At around three in the morning, the wind and waves had eased somewhat, and thick fog had risen over the sea. No stars were visible; the steamship seemed to be sleepwalking through a vast black world. At this moment they were in the waters of the Zhoushan Archipelago, where submerged reefs were dense underwater, and the ship’s speed had already slowed to eleven knots. The sea had gone almost completely silent, save for the sound of waves slapping and rubbing against the hull. Suddenly a piercing whistle blast tore through the night, and in the darkness, lights flickered faintly—it turned out the ship had drifted slightly off course and was closing in on a large expanse of reef ahead. The ship swung its rudder sharply to the right; the stern nearly scraped against the sharp rocks.
Most of the passengers in the cabins did not notice. A few, jolted by the ship’s sudden turn, merely rolled over in their sleep. But Liang Shichao woke up. He found himself thinking again about the question he had been mulling over before falling asleep, and after two or three minutes he spoke down to the lower bunk:
“You’re saying the person who actually died on Haoxian Street was Long Dong?”
“I think at that point, Lu Zhongde didn’t yet know he would have to impersonate the man he’d had killed—that’s why he let Uncle Li at the tobacco shop see him on the Dragon Boat Festival.”
Long Dong had been lured to his death by Lu Zhongde. Little Phoenix was an opera singer, the leading performer of the Qunfang Yan troupe, able to remember every line of every script. She still remembered Lu Zhongde saying to Long Dong over the phone: you’ve already left, you can’t go back to that place. So Long Dong must already have begun to withdraw by then. Perhaps the word used on the phone had indeed been “withdraw,” only Little Phoenix wasn’t familiar with that kind of phrasing. When Long Dong was killed, Ouyang Min was arrested; after the Dragon Boat Festival, Ouyang Min turned traitor. It was only then that Ye Qinian decided to have Lu Zhongde pose as Yi Junnian and plant false news in the papers.
“So Long Dong was really Yi Junnian?” Liang Shichao’s mind could hardly keep up.
Long Dong was the one who should have come to Shanghai that July, to make contact with Lao Fang. The organization had transferred him from Guangzhou to Shanghai to build an intelligence network.
“Yi Junnian was a false name, a work alias, originally meant to be used by Comrade Long Dong. He was to use that name to book his ship ticket, to reserve lodging in Shanghai. In Shanghai he would also use that name to make contact with others.”
“Lu Zhongde stole this name, and no one could have detected it?”
“Anyone in Guangzhou who might have discovered this had been killed. In Shanghai no one knew who the man being sent was—anyone at all could have used that name, followed the prescribed methods of contact and the code words, and made contact with Lao Fang. Even within the underground party organization this was top-secret information; no one would have thought to doubt the identity of whoever showed up.”
Because Ouyang Min was captured, the underground party organization in Guangzhou was completely destroyed, and everyone who knew of the transfer plan was gone. Ye Tao’s intelligence had been accurate—Ouyang Min had indeed betrayed them. It was precisely because of his betrayal that Ye Qinian learned of the plan to transfer Long Dong, and grasped every detail: the alias, the method of contact, the liaison. Chen Qianli guessed that Ye Qinian had not originally intended for Lu Zhongde to remain undercover long-term—he had simply seen a new opportunity in what the traitor revealed.
Ye Qinian would never let an opportunity slip once it was in hand. Many years ago, when the Nationalists and Communists had only just begun to cooperate, he had already been shouting at gatherings of right-wing elements within the Nationalist Party that the Communists must be eradicated root and branch. So he wanted to press his advantage, to win big again—he placed another bet on Lu Zhongde, and the price he paid was having Ouyang Min killed. Ouyang Min had been Long Dong’s superior, the one who had arranged the plan to transfer him; no one else could have known the details so precisely.
“That bastard—so many people have died at his hands. So many comrades in Guangzhou, Long Dong, Lao Fang, and that comrade who went to warn people at the market. When I get back I’ll finish him off. I want to cut out his heart and see just how black it is.”
And Ye Tao too, Chen Qianli thought silently to himself—and perhaps Ling Wen as well; she too might already have been killed by him. On the day of the Start of Spring, they had gone asking around the back lanes of Tianguan Li on Haoxian Street, but not a single neighbor was willing to answer their questions—everyone looked frightened the moment they saw strangers approach. Chen Qianli had hurried away with Liang Shichao, suspecting the residents of Haoxian Street had been terrified by whatever had happened that night. But—
“We can’t kill him yet. Let’s keep that bullet in reserve for him a while longer, half a month more.”
“Why?”
Because right now he was the only one who could reach Comrade Hao Han, because they had to find a way to help Comrade Hao Han escape the imminent danger closing in on him. But he could not tell Liang Shichao that, not yet.
“Because we have a more important task. Not only can we not kill him for now, we can’t let him know that we already know he’s a traitor. He’s going to meet us at Gong He Xiang Wharf at noon today—we absolutely cannot let him see through us,” he said.
That day in the fishing-boat shanty, he had asked Lao Xiao a single question: why he was to meet Ling Wen the next day. The moment that question was asked, the fog had begun to clear. On New Year’s Day, standing on the roof of the bank, he had seen Cui Wentai far off, driving away in his car, and suspicion had struck him at once. The visitor from the Qingdao boat had told him that there was a traitor within the Shanghai underground party organization, code-named “Xi Shi.” Could it be that the ace mole of the Special Services Headquarters, Ye Qinian’s precious asset, was Cui Wentai after all?
He had read that newspaper; he knew that even if Ling Wen went to that street, she wouldn’t find any clues—so why had she disappeared?
Now he understood. Lu Zhongde had needed to eliminate her in order to have any chance of intercepting the top-secret message locked in Lao Xiao’s head. Once Ling Wen vanished, he could put on a performance, deceive Lao Xiao, and get him to reveal the intelligence to him. After Lu Zhongde returned to Shanghai the day before, he would certainly report at once to Ye Qinian that Comrade Hao Han’s only means of outside contact had now fallen into the hands of the secret agents. Even if he himself returned to Shanghai today, there was no way he could send the contact signal first, because the advertisement space in those two newspapers would certainly be under the agents’ tight control.
That would be an unbreakable trap—even an attempt at forcible interception would likely be impossible. Once Comrade Hao Han placed that call, the agents would tell him the meeting location, and there was no way for Chen Qianli to obtain that information.
So, for now, not only could Lu Zhongde not be eliminated—he also had to be made to believe that his own tail had not been exposed. In Guangzhou, he had told Mo Shaoqiu the situation and asked him to notify the underground party organization to shut down every liaison station in Hong Kong and Guangzhou that Lu Zhongde had had contact with. He had also asked Mo Shaoqiu, once Lao Xiao was safely settled, to hurry to Ruijin and report the situation in full detail to Comrade Shao Shan, taking every precaution along the way. Chen Qianli had rushed back from Guangzhou to Hong Kong that same night; before boarding, he stopped at the post office and sent a telegram to Chen Qianyuan, asking his younger brother to pass the message on to Lin Shi. The telegram said he would arrive at Gong He Xiang Wharf around noon today aboard the Guisheng, and asked that Yi Junnian come to meet him.
Chen Qianli judged that once Lu Zhongde returned to Shanghai, he would certainly continue to make contact with Lin Shi and the others, putting on a grieving act as he told everyone that Ling Wen had disappeared. He might also know that Chen Qianli himself had left Shanghai, and suspect that he had gone to Guangzhou. To cover up what Lu Zhongde had done in Guangzhou, the agents would certainly want to silence him for good—to make sure Lu Zhongde’s identity was never exposed, and to make sure the method of reaching Hao Han remained firmly in their hands. He had to make Lu Zhongde believe he had never gone to Guangzhou; only then could he find the opportunity to tear open Ye Qinian’s trap and rescue Comrade Hao Han.
He guessed the agents would be prepared: the moment he appeared, they would move to kill him at once. But if he went to meet Lu Zhongde on his own initiative, it might make him believe he could still get away with it, could still keep the deception going. He reckoned that in that case, the agents would prepare for both outcomes—ready to kill him, but also ready to let Lu Zhongde go on playing Yi Junnian. If he made the slightest misstep meeting Lu Zhongde at the wharf, the agents might well strike immediately—perhaps a gunman was already hidden on some rooftop near the docks, waiting for Lu Zhongde’s signal. He planned to put on a show for Lu Zhongde as well, to lull him into believing they knew absolutely nothing of what had happened in Guangzhou—that they had never been to Guangzhou, had never met Mo Shaoqiu or Lao Xiao, and knew nothing of Ling Wen’s sudden disappearance.
The Guisheng entered the mouth of the Wusong River at ten-fifty in the morning, just a quarter hour past high tide. Only half an hour passed before the pilot came aboard to guide the ship into port. Just past noon, Liang Shichao, standing on deck, caught sight of Gong He Xiang Wharf. The berths for large vessels along the pier were already occupied, so the Guisheng could only anchor mid-river; the shipping company had chartered a small steam launch to ferry passengers ashore. This launch had a wide deck platform; once it drew alongside, the big ship would lower its gangway, and passengers would descend directly onto the launch to be ferried to shore. Passengers with heavier luggage could wait at the dock, or leave first and have a travel agency deliver their luggage home for them.
Chen Qianli told Liang Shichao not to disembark yet—to wait until he himself had gone ashore before leaving.
The small launch slowly drew alongside; this batch being ferried were all first- and second-class passengers, standing about the deck in twos and threes, immaculately dressed, every face smiling, showing none of the weariness one might expect after a long voyage. Once both mooring lines were secured, a bell rang at the bow and the gate was opened.
The day Chen Qianli had left Shanghai, wind and snow had raged; now, on his return, the sun shone brightly—the look of early spring already in the air. The pier ramp rose in a gentle slope; Gong He Xiang Wharf had been rebuilt two or three years earlier, and the wooden planks of the ramp had plenty of spring to them, thudding underfoot with each step. From the top of the ramp, one came straight into the Gong He Xiang Wharf Company grounds; rows of cars stood parked on the open lot, and crowds waiting to receive passengers lined both sides of the ramp.
He caught sight of Lu Zhongde, but noticed nothing unusual in the surroundings. The agents were most likely hiding in the parked cars; there might be a gunman tucked into some corner atop the wharf company’s three-story building. He knew Ye Qinian well—if he had decided to silence someone in order to keep Lu Zhongde’s cover intact, he would choose just this kind of clean, decisive method. He guessed these agents must be trusted men handpicked and brought in specially from the Special Services Headquarters in Nanjing, the only way to keep Lu Zhongde’s secret from leaking. He would have selected them with great care, so their marksmanship was certain to be excellent as well.
He continued forward, walking toward the gate on the right side of the wharf building, not too quickly, in the manner typical of this kind of rendezvous—letting the other party fall in slowly from behind and to the side. Now they were walking side by side.
“Any luck finding a boat?” he asked Lu Zhongde.
“A boat?”
“I want to charter a small cargo vessel, two or three hundred tons, something that can carry freight—ideally carrying other things as well. I only need the passenger cabin.”
“What for?”
“To move some people. An inconspicuous small cargo ship, carrying rice, sugar, cloth, or whatever else. An old, unremarkable ship, but with decent enough equipment to handle rough seas.” He spoke as he thought, as if the idea had only occurred to him minutes ago—as though it had begun forming in his mind just as he stepped ashore and saw the cranes towering along the riverbank, or after he’d landed and glimpsed the words “Warehouse—Restricted Area” painted on a distant wall, the thought taking shape even as he spoke it aloud.
“You had me come to the wharf just for this?”
“Arrange me a place to stay—the hotel isn’t safe anymore, it seems. For the next few days I need somewhere secret and reliable. The bigger the better; during the operation we might need to house several more people.”
“That’s no problem. When do you need it?”
“Today.”
Chen Qianli sensed the other man relax just slightly—perhaps his words had worked. He didn’t look around, but he knew the agents must be watching them closely. The wharf company’s gate stood wide open, an iron sign in Chinese and English reading “No Entry Without Business.” Two or three children stood at the entrance, holding out large biscuit tins filled with various cigarettes and loose change.
Outside was East Broadway; along one side of the street stood the various wharf companies—Shuntai, China Merchants, Waysung, Nippon Yusen Kaisha, Farnham Dock. A tram track ran down the middle of the road; the shops across the street were all businesses catering to shipping trade—hardware stores, tobacco and paper shops, hat and shoe shops, foreign currency exchanges, and quite a few bars. Some of these bars had curtains drawn on the second floor, and every windowpane was papered over with decorative flower paper, as if those rooms had a particular need for dim lighting.
Chen Qianli wondered whether he should tell him a little more. He led Lu Zhongde to sit down together in a small café that also served fried pork cutlets and Russian borscht. The cutlet had been fried once, allowed to cool, then fried again; the borscht looked distinctly suspicious. But neither of them had any real interest in the food. Chen Qianli looked out the window and saw Liang Shichao come out through the wharf company gate and disappear into the bustling crowd. He turned back to face Lu Zhongde, and found the other man watching him.
“Comrade Ling Wen has disappeared.”
Lu Zhongde said this abruptly. Chen Qianli did not appear overly startled, though he could not let himself seem as though he’d already known either. He froze for a moment—
“Where?”
“Guangzhou. You didn’t know?”
Chen Qianli shook his head, as if he had suddenly heard some terrible news, his mind still struggling to catch up.
“I thought Lin Shi would have told you in the telegram,” Lu Zhongde added softly, straining to squeeze out a note of grief.
“What happened?”
Lu Zhongde was silent for a long while. Chen Qianli listened to his answer, forcing down the anger boiling inside him. He knew Lu Zhongde must have already prepared a story, just as he himself had prepared to appear utterly unsuspecting, no matter what was said.
Lu Zhongde said Ling Wen had gone to the newspaper office, then to the clipping agency of the press association. She had insisted on going to Haoxian Street—what was that back lane called again? He pretended to ask himself, then answered: Tianguan Li back street. Chen Qianli had not expected him to say that; in Guangzhou he had told Mo Shaoqiu the opposite—that they had never been to Haoxian Street at all. So had Lu Zhongde deliberately let slip this flaw, testing him, watching for his reaction?
Lu Zhongde said he had wanted to stop her; he said, full of regret, that he should have fought to hold her back, had he only known it would come to this. From this he offered his superior a mild criticism: since the Guangzhou trip had been Comrade Ling Wen’s responsibility from the start, there were times he simply couldn’t say much. After all, the underground party organization enforced strict discipline between superiors and subordinates—a subordinate had no business prying into a superior’s thinking or methods. Comrade Ling Wen, for her part, needn’t have told him where she was going at all. He had waited a long time; deep into the night, she still hadn’t returned.
At first light he had hurried to Haoxian Street; he had searched that back lane for half the morning before realizing he’d made a mistake—he should have turned right at the old banyan tree, not continued straight ahead, because relative to the direction of Haoxian Street—since Haoxian Street lay to the south—the back street should have been at the very northern end, not further east along that straight lane. This delay meant it was already broad daylight by the time he found it.
But there was still no one on the back street—only a fortune-teller, sitting there for some reason at that early hour, who pulled at him insisting on reading his fortune. He’d asked the old fortune-teller whether he’d seen a strange woman, in her thirties, come asking questions around the lane the afternoon before. He had meant to describe her as wearing a qipao and a sweater, but thought better of it, guessing the old man wouldn’t remember such details, and changed his mind, simply saying she’d been dressed very nicely, very fetching.
The ship wasn’t due to leave until evening, so he still had time to make one more trip to the Xingchang Pharmacy liaison station. The station chief was Mo Shaoqiu, and there was also a Mrs. Mo. It was Mrs. Mo who had told Ling Wen about the newspaper matter, so he needed to go to the station—but the moment he reached Jianglan Street, something felt wrong. Plainclothes agents were on the street; though Guangzhou’s plainclothesmen dressed differently from Shanghai’s, the demeanor of these petty agents was unmistakable at a glance. Sure enough, before long the street erupted into chaos—someone opened fire. He judged something must have happened at the liaison station and could only get away as fast as possible. He went back to the hotel and waited until evening, but Ling Wen still hadn’t appeared. He had no choice but to board the ship back to Shanghai—the mission was too important; he couldn’t afford to wait any longer.