Espionage: Mastering the Ten Cruelest Tortures of the Military Intelligence Bureau from the Start

When a group of people rushed into the room and pinned Zhao Peng to the ground, Zhao Peng remained calm, as if he had already anticipated the outcome.

He was then taken into the interrogation room and locked in the interrogation chair.

The atmosphere here is so oppressive that it's almost suffocating.

The station chief and Su Mingzhe simply stared at Zhao Peng, who was sitting in the interrogation chair, their eyes filled with scrutiny.

Time seemed to stand still. After a long, long time, Zhao Peng suddenly chuckled, a laugh that seemed to contain endless complex emotions.

Then, he spoke slowly, his voice sounding exceptionally clear in the somber space.

"If you wear a mask for too long, you'll actually start to believe that's what you look like. But a fake is still a fake, and it can never become real."

No one asked, and Zhao Peng, or rather, at this point, should be called "the praying mantis," continued speaking to himself:

"My original name is Suzuki Shunsuke, and I grew up on this vast land of China."

My "parents" in China were actually people from the Special Higher Police, and they were also my teachers. They said I was their most outstanding student.

Students? Ha, in their eyes, I'm nothing more than a handy tool.

I abhor war, and my heart yearns for a peaceful life. However, for me, the word "comfort" is too luxurious.

I had always thought that my life could continue like this, peaceful and uneventful, untouched by the shadow of war.

However, until the Special Higher Police used me last year, I had no room to refuse.

I don't know why I'm telling you all this at this moment. Consider it my last words; this is the first and last time I'll express my true feelings.

After he finished speaking, blood slowly trickled from the corner of his mouth, his eyes turned bloodshot, and his body began to convulse.

"I once heard a teacher from the Special Higher Police Department talk about the 'Long Sky Plan,' which was intended to carry out strategic bombing of key military targets and densely populated areas in Chang'an, with the Eyebrow-Painting Group responsible for reconnaissance."

One of their members works at the weather bureau; that's the only valuable intelligence I have.

After saying all this, Suzuki Shunsuke slowly turned his head and looked at Su Mingzhe.

His eyes were full of admiration, and at that moment, all the opposition and conflict temporarily disappeared.

"You are an excellent agent."

His voice was somewhat weak, but it was sincere.

"My subordinate, Keiko Sakai, only knew that there was a Japanese person working at Chang'an Station, but did not know who it was."

Yutaro Shimizu and the others only communicated with me through Dead Mail; they didn't even know my specific identity.

You're really amazing. I still don't know how you found me, but thank you anyway for freeing me... cough cough..."

Shunsuke Suzuki coughed violently, vomiting large amounts of blood that stood out starkly against the dim interrogation room.

His breathing became increasingly difficult, his face gradually turned purple, and his life force was slowly slipping away.

Finally, his head tilted limply to the side, and he lived no more.

He died, without a final desperate struggle before his death; he simply died.

The station chief sent a telegram ordering the local military intelligence to quickly arrest Suzuki Shunsuke's "parents," but it was highly likely that they had already fled.

Suzuki Shunsuke's body was dragged to the training ground and made to kneel on the ground, as if he were repenting for his past.

The gunman, expressionless, fired a shot into his heart. The crisp gunshot echoed in the air, as if drawing a resolute end to his pathetic and sinful life.

The clerk picked up his camera and quickly snapped a picture of the scene. The photo would be used to report to the Jinling General Bureau, along with an inspiring article, and that would be the achievement of Chang'an Station.

Everyone at Chang'an Station was all smiles when they learned that the mole had finally been caught. No one was implicated, which was the best possible outcome.

Su Mingzhe watched all this expressionlessly. His mind was filled with memories of Uncle Xiangzi's past. Although he had finally avenged his great grudge, he couldn't feel happy at all.

He slowly walked to Suzuki Shunsuke's body, and with a swift stroke, severed Suzuki Shunsuke's head.

Su Mingzhe sprinkled lime on the head and put Suzuki Shunsuke's head into a cloth bag to commemorate Uncle Xiangzi's soul.

And so, he quietly left Chang'an Station.

Following his memory, Su Mingzhe slowly stepped onto that familiar yet unfamiliar path.

The autumn sunlight filters through the dappled leaves, creating patches of light and shadow.

A gentle breeze, carrying a hint of coolness, rustled the roadside weeds.

Finally, he arrived at Uncle Xiangzi's ancestral grave.

The place is serene and solemn, with the surrounding trees acting as loyal guardians, quietly protecting this peaceful resting place.

The newest grave at the very back was particularly conspicuous, the soil on it still exuding a slight dampness, as if telling of the newly added sorrow.

The surrounding weeds had been cleared away, and two small dishes of offerings were placed in front of the grave, clearly the work of Gong Shouguo.

Su Mingzhe opened the cloth bag in his hand, poured out Suzuki Shunsuke's head, and solemnly placed it in front of Uncle Xiangzi's grave.

"Uncle Xiangzi, Xiaotian has come to see you."

"Uncle Xiangzi, Xiaotian has come to see you."

Su Mingzhe's voice trembled, already tinged with sobs, and his eyes gradually reddened.

His only "relative" is buried here.

Su Mingzhe gazed silently at Uncle Xiangzi's new grave, his thoughts churning like a surging tide.

Those days spent with Uncle Xiangzi are like warm and precious paintings, appearing one by one before my eyes.

The ordinary yet heartwarming times they spent together, the laughter and care, are now playing in my mind like a movie.

The sunlight gently fell on his shoulders, but it could not warm his heavy and sorrowful heart.

The golden light seemed to have lost its warmth on this solemn land.

A gentle breeze continued to blow, carrying a slight coolness, soothing the pain in Su Mingzhe's heart.

Su Mingzhe slowly squatted down, stretched out his slightly trembling hand, and gently stroked the soil in front of the grave.

The slight dampness seeped through his fingertips, and at that moment, he could truly feel Uncle Xiangzi's warmth.

It was a familiar yet distant warmth that stirred up an indescribable sorrow in his heart.

"Uncle Xiangzi, I have avenged you. You can rest in peace now."

Then he placed three incense sticks on the grave.

After an unknown amount of time, Su Mingzhe slowly stood up.

His legs were numb, and he almost fell to the ground.

Su Mingzhe turned around and slowly took a step. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and cast a long shadow on the ground behind him.

--------------

Thank you to the reader "Kui An, who loves Blue Peacock" for sending this book!