The lychees had been transported from the south, with some spoiling along the way. He Feng had carefully selected a bag to bring to Xie Chi. This disguise was for a trip to an underground contact point, and after delivering the lychees to her, he hadn’t expected to coincidentally see her riding the tram.

The radio operator was undercover at Huaxing Bank. Tonight a colleague was having a birthday and she’d been dragged to the banquet, unable to get away. But intelligence couldn’t be delayed, so He Feng had to transmit personally. It was tactical intelligence sent to the war zone – just one character: Thunder. Using the Eight Trigrams to represent directions, it meant the southwest.

After packing up the radio, Old Ji and He Feng moved to another location for half an hour of secret discussion, reporting recent Japanese military movements, material flows, and the situation with Japanese spies and collaborators.

The meeting ended fifteen minutes earlier than He Feng had anticipated. He really wanted to see Xie Chi again. When he reached her place, he saw her room lights were already off. Not wanting to disturb her rest, he stood downstairs for a few minutes before leaving.

…

He Feng and food were her only sources of brief happiness recently. A whole bag of lychees, one after another – she simply couldn’t stop. Late that night, Xie Chi vomited twice. She thought she’d just overeaten, didn’t sleep well, and was still fast asleep past eight the next morning.

Fujita Kiyono first went to her shop, but only Zhang Ya was there, so he headed to her home, buying breakfast along the way. Before reaching the building, he saw A’Ru coming out with a bag to throw away trash. He got out of the car and greeted her: “A’Ru.”

Seeing him, A’Ru pretended to be happy: “Mr. Fujita is here.”

“Have you eaten?” He lifted his hand. “I bought breakfast for you all.”

“Not yet. Sister isn’t awake.”

They went inside one after the other. Fujita Kiyono saw Xie Chi’s door was closed and said quietly, “Don’t wake her. Let her sleep until she’s ready.”

“All right.”

“You eat first.”

“No need, no need. I just had fried buns and was about to do laundry. Please sit for a while – call me if you need anything.”

“Good, you go ahead.”

Guoqiang shared a room with A’Ru, and the door wasn’t closed. Fujita Kiyono went in to check on him. The child was under the covers, completely covered up. He carefully pulled the blanket down to expose his nose and quietly left. After just two steps, he heard Guoqiang call out: “Watermelon Uncle.”

Fujita Kiyono turned around. Guoqiang saw his face, recognized him, and immediately hid under the covers without making a sound.

Fujita Kiyono returned to the bedside. “Are you awake?”

Guoqiang didn’t move.

“Who is Watermelon Uncle?”

Guoqiang didn’t answer.

“Do you want to get up and eat breakfast? There are your favorite fried dough sticks and sweet soy milk. You can’t sleep with your face covered – you need to breathe fresh air.” Seeing the little hands tightly gripping the blanket, pretending to sleep, Fujita Kiyono smiled helplessly. “Then sleep a bit more. Get up when you want to eat.”

“Kiyono.” Xie Chi stood in the doorway calling him. “You’re here.”

Fujita Kiyono hurried over, seeing her drooping eyelids and poor spirits. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“A bit.”

“Eat something and then sleep more.” He was about to go to the kitchen to get plates when A’Ru heard the commotion and quickly came to help. “Please sit, I’ll take care of it.” A’Ru brought out bowls and dishes, arranged all the food, let them eat first, then went to do laundry.

Xie Chi only drank two sips of clear porridge. The several greasy fried dough sticks in front of her made her nauseous just looking at them, and even the porridge became hard to swallow.

Seeing her poor complexion, Fujita Kiyono asked, “Are you sick?”

Xie Chi put down her spoon. “I ate something bad yesterday.”

“Should we go to the hospital?”

“No need. I’ll sleep more.”

Fujita Kiyono also put down his chopsticks. “A friend is arriving in Shanghai soon. I need to pick him up. I originally wanted to take you to lunch and introduce you, but let’s meet tonight instead. Rest well first.”

“Mm.”

After he left, Xie Chi went back to sleep.

Downstairs, a beggar was going through the trash. Fujita Kiyono glanced over and saw the paper bag A’Ru had brought down earlier had been opened. The beggar was rummaging through it, with quite a few lychee peels scattered about.

Feeling sorry for him, Fujita Kiyono walked over and gave him some money. He wasn’t wearing a military uniform or kimono, just a suit with a black overcoat – you couldn’t tell what nationality he was. The beggar bowed in thanks, repeatedly calling him a “good man.”

Fujita Kiyono pointed at the mess on the ground. “Clean this up properly. Don’t affect the city’s appearance.”

“Yes, yes.”

…

After sleeping all morning, Xie Chi had completely recovered. Guoqiang still had some fever, and A’Ru had stayed home all day instead of going to the shop. Seeing the trash bin reminded her of the pile of lychee peels from last night. “Did you throw out the garbage?”

A’Ru sat on the balcony sunbathing and responded, “Yes.”

“Did you tie the bag properly?”

“Tied it tight.”

Xie Chi stood beside her, leaning against the door frame watching her embroider. The yellow thread gleamed golden in the sunlight. “You embroider so well.”

“It’s a new pattern. How is it?”

“Very nice. You’re almost a master craftsman.”

“Hardly.” A’Ru lowered her brow, extremely bashful. “Sister is just teasing me.”

“I’m being honest.” Xie Chi looked at the pedestrians coming and going downstairs. “How is Guoqiang?”

“Better, but still has a fever.”

“Let’s see later. If not better, we’ll go to the hospital again.”

“All right.” A’Ru stopped her work and looked up at her. “Where did all those lychees come from? I haven’t seen any for sale. Did Fujita bring them?”

“No. There are still some in the kitchen – you and he can eat them.”

“Good. Are you going to the shop?”

“Mm.” Xie Chi smoothed her hair and turned to go to the bathroom. “You stay home and take care of Guoqiang. I’ll go.”

“Okay.”

…

That evening, Fujita Kiyono had Yamashita come pick up Xie Chi. They didn’t go to a large entertainment venue or any famous restaurants. The location was a restaurant run by an elderly Japanese woman – not large scale, with few customers, relatively quiet.

His friend was called Takahashi Tomiji, an army major general who was also friends with Fujita Kiyono’s older brother. He’d been severely wounded in the Battle of Shanghai two years ago and had been recuperating until now. This time he was ordered to go to the Hebei area, precisely the Eighth Route Army’s guerrilla zone. Passing through Shanghai, he stopped to see his old classmate.

Fujita Kiyono was twenty-five, more than a year younger than Xie Chi. Since they were classmates, they should be about the same age, but he had the aged appearance of someone nearing forty. His body was thin and small, his skin loose and rough – a child’s body with an old face, looking particularly weathered.

On the surface, Takahashi Tomiji was polite to Xie Chi, but clearly had a fake smile, his whole being radiating sky-high arrogance, constantly expressing veiled contempt for this land in his words.

The meal was very uncomfortable.

Afterward, Fujita Kiyono had Yamashita take Xie Chi home while he went elsewhere to drink with Takahashi Tomiji.

Only then did Takahashi Tomiji speak his true thoughts: “Why did you find a Chinese woman? Even if she’s beautiful and can speak fluent Japanese, she’s ultimately not of our race. Those not of our kind must have different hearts. Playing around is fine, but don’t take it seriously. For marriage, you must find a woman from our great Japan.”

“Mrs. Koike is also Chinese. Your thinking is too extreme.”

“But I can’t see any liking for you in her eyes. She barely even looks at you.”

“That’s just her personality – she appears indifferent to everything and doesn’t show emotions outwardly.”

“I hope I’m overthinking it.”

On the other side, Xie Chi didn’t go home. She had Yamashita take her to the cheongsam shop. Zhang Ya was still in the shop. Xie Chi had him make a trip to the radio operator to pass along information about Takahashi Tomiji. Soon they received a reply from the organization: Organize assassination as circumstances permit.

Takahashi Tomiji had Japanese soldiers protecting him. Even during dinner, there were many plainclothes soldiers outside the restaurant, and Fujita Kiyono had arranged military police in the surrounding area. Assassination wouldn’t be easy.

The next morning, Xie Chi called Fujita Kiyono to invite him to lunch.

Fujita Kiyono had drunk too much the night before, his voice carrying fatigue and laziness: “Sorry, Wanzhi. I can’t have lunch with you. I need to see Takahashi-kun off in a moment and have a simple meal with him. I’ll come find you tonight.”

Xie Chi said, “All right, I’ll wait for you.”

Takahashi Tomiji was extremely cautious. He hadn’t stayed outside last night but had slept at Fujita Kiyono’s house.

By this time, several comrades were already secretly positioned around the Fujita residence, observing the surrounding movements.

At 1:28, Fujita Kiyono and Takahashi Tomiji came out of the house. Takahashi Tomiji wore a suit with added black-rimmed glasses. He wasn’t photogenic – there was some discrepancy between his real appearance and photos. Xie Chi had noticed this last night and, afraid others might not recognize him, decided to act personally.

She was sniping from a distant high building. She hadn’t personally acted for a long time, but just like before, she acted decisively without dragging things out. One clean, neat shot straight to the forehead.

In such circumstances, death was certain – there was no way to save him. She immediately left the sniper position, handed the gun to a contact person waiting downstairs, put on her coat, got in a rickshaw, and quickly evacuated the scene.

All afternoon, she stayed in the shop, receiving customers and making cheongsams, as if nothing had happened.

Military police and Wang puppet agent vehicles passed by from time to time outside. A major general dying on his way to the war zone would inevitably cause a sensation in all quarters. Right now, the Japanese consulate in Shanghai, headquarters, Plum Agency, various newspapers, and others were probably all frantically busy.

What a good day indeed.

Fujita Kiyono didn’t meet Xie Chi for dinner, and she couldn’t reach him either – his office phone was constantly busy. It wasn’t until after nine in the evening, when Xie Chi was preparing to leave the shop and go home, that Fujita Kiyono’s car appeared at the door.

He had been drinking, his cheeks flushed red.

Xie Chi helped him inside and poured him a glass of water. “I tried calling you for a long time. I heard Takahashi-kun was assassinated.”

Fujita Kiyono held the water glass, leaning weakly against the chair back, lifting his eyelids to look at her, his eyes full of sorrow and confusion.

Almost no one knew about Takahashi Tomiji coming here, and his lodging was even more secret. So exactly who had leaked the information? After investigating all afternoon with no results, he inevitably suspected the woman before him.

He had spent eight difficult hours torn between suspicion and the pain of losing a friend, imagining countless possibilities.

No, it couldn’t be her. It mustn’t be her.

Perhaps there had been some oversight – people at the restaurant? People at the bar? Or maybe someone else had recognized Takahashi Tomiji, or perhaps another intelligence line had problems.

Fujita Kiyono put down the water glass and raised his hand to take hers. “Wanzhi.”

Xie Chi grasped his hand.

He had always been blinded by love, never carefully considering the truth or falsehood of Xie Chi’s words. Was she really as she claimed – that regardless of who governed, as long as she had food and clothing, it was fine? Or had she been deceiving him all along, using him to obtain intelligence? Calculating these past months, it seemed many messages had indeed been leaked. Could she be with the Nationalist Army? Or the Communist Party?

Having been in Shanghai for nearly a year, Fujita Kiyono naturally understood that all agencies had Chinese undercover agents planted within them. If she was one of them, it would be too terrifying.

But even so, he didn’t dare ask a single questioning word. He was afraid that if it were true, once it was brought into the open, Xie Chi would leave him, or even turn her gun on him.

Fujita Kiyono pulled her closer, embracing her waist, his face gently pressed against her abdomen. “You won’t leave me, will you?”

Xie Chi looked at his disheveled hair – it had grown much longer since mid-year, back to that half-long natural curl from when they first met, with less of the soldier’s solemnity.

She hugged his head. “Of course not.”

Fujita Kiyono held her tighter and took a deep breath. “That’s good then.”

…