Spy war in the Republic of China, peak undercover

The night in Harbin always comes very early. The cold wind of December carries fine snowflakes and wanders freely in the streets.

The lanterns in the izakaya swayed in the wind, casting mottled light and shadows. Standing in the dark alley opposite, Lu Yang could smell the aroma of wine and charcoal fire in the air, mixed with the faint sound of laughter.

He looked at his watch. The copper dial shimmered in the dim light. It was exactly nine o'clock. The church bells rang in the distance, sounding particularly crisp in the cold air.

Nakamura and Zhang Dequan appeared at the entrance of the alley on time. Zhang Dequan walked a little unsteadily, apparently he had been drinking somewhere else. Nakamura supported him and they talked and laughed like old friends. The two of them cast long shadows on the snow.

Lu Yang watched them push open the door of the izakaya. The bell on the door rang softly, startling a wild cat curled up in front of the door. It looked around vigilantly and then shrank back into the shadows.

There were not many customers in the store. Two plainclothes agents had already been sitting there. One was leaning on the table pretending to be drunk, and the other was eating with his head down. They looked very ordinary. Only Lu Yang knew that the pistols hidden under their clothes were loaded.

He moved from the darkness and found a corner where he could see the inside of the store. He leaned against the wall. The cold air seeped through the cracks in the bricks, making it bone-chilling, but he no longer cared about that.

Through the misted glass, he could see Nakamura skillfully ordering dishes and asking for a bottle of top-quality shochu. Zhang Dequan was already a little drunk, his face flushed, and his voice was much louder than usual.

"Brother Zhang, come, drink," Nakamura poured him a glass of wine. The bottle and the glass collided, making a crisp sound. The wine swirled in the glass, glowing under the dim light.

"Is the police station busy lately?" Nakamura asked casually and picked up a piece of grilled fish for Zhang Dequan.

Zhang Dequan picked up the wine glass and drank it all in one gulp. "That's right. The director hasn't even been able to sleep well these days. He's been asking me to burn documents all day and deliver things in the middle of the night. I'm exhausted."

Nakamura's eyes lit up and he filled Zhang Dequan's glass again. "What are you sending me? You're so mysterious."

"I can't say that," Zhang Dequan burped, "but that Li guy is sneaking around all the time, and I don't like him."

At this moment, Lu Yang noticed that the iron fence of the back door of the Manchurian Railway shook slightly, and a figure flashed out. It was the translator Li. He shrank his neck and looked back from time to time, like a frightened mouse.

Lu Yang made a gesture, and the military police who had been lying in ambush in the dark followed quietly. Their leather boots made a slight crunching sound as they stepped on the snow, and they soon disappeared into the night.

The conversation in the store continued. Zhang Dequan's tongue was already a little knotted from drinking. "Actually, the director has been regretting it lately," he lowered his voice. "He regrets listening to Ishikawa and accepting that money. Now he can't even return it."

Lu Yang raised the corners of his mouth in the cold wind. These words were enough to keep Cao Desheng awake. He looked at his watch and it was time to close the net.

But at this moment, he noticed a detail that made his heart suddenly rise.

When Li translated it, he seemed to be holding something in his hand. A metallic luster flashed under the street light, and the shape looked very much like a key.

The archives room of the Manchurian Railway is at the end of the corridor behind the back door.

Lu Yang narrowed his eyes. Perhaps, this translator Li was more important than he thought.

Standing in the dark alley opposite, Lu Yang could smell the aroma of wine and charcoal in the air, mixed with the faint sounds of laughter. These sounds were particularly clear in the cold night.

He looked at his watch. The copper dial shone faintly in the dim light. At exactly nine o'clock, the church bells in the distance rang slowly, like some kind of secret signal, or like the opening line of a drama.

Nakamura and Zhang Dequan appeared at the alley entrance on time. Zhang Dequan walked a little unsteadily, apparently he had been drinking somewhere else. Nakamura supported him and they talked and laughed like old friends. The two of them cast long shadows on the snow, sometimes longer and sometimes shorter under the street lights.

Lu Yang watched them push open the door of the izakaya. The bell on the door rang softly, startling a wild cat curled up in front of the door. It looked around vigilantly and shrank back into the shadows. Only its eyes flashed faintly in the darkness.

There were not many customers in the store. Two plainclothes agents had already been sitting there, one leaning on the table pretending to be drunk, and the other eating with his head down. They looked very ordinary. Only Lu Yang knew that the pistols hidden under their clothes were loaded and ready to deal with emergencies at any time.

He moved from the darkness and found a corner where he could see the inside of the store. He leaned against the wall. The cold air seeped through the cracks in the bricks, making it bone-chilling, but he no longer cared about that. All his attention was focused on the situation inside the store.

Through the misted glass, he could see Nakamura skillfully ordering the dishes and asking for a bottle of top-quality shochu. Zhang Dequan was already a little drunk, his face flushed, his voice much louder than usual, and he burped from time to time.

"Brother Zhang, come, drink," Nakamura poured him a glass of wine. The bottle and the glass collided, making a crisp sound. The wine swirled in the glass, glowing in the dim light, as if it was brewing some secret.

"Is the police station busy lately?" Nakamura asked casually, handing Zhang Dequan a piece of grilled fish, the aroma filling the air. "I heard the bureau is very busy lately."

Zhang Dequan picked up the wine glass and drank it all in one gulp. "That's right. The director hasn't even been able to sleep well these days. He's been asking me to burn documents all day and deliver things in the middle of the night. I'm exhausted." He wiped his mouth and said, "I've been running around so much these days that my legs are almost broken."

Nakamura's eyes lit up and he filled Zhang Dequan's glass again. "What are you sending me? It's so mysterious. Could it be something shameful?"

"I can't say that," Zhang Dequan burped. "But that Li guy is sneaky all the time. I don't like him. He always delivers things in the middle of the night, like a thief."

At this moment, Lu Yang noticed that the iron fence of the back door of the Manchurian Railway shook slightly, and a figure flashed out. It was the translator Li. He shrank his neck and looked back from time to time, like a frightened mouse, and seemed to be holding something in his hand.

Lu Yang narrowed his eyes and saw a metallic luster flash in the hand of Li the translator in the light of the street lamp. The shape of the thing looked very much like a key, and the archive room of the Manchurian Railway was at the end of the corridor behind the back door.

He made a gesture, and the military police who had been lying in ambush in the dark followed quietly. Their leather boots made a slight creaking sound as they stepped on the snow, and they quickly disappeared into the night, leaving only a series of shallow footprints, which were soon covered by the falling snow.

The conversation in the store continued. Zhang Dequan's tongue was already a little knotted from drinking. "Actually, the director has been regretting it lately," he lowered his voice, as if he were sharing a deep secret. "He regrets listening to Ishikawa and accepting the money. Now he can't even return it, and he's been feeling restless all day."

Lu Yang raised the corners of his mouth in the cold wind. These words were enough to keep Cao Desheng awake, but now he was more concerned about the key in Li the translator's hand. Perhaps this was the real breakthrough.