Because his identity was too obvious, He Feng rarely received assassination assignments. Such operations were usually delegated to subordinates. The current leadership was different from Shen Zhan—they were very strict about military orders and discipline, unlike the old days in Northeast China when acting first and reporting later, or not reporting at all, was common. The last time He Feng privately killed a devil, Old Ji gave him a severe scolding and even put a mark on his record. Even though he didn’t care about punishment or military rank and could even fight with his superiors, doing this too often would hurt relationships and all the arguing was very annoying.
After confirming Xie Chi’s safety, he went to find Old Ji and told him about the Communist Shanghai station underground party deputy district chief Zhou Jinghai’s defection and betrayal, as well as his intention to assassinate him. Old Ji immediately rejected it, only saying: “Don’t act on your own without orders.”
It was useless to say more—Old Ji was just stubborn. He Feng didn’t bother wasting words. As he walked out, Old Ji was still warning him in a low voice: “Don’t act recklessly. You better behave yourself.”
Behave himself? That was impossible.
He Feng went to Dancao Hall again.
After knocking three times on the door, the owner inside put on some clothes and came out, quickly letting him in.
“Is that you, brother?”
He Feng followed the voice and saw Li Changsheng putting on his shoes. “Stay lying down. I’ll say a few words and leave.”
Li Changsheng crawled back under the covers, excitedly saying, “Brother, is there a new mission?”
The owner brought him a cup of hot tea. He was mute and kept making sign language, telling He Feng to be careful in everything and pay attention to his disguise.
He Feng pulled up the clothes that had fallen halfway off him and wrapped them tighter around his chest. “I will. You go rest. Just have him lock the door later.”
The owner nodded, patted his arm, and turned to leave.
He Feng looked back at Li Changsheng and sat by his bed. “Come kill someone with me.”
…
When he secretly left back then, it wasn’t just because he was afraid of involving Xie Chi in daily searches for medicine and food for him, but more because he was afraid she would see him die. At that time, He Feng really thought he was dying. While Xie Chi was away, he secretly ran out and randomly found a place to lie down and wait for death. Unexpectedly, instead of dying, he was dragged home by a refugee. It was a mute man who knew some traditional Chinese medicine. His house was bombed and sealed on all sides, with only one hidden hole to get out. Whether it was the Western medicine finally taking effect or the Chinese medicine being miraculous, He Feng was saved by him.
When his health improved, He Feng went back to check the underground room. It was empty, looking like no one had been there for a long time. He looked at the words Xie Chi had left on the wall and learned that she had left Nanjing, which put his mind at ease.
After the atrocities stopped, the Japanese side was committed to restoring Nanjing’s appearance. Refugees in the safety zone successively returned to their homes, and various industries gradually resumed operations. Many Japanese residents and businessmen came to Nanjing. The two of them stayed in the mute man’s house the whole time. Fortunately, there were sufficient food reserves, so they didn’t need to worry about eating and drinking. Being indoors without sunlight for so long, they both became much paler, their rough skin softened, and they looked clean again.
Unexpectedly, Koike Ryuji’s identity helped He Feng greatly. He encountered Miyajima Kuruma, a student of Luo Lingshu, who had come to Nanjing as a secretary accompanying his superior to an economic conference.
This was a good opportunity to leave, but he had to face a choice. Should he return to the army or continue undercover work? He didn’t want either option. The major battles in Shanghai and Nanjing had completely disappointed him with the government, and infiltrating the devils’ ranks was also a headache, especially since his only contact, Shen Zhan, was no longer there.
Miyajima Kuruma was staying in Nanjing for three days. He Feng used this not-so-brief time to think carefully, his mind going over and over the words Shen Zhan had once said to him.
Should he continue? If he continued, who would he pass intelligence to?
Perhaps there would always be a way.
He Feng still chose to become Koike Ryuji again. Looking back at those years of undercover work, though painful, it was undeniably more valuable than being on the front lines.
After being out of contact for more than half a year, he first had to return to Tokyo. He Feng prepared a perfect excuse, but unexpectedly, aside from asking about He Feng’s uncle, Luo Lingshu didn’t ask anything else. He Feng only answered that when he reached Tianjin, the city had already fallen and he hadn’t seen his uncle’s family. He was so lucky to get through it like that.
Li Changsheng had stayed in Nanjing the whole time, learning some traditional Chinese medicine from the mute man.
When the organization didn’t allow unauthorized assassinations, he would find Li Changsheng to cooperate. From last year until now, they had also assassinated quite a few traitors and Japanese officials.
…
Zhou Jinghai arrived in Nanjing in the evening, and a welcome banquet was held that night.
He Feng was also invited to attend. He had Li Changsheng snipe from the building across the street. If he failed, he would stand with Zhou Jinghai at the door for a few seconds when the banquet ended, and Li Changsheng would have to eliminate him within those few seconds.
With so many people at the banquet, even though he didn’t need to be disarmed, using a gun was impossible. Exposing himself for the sake of a traitorous defector wasn’t worth it.
Although his reputation wasn’t good and outsiders saw him as nothing more than waste who got his position through connections, just the surname Koike was enough to make people swarm to him like flies. Several people came to talk with him in succession, giving him no opportunity for a stealth attack.
Halfway through the banquet, Director Yamada gave a series of speeches and announced Zhou Jinghai’s appointment as Action Section Chief of the Wang regime’s Nanjing District, along with official positions for the two subordinates Zhou Jinghai had brought.
He Feng sat at the corner of the long table eating fruit when a striking woman came over to greet him. “Mr. Koike.”
He Feng looked at her—it was Yang Nü from Jiayuan Cotton Mill, who had close relations with the Japanese side, specifically providing supplies to the military and controlling oil trade, holding several important transport lines. He swallowed his fruit. “Boss Yang is even more beautiful.”
“It’s rare that Mr. Koike still remembers me.”
“Can’t help it—beautiful women always leave a deep impression.” He Feng raised his hand slightly. “The fruit is good. Want some?”
Yang Nü covered his hand and pushed it outward. “Too sweet.”
He Feng glanced at her restless hand—her intentions were quite obvious. This woman had run dance hall businesses before the war, then somehow got involved with Japanese merchants. She was very good at socializing, frequenting large and small receptions, familiar with many dignitaries and military-political personnel. She had finger-waved hair, wore a dark green qipao with a black shawl decorated with red flowers draped over her shoulders. Her every movement carried an indescribable sensuality. He Feng knew these “key figures” in Nanjing well, including their romantic scandals. This woman was notorious, extremely fond of men, with loose morals. Had she taken a fancy to him today?
He Feng smiled at her. “Indeed very sweet.”
Yang Nü looked at him meaningfully. “So noisy here. Want to go upstairs and chat?”
He Feng picked up a grape and put it in her mouth. “Upstairs isn’t comfortable. How about coming to sit at my place?”
Yang Nü moved closer to him, giggling, and whispered in his ear, “Mr. Koike is really direct.”
He Feng was uncomfortable with her strong perfume smell. He endured it and put his arm around her waist. “Will you come?”
Yang Nü straightened up, looking at his tempting face, speaking softly, “Why wouldn’t I?”
He Feng casually picked up a glass and took a sip of wine. He stood up, immediately towering a full head above Yang Nü. “It’s a bit late today. Tomorrow?”
“It’s not late.” Yang Nü was almost pressed against him. “It’s just right. I have an apartment at Lanshan Villa nearby.”
He Feng gently pushed her away. “Too many eyes here. You go first, I’ll come later.”
“Room 1103.” Yang Nü traced her fingertip across his abdomen and left with swaying hips. “I’ll wait for you.”
He Feng looked toward Zhou Jinghai, who was sitting on a sofa not far away, chatting happily with several people, looking like intimate old friends.
Suddenly there was commotion around them.
A woman disguised as a waitress gripped a knife and stabbed toward Zhou Jinghai. He Feng watched helplessly as her assassination failed and she was caught by the military police instead. Everyone was still in shock when gunshots suddenly rang out. In an instant, everyone in the room scattered like startled birds.
It probably wasn’t their people—perhaps Communist Party, perhaps Central Statistics Bureau.
Unfortunately, the bullet didn’t take Zhou Jinghai’s life, only grazed his shoulder. What a waste of a diversionary tactic, and they lost a person too.
Sigh, useless.
Zhou Jinghai was escorted to the back hall under guard.
He Feng gripped a fork beside him, hiding it in his sleeve, slowly walking along the wall, waiting for the best angle, then threw the iron fork out. It flew over the crowd and landed directly on Zhou Jinghai’s neck.
Fast, accurate, ruthless, silent. In the chaotic crowd, no one noticed.
By the time Zhou Jinghai clutched his neck and fell, He Feng was already near the door.
A large number of military police rushed in, blocking the door. Except for Japanese people, no one was allowed out.
He Feng didn’t leave immediately. He wore a black long coat, standing under the eaves, his figure tall and upright, looking even more outstanding next to the short Japanese soldiers.
He took out a light, lit a cigarette, took two puffs, and flicked the cigarette body three times.
Li Changsheng in the distance understood and immediately packed up his rifle and left.
…
There was still Yang Nü to deal with.
He Feng kept his appointment and came to her apartment.
The key was in the door lock. He Feng walked straight in and came to the bedroom.
The room wasn’t lit, with several candles burning, creating quite an atmosphere. The woman had finished preparing, wearing a deep red nightgown, exposing a long white leg, lying seductively on the bed.
He Feng chuckled and picked up the candlestick, walking toward her.
“What are you holding that for?”
“To look at you.”
He Feng stood half a meter from the bed. Yang Nü extended her foot outside the bed and hooked his pants. “Come here.”
He placed the candlestick on the bedside cabinet and began rolling up his sleeves.
Yang Nü looked at his muscular forearms, unable to hide her delight. She had fancied him at the last reception, but unfortunately his little girlfriend was there. She hadn’t expected it to be so easy this time.
Seeing He Feng slowly rolling up his sleeves, she impatiently sat up to hug his waist. Before she could touch him, his hand swiftly gripped her neck, directly lifted her up, and threw her heavily to the floor.
Yang Nü felt like her nose bridge was about to break, blood gushing out and staining the carpet red.
She flailed her hands as his foot pressed down hard on her back, unable to struggle at all. She had heard about some of Koike Ryuji’s little peculiarities, but hadn’t expected him to be this brutal.
“Gentler, it hurts.”
He Feng picked up the candlestick from the cabinet and used his foot to flip her over.
Yang Nü was in unbearable pain from the kick and got angry. Just as she was about to get up, He Feng stepped on her abdomen again.
“You’ve gone too far!”
He Feng pulled the candle from the candlestick and looked down at her coldly. “I heard you’re from Shandong. We’re fellow provincials.”
“What?”
“What a fucking disgrace.” He Feng nimbly spun the thin candlestick with his fingers. “Of all things to do, you had to become a traitor. Of all things to sell, you had to sell out the country.”
Yang Nü sensed something was wrong and was about to scream when she saw the man above lift the corner of his mouth, bend down, and stab toward her.
The candlestick was pulled out slowly, blood spattering on his arm.
He Feng threw the candle onto the bed, and the quilt immediately caught fire.
By the light of the burning flames, he went to the living room table and rummaged around, but found no useful documents.
People were shouting outside:
“Fire!”
“Come help put out the fire—”
He randomly grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands and jumped out the back window.
…