Chapter 54: Should I Believe It?
Shanghai, Dingxiangji Restaurant.
This is a restaurant opened in a civilian alley in Zhabei District. Its remote location naturally makes it unremarkable, but the business is actually quite good.
The boss is a local from Shanghai. He started learning to cook from a young age, and his Shanghai cuisine is extremely authentic.
Of course, having such good business in such an unassuming location is largely thanks to the care from these old neighbors.
Whenever any family has guests or relatives visiting, they always come here to order a few signature dishes to entertain them.
As lunchtime approaches, the back kitchen starts getting busy. The shopkeeper stands behind the counter, his fingers fiddling with the abacus beads in his hand, his old reading glasses half-drooping on his nose bridge, occasionally looking up to survey the surroundings.
The Western clock on the wall points to 11:40. A youth wearing a long blue robe and black-rimmed glasses enters the restaurant with a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Beep beep beep, the youth walks to the counter and taps on it.
The shopkeeper looks up upon hearing this, glances at the youth, and immediately puts on a smiling face: “Guest, here for a meal?”
The youth smiles and says: “Not here to eat, so am I here to stay? Shopkeeper, you really love to joke.”
Hearing this, the shopkeeper picks up the abacus and shakes it up and down to clear the numbers, places it on the counter, then lightly taps the counter with his fingers.
The youth seems to receive some signal and says with a smile: “I heard from a friend that your sizzling eel shreds are very authentic.”
“Today I came specifically just to try it.”
“If it’s not good, I’m going to flip the table, okay.”
The shopkeeper smiles and says: “Guest, you’ve come to the right place. Our boss entered the trade young and has learned Shanghai cuisine for decades.”
“If you can find any fault, even if you throw the dish in my face, I won’t say a word against it.”
The young man nods in satisfaction: “Shopkeeper, with your word, it’s good. Find me a quiet seat; I like by the window.”
The shopkeeper waves his hand and calls: “A’gui, guest here, take him to the second floor.”
“Alright.” The shop assistant responds, leading the youth straight up to the second floor.
At this time, a middle-aged man dressed somewhat shabbily but with a strong scholarly air is sitting by the window on the second floor.
He is eating very ordinary plain noodles, but he holds a book in his hand, eating noodles while reading.
After asking the youth’s preference, the shop assistant named A’gui leads him to sit by the window.
The shabby middle-aged man across sees someone coming. Though separated by a table, a trace of displeasure shows on his face, as if blaming the shop assistant for bringing someone over at this time to disturb his reading mood.
The youth seems to notice the other’s displeasure, his gaze falls on the book, and he says somewhat surprised: “Sir, you also like Zhang Henshui’s works?”
“Can’t say I like them; in these chaotic times, writings ultimately can’t escape the mundane.” The middle-aged man picks up the tea from the table and takes a sip, shaking his head as he says: “Hard to find literary integrity; ultimately, it’s inferior.”
The youth shakes his head in response: “Sir, you are mistaken. From ancient times to now, integrity lies in the heart, not on paper and ink.”
The middle-aged man seems stunned for a moment, ponders briefly, then claps and says: “Well said, well said.”
“As the ancient saying goes, among any three people walking, there must be one I can learn from; indeed a timeless truth.”
All the codes match. The middle-aged man stands and approaches, pulls out an iron cigarette case from his pocket, takes one out for himself, and extends the cigarette case to the other.
“Little brother, have a cigarette.”
The youth smiles, reaches out to take one, and immediately the middle-aged man takes out matches to light it for him.
While the other is smoking, the middle-aged man lowers his voice, speaking a bit quickly: “Pier Number Three, warehouse has dogs, west wall ladder unstable..”
This means the intelligence is at Pier Number Three, but that place may have been targeted by Japanese devils, so the location needs to be changed next time.
The youth takes a puff, exhales a puff of pale blue smoke, and praises: “This cigarette is good.”
“By the way, when I came up just now, I heard the shopkeeper say it seems like it’s going to rain.”
“Sir, you need a sturdier umbrella.”
This means the instruction is received, and he can request to change the backup location from superiors, preferably a more hidden spot.
The middle-aged man nods and says: “Thanks for the reminder, little brother. I’ll head out first; see you again if fate allows.”
Their brief conversation doesn’t attract others’ attention. The middle-aged man grabs the book from the table and hurries downstairs.
And that young man still sits by the window, cigarette in mouth, puffing away clouds of smoke.
Shanghai, French Concession, 622 Xilin South Road.
This is an ordinary civilian house, a two-story brick-wood bungalow with red bricks exposed and plastered with some lime-mixed powder, looking extremely glaring.
The creaking old pinewood stairs allow only one person to pass, with steps everywhere blackened by coal soot marks.
A young man carefully steps up the pinewood stairs to the second floor, his expression as if afraid that stepping harder would collapse the stairs.
There are four rooms on the second floor total. The man goes to the innermost one and knocks on the door.
Thud, thud thud, thud thud—a short then two longs knock sounds. With a creak, the door opens, revealing a middle-aged man’s figure.
“Come in.”
The youth slips inside. The middle-aged man vigilantly checks the outside, then quickly shuts the door.
“Han Zhu, why are you here? Does the organization have any instructions?”
Han Zhu is the code name of this young man just now. He is also the liaison officer named Qing Deng in front of him.
Since several years ago, when Gu Shunzhang, Xiang Zhongfa, and others successively betrayed the revolution.
After reorganization, Shanghai’s intelligence station has become even more secretive, and many comrades’ actions are even more cautious.
To prevent one person from affecting the intelligence agency’s normal operations.
Field agents mostly use vertical contacts; agents are not allowed horizontal contacts between them.
Though more cumbersome, safety is much improved. Even if you catch someone, you can only get one line.
It’s hard to lock onto others through one line.
“Received intelligence from the organization: the Nanjing Restoration Government, under Japanese instructions, will launch a pacification campaign against the guerrilla team in the Taihu Lake region on the third of next month.”
“Besides this, I have another piece of intelligence to pass to you.”
“The authenticity of this intelligence hasn’t been verified yet; you can use it for reference.”
With that, Han Zhu hands the intelligence retrieved from Pier Number Three to Qing Deng.
Qing Deng unfolds the intelligence, which densely lists the troop numbers and weapon configurations for this sweep against the Taihu Lake region guerrilla team.
Besides these, even the numbers for supply supplies are very detailed.
This doesn’t look like normal intelligence; it looks like a report—probably directly copied from the report.
“Comrade Han Zhu, this intelligence?”
After hesitating a long time, Qing Deng still says: “Isn’t it a bit too detailed?”
“Comrade Han Zhu, do you think this intelligence is reliable?”
