, especially the gaps in the receiver and the cold outer wall of the barrel.

Every movement was steady, even possessing a purely mechanical rhythm, as if meticulously crafting a perfect killing tool.

The sharp metal edges reflected the grayish-white light seeping in from outside the window.

"What's the rush, Colonel Kazuchi?" Nanda's voice came from the shadows, eerily calm: "No matter how fast the current, the stones will sink to the bottom. What's meant to rise will rise."

She didn't look up, her wiping motion continuing uninterrupted: "Tokyo doesn't want our evidence, they want the results."

"An outcome that will shut us up."

Yoko Minami's gaze, like a cold needle after being tempered, pierced through Takaji Wachi's face, which was contorted with anxiety and fear. "Therefore, we absolutely cannot panic at this moment!"

"But..." Kazuyoji seemed to have been doused with ice water; his momentum instantly vanished, and his Adam's apple bobbed laboriously.
"...The General Staff Headquarters...and Chief of Staff Doihara's side..."

The words he dared not utter hung in the air: the missing whistleblower letter pointed to doubts about the whereabouts of supplies belonging to some high-ranking officers of the Kwantung Army during the Nomonhan Incident.

Moreover, they made an extremely bold guess: these missing supplies were very likely supplied to the guerrillas on the North China battlefield!
This accusation has far-reaching implications!

It's blatantly obvious that there's a traitor within the empire...

How could headquarters ignore such serious accusations? Are they going to use procedures as an excuse?
Indeed, this letter of denunciation should have been sent with the approval of General Doihara!
However, Nantian suggested that, for the sake of secrecy, the two of them took it upon themselves to use Nakamura Masao's channels to send the message directly to the local inspection department. Strictly speaking, this should be considered an overreach of authority!
This was especially true at this sensitive time, when Doihara, the shadow general, had just been officially appointed as the chief of intelligence operations in China.

Crack! A clap of thunder sounded, and the summer downpour arrived silently. The sound of rain outside the window suddenly intensified, violently pounding against the oil-paper-covered windowpane, like countless needles piercing a drum. Together with the monotonous and jarring "tick-tock" of the radio, it created a depressing symphony.

Just then, a loud bang rang out – the massive impact of the heavy iron gate at the entrance downstairs!

"Bang!" The iron door seemed to slam into the ground, instantly shattering the noise in the room like an earthquake!
A tremendous sound crashed into their ears, causing the glass windows of the cubicle to vibrate and hum!
Kazuyoji shuddered, his body jerking up as if he had been electrocuted, having just slumped back into the chair.

For the first time, Yoko Minamida's action of wiping the gun barrel froze for an extremely brief moment.

It was extremely brief, so brief that it was almost an illusion perceived by the human eye.

The cold velvet cloth paused slightly in the middle of the barrel before resuming its sliding motion.

The smooth skin around the knuckles of his right hand, hidden under the velvet cloth, suddenly tightened.

"Thump thump thump..." The oppressive footsteps rolled up the old wooden stairs.

Each step was heavy, like a heavy drumstick striking a rotten drum, the stair planks groaning under the weight.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

A moment of deathly silence. In that silence, only the sound of a heart pounding wildly in one's chest could be heard.

The door was pushed open...

The other party did not knock on the door...

The person who came in blocked the light from the doorway.

He was not tall, but exceptionally broad and sturdy. His high-ranking officer's uniform, pressed without a single wrinkle, clung tightly to his strong body, the stars of his rank reflecting a cold, eerie light in the dim light.

The visitor was none other than General Doihara.

He had no followers and was all alone.

He stood at the doorway, not immediately entering the cubicle, like an iron curtain suddenly falling.

His gaze, seemingly carrying a substantial weight and an all-seeing chill, slowly swept over every corner of the narrow space!
His gaze paused briefly on Kazuo Takaji's face, which had lost all color. His eyes, like a cold, sharp iron brush, froze Kazuo Takaji in place, leaving him utterly bewildered…

Doi-Yuan snorted, shifted his gaze, and finally fixed it on Minami Yoko, or more accurately, on the Colt pistol in her hand that had been polished to a bluish luster.

The sounds of rain and radio were blocked out, leaving only the dull thumping of the heart against the walls of the blood vessels.

"Ah……"

A very soft and slow laugh rolled out from Doihara's throat.

There was no warmth in that laughter; in fact, it was even colder than the night rain outside the window.

With that soft chuckle, he slowly pulled a snow-white silk handkerchief, folded with sharp edges, from his bosom.

Then, he leaned forward slightly, reached out his white-gloved hand, and with remarkable precision, picked up a corner of the copy of the accusation letter that Nantian had placed on the table.

Like polishing a work of art, he wiped the rough, inferior paper with a handkerchief.

Every movement was incredibly slow, imbued with a chilling sense of ritual.

The handkerchief rubbed against the paper, making an extremely faint "rustling" sound that pierced the eardrums in the absolute silence.

Kazuyoshi could almost hear the chattering of his teeth, and cold sweat instantly soaked through his shirt.

Yoko Nanada stopped wiping completely.

Her straight back was stiff as iron, only her knuckles were stretched to their limit under the velvet, turning bluish-white.

Finally, Doihara seemed to have had enough of admiring the "clean" copy. With a flick of his wrist, the stack of "filthy" papers fluttered down like trash onto the ground piled with coded telegrams.

Only then did he raise his head, completely tearing away the gentle, rounded mask on his face that resembled that of a fox.

At this moment, the skin on his flat, thick, round face was taut as if cast from cold iron.

The throbbing veins on his forehead, like coiled venomous snakes, writhed beneath his pale skin.

"Don't you know the rules... Yoko, I think I taught you!" Doihara spoke. His voice was unusually low and slow, almost a whisper, yet it carried a strange resonance, each word clearly and heavily striking deep into one's skull, "Wachi-kun, I heard... you're a... person who values ​​efficiency?"

"But efficiency... is for those who play chess according to the rules. For those who... know where the boundaries of the chessboard are."

He slowly took a step forward, and the immense pressure emanating from his body in a crisp military uniform instantly made the air in the entire compartment feel several times thinner!
Wachi Takaji's throat tightened, and he could barely breathe. He instinctively took half a step back, his back slamming heavily against the cold metal filing cabinet with a dull thud.

Just a glance was enough to make the head of the Lan Agency tremble so violently!
“But some people…sometimes…” Doihara’s voice suddenly rose: “They reach too far! Their claws…reach into murky waters they shouldn’t be stirring up!”

He suddenly raised his hand, and his thick arm, gloved in white, lashed out like a steel whip!
"Snapped!"

The next second, his palm slapped Nanada Yoko across the face with tremendous force!
*Slap!* Another resounding slap—two solid blows, one on the front and one on the back!

Nantian dared not show any other expression, but simply bowed silently: "Hai! I'm sorry, teacher."

"Your claws are reaching too far..." Doihara's voice suddenly changed tone, the eerie pitch echoing in the narrow space, making people's teeth ache and their blood run cold!
His bloodshot eyes were wide open, a fierce and chaotic savage light churning within them. "Any claws that cross the line will be chopped off! Chopped up and fed to the dogs! Understand, Yoko?"

That last name was almost roared out from the depths of his throat!

Spit even splattered onto his tense chin!

When he roared in fury, his body leaned slightly forward, his jaw clenched so tightly it made a grinding sound, his eyes were red and bulging, and his nostrils flared rapidly with rage, each exhale carrying the smell of gunpowder.

It was a destructive rage that came from losing all control and wanting to crush everything in front of it into dust!
Yoko Minamida maintained the bowing posture.

Under the onslaught of such raging waves, it was like a stubborn black reef in a storm.

The stench of blood that almost assaulted her face couldn't penetrate her invisible armor.

Only her fingers, gripping the gun, were taut and white in the shadows.

In the shadow of her hat brim, her eyes met Doihara's bloodthirsty, ferocious crimson eyes without blinking, her pupils filled with a deathly stillness.

Time moved forward with difficulty, a single step, amidst the frozen standoff.

The smell of congealed blood and the stench of fermenting fear filled the air.

Doihara's contorted, spasming muscles seemed to be suddenly stimulated by an invisible needle, like molten iron that had burst forth and then abruptly solidified and cooled.

The surging, violent energy that seemed ready to tear everything apart was replaced by a more unsettling silence.

He stared into Yoko Minamida's abyss-like eyes, his lips pressed tightly into a sharp line, twitching slightly.

His chest was still heaving violently, but each rise and fall felt like being hit by a huge block of ice.

"Rules..." he began again, "are not for you to break... they are the bones upon which the empire survives! You want to dismantle this skeleton? No one will agree, meaning they will not accept your so-called judgments, guesses, and those... pieces of evidence!"

"Anyone who tries to break the rules... is an enemy of the empire!"

His voice suddenly rose, "No means are too much when it comes to the enemy!..."

The last sentence, like a verdict, echoed in the cubicle with a chilling coldness.

After saying that, Doihara suddenly turned around and opened the door!

The door was wide open, and the chill brought by the wind and rain outside instantly rushed in, dispelling the suffocating atmosphere in the cubicle.

The crumpled paper on the ground, completely soaked in black ink, resembled a lump of filthy blood exuding an ominous aura.

Kazuyo leaned against the cold iron cabinet, panting heavily, his body trembling uncontrollably, his face paler than a freshly painted wall, and his forehead covered in large beads of cold sweat.

He looked at Yoko Minamida, who was like a cold sculpture.

Yoko Minamida's posture remained unchanged. Even the slight spasm in her fingertips had disappeared.

In the dim indoor light, the Colt pistol's dark blue metallic sheen flowed with a cold light between her fingers.

Dead silence.

Only the echo of the heart pounding against the chest reverberated, like being submerged in deep mud.

"Teacher, do you also think we did something wrong?" Nantian didn't argue, but instead asked Tufeiyuan!
Doi-Yuan scrutinized Nan-Tian, ​​seemingly very dissatisfied with her current performance: "Yoko, I'm very disappointed in you. I don't know how you view Chen Yang's situation, but I can tell you with certainty that this matter is not as simple as you think!"

"The power struggle between the South Manchuria Railway and the Ministry of Transport is essentially a battle on a chessboard between the Ministry of the Army and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for control of transportation!"

"Chen Yang is a pawn, Yoshida is a pawn, and so are the two of you."

"He has no right to be a pawn at all..."

"You think Xiang Fang's testimony was for your benefit? It was poison deliberately left for the South Manchuria Railway Company!"

"You should feel lucky. Chen Yang was kind enough to harm you temporarily, but not forever!"

"Of course, you don't need to thank him. After all, he didn't pull you out to save you, but rather because he didn't want the South Manchuria Railway to use your two heads as an excuse to easily get rid of him!"

"After all, in his eyes, the two of you... don't even deserve to die by his hand!"

(End of this chapter)