Tongfuli, Third Chengfang, Lane 301. On the wall of the archway facing the street, at the corner, hung a sign in large characters reading “Dr. Qin Chuan’an, Western Medicine Clinic.” Unlike some private clinics in the concessions that listed pediatrics, gynecology, internal medicine, surgery, and the like—making it seem the doctor could treat anything, which felt a bit untrustworthy—the small print beneath this sign simply stated that consultation hours were one to seven in the afternoon, with house calls by appointment.

Up in the archway room, Qin Chuan’an was worrying. These past two days he’d begun to suspect the clinic was under surveillance. A cigarette peddler had suddenly appeared at the mouth of the alley across the street—someone he’d never seen before. When making house calls, he always felt someone was tailing him; he wasn’t entirely sure, but that unfamiliar face—hadn’t he seen it around here several times now?

Was it simply because he’d stepped forward as guarantor? He’d prepared a plausible reason for that in advance. Being a guarantor was, after all, just a formality—among relatives, among friends, just doing someone a favor. Vouching for Liang Shichao made especially good sense, since the man had been helping out at the clinic all along.

Lao Fang hadn’t expected the rescue to go so smoothly—there had been word within just a few days. A few days earlier he’d called the clinic to tell Qin Chuan’an his situation was very dangerous, that the enemy was hunting for him everywhere, and then there had been no news at all.

This suggested the enemy really did know quite a lot. Qin Chuan’an had no idea how the rescue work was proceeding—all he could do was wait. But unexpectedly, the people really had been released. The clinic received the release notice, yet he still couldn’t find Lao Fang.

Qin Chuan’an was a surgeon; before this, he’d worked as a resident physician at the nearby German Hospital for several years, then set up his own clinic. The stated reason was that the German Hospital required resident doctors to be unmarried; naturally, there was another reason behind it. Originally Lao Fang had agreed with him that he’d only step forward to vouch for Liang Shichao, and the others would be arranged separately—but then Lao Fang himself ran into trouble.

What was surprising was that the Garrison Command’s military tribunal had actually asked him—since the guarantor documents for the rest of the co-defendants hadn’t been submitted yet—whether Dr. Qin would be willing to stand guarantor for all of them together. Since the New Year was approaching, the detention house hoped to let these people go home a bit early. This really was a strange affair—since when had the Nationalist Longhua detention house become so considerate? Vouching for Liang Shichao made perfect sense, but guaranteeing the other comrades too—wasn’t that as good as telling the enemy outright that these people were all in it together? But he was eager to save people, so he’d feigned reluctance for a while, and when the other side tried to persuade him again, he agreed and signed the guarantee documents.

He hadn’t expected things to go so smoothly—on the day of the release, Qin Chuan’an had actually been quite pleased. Cui Wentai drove, and together with him brought Liang Shichao and the wounded Lin Shi back to the clinic; the other comrades had all been released without incident too. But the moment he got back to the clinic, he couldn’t feel happy anymore. Liang Shichao quietly told him there was an insider. Such a secret meeting—how did the special agents know about it? And know in such detail—that fellow surnamed You had even produced a pair of dice.

“If the enemy knows that much, why would they release these comrades?”

The moment Qin Chuan’an asked this question, it occurred to him at once—if the organization had been infiltrated by the enemy, if there was an insider, then their release might mean an even greater conspiracy. But he didn’t know what to do. Lao Fang was missing, and contact with the higher-ups had been cut off.

What worried him wasn’t only the strangers who’d appeared outside the clinic.

This morning, when he went to the ward, Lin Shi said he needed to make a phone call to a bank—Lin Shi’s public identity was as an employee of Rentai Bank Company, and after so many days from arrest to release, he really ought to get in touch with the bank where he worked. Qin Chuan’an didn’t think much of it, meant to call Liang Shichao over to help Lin Shi to the consultation room, but Lin Shi said he could manage on his own.

These days the clinic was quite idle; with New Year approaching, aside from Lin Shi there were no patients staying in, and since it wasn’t consultation hours, not even the nurses had come in yet. Qin Chuan’an took the opportunity to have a talk with Liang Shichao.

Hearing that Lin Shi had gone off to make a phone call on his own, Liang Shichao only said coldly, “So now he can walk, can he.”

The phone call took a long while. When Lin Shi returned to the ward, he handed Qin Chuan’an a letter, asking him to help mail it. The addressee was Manager Wu of the Zhonghui Trust Bank. After all this back and forth, Lin Shi ran a slight fever again, and lay down and soon fell asleep.

Qin Chuan’an took the letter to the consultation room. The consultation room was right in the archway, with windows facing both the street and the alley, very bright. He stood by the window facing the street and looked out—the cigarette peddler had started his shift, the cigarette box hanging from his body; he wasn’t hawking, just leaning against a telephone pole across the street, smoking a cigarette himself.

He was considering how to slip the letter into the mailbox across the street without drawing attention when Liang Shichao came in.

“Dr. Qin, don’t rush to mail that letter yet. You’d better open it and take a look first.”

“Why?”

“Why—” Liang Shichao hesitated a moment. “Do you remember, that day I told you I suspected there was an insider in the organization?”

“You suspect Comrade Lin Shi?” Qin Chuan’an felt somewhat concerned—the clinic outside might already be under enemy surveillance; if there was an agent inside the clinic too, then this place was no different from the detention house.

“I’ve suspected him all along. He’s faking his illness. I saw his wound in prison—it wasn’t nearly that serious. Why is he unconscious all day, moaning even in his sleep, showing not a trace of revolutionary spirit? The moment he got to the clinic, though, he perked right up—making calls, writing letters.”

Qin Chuan’an was a doctor; he didn’t believe such suspicions at all. “Everyone’s body responds differently to a gunshot wound.”

“The special agents took special care of him too—they specifically found a military doctor from the Garrison Command to look at his wound and change the dressing. When they interrogated him, they didn’t even use torture—several sessions, and each time not very long. The jailer who took him out was quite courteous to him too.”

“That’s all?”

“Isn’t that enough? The situation of our struggle is this complicated—every sign has to be treated with vigilance.”

But Qin Chuan’an refused to open the envelope, feeling he had no right to suspect a comrade like this. Liang Shichao had always trusted Qin Chuan’an, but since his arrest things had happened that the doctor didn’t know about; Liang Shichao had turned it over in his mind and couldn’t dispel the doubt in his heart, so he demanded a temporary Party branch meeting be convened.

In this temporary Party branch, aside from the arrested comrades, there were also Qin Chuan’an, Cui Wentai, and Tian Fei. The latter two hadn’t originally worked on the same line as Qin Chuan’an and didn’t know each other, but that day he and Tian Fei had escaped the market together and happened to see Cui Wentai get into his own car. All three had been a bit dazed, not knowing exactly what had happened; they needed to find somewhere to steady their nerves and think about what to do next. Qin Chuan’an had had Cui Wentai drive to the clinic, thinking it should be relatively safe there—the special agents probably wouldn’t immediately think to connect a surgeon with the Communist Party.

After Lao Fang disappeared, the three of them stayed in contact. The night before the imprisoned comrades were to be released, Cui Wentai had volunteered to drive over and pick everyone up. These past days, cut off like kites with broken strings, they’d made the clinic their contact point, gathering to encourage one another. Tian Fei had proposed forming a temporary Party branch—everyone had agreed; if they’d lost contact with the organization, then organizing themselves would let them keep working.

But right now, Qin Chuan’an didn’t agree with holding a branch meeting. He felt there were far too many strange signs on the streets around the clinic—things weren’t right.

Liang Shichao grew somewhat angry—had it been anyone else, he’d have already lost his temper, but he couldn’t do that with Dr. Qin. Dr. Qin was a meticulous man, and besides, he’d saved his life. He held back his emotions and turned and left.

An hour later he came back—not alone. Cui Wentai and Tian Fei followed behind him. The three entered the consultation room; Tian Fei spoke first, saying gravely to Qin Chuan’an: “You must hand over that letter. The temporary Party branch has decided to open it.”

Qin Chuan’an looked out the window—it was nearly noon, and the sun shone on the houses across the street, cured fish, salted meat, and air-dried chicken hanging beneath the windows. Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve; every household was busy with year-end preparations. People came and went on the street, carrying strings of New Year goods.

Since it was everyone’s collective decision, he decided to comply. He took the letter from the drawer. Tian Fei snatched it, meaning to tear it open, but Cui Wentai stopped him. A kettle boiled on the stove in the consultation room, steam continuously puffing from the spout. Liang Shichao held the letter’s sealed flap over the spout, and before long the glue on the seal melted. He peeled it open, drew out the letter paper, and handed the letter to Qin Chuan’an.

Manager Wu Zuoge, Esteemed Sir: The original appointment for the tenth of this month has fallen through due to circumstances beyond my control. I was also informed earlier by telephone that the matter of the safe deposit box renewal should be conveyed by letter. As follows: Please renew safe deposit box No. 279 through the eleventh of March, with all related fees to be settled in full before expiration. Kindly review and approve at your earliest convenience. Respectfully.

Qin Chuan’an read the letter and said nothing. Tian Fei took it and read it through, then suddenly gave a low exclamation: “Just as I thought.”

“Just as you thought?” Liang Shichao asked quickly.

“The tenth of this month—wasn’t that the day of the market meeting, the day we were all arrested by the enemy?”

“What does that prove?”

“A secret meeting, an urgent mission assigned by the higher-ups—something this important, and he still had the leisure to schedule a meeting with someone. There’s definitely something wrong with him.” Ever since the enemy had burst into the library to make arrests, Tian Fei, though he’d gotten away, had grown increasingly agitated whenever anything happened.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” Qin Chuan’an said, signaling everyone to stay calm. “Comrade Lin Shi’s public identity is precisely that of a bank employee—that’s his everyday work.”

He deliberately used the word “comrade,” wanting to remind everyone to pay attention.

“He was just released, injured, hospitalized—does his everyday bank work really need such urgent phone calls and letters? Look—he was even arrested still carrying his personal seal on him.” Tian Fei felt he was being quite sharp, pointing at the private seal stamped at the end of the letter.

“So what do we do now?” Cui Wentai said.

None of them had any idea now—an internal investigation needed the organization’s approval; that was discipline.

“We can’t reach the higher-ups—we’ll get to the bottom of it ourselves.” Tian Fei was somewhat worked up.

“How?” Liang Shichao looked at Qin Chuan’an.

“We should restrain him first—we can’t just leave him alone in the ward.” Before Tian Fei finished speaking, he’d already taken the lead and run toward the ward.

The three went into the ward. Cui Wentai closed the door; Liang Shichao stood by the window; Tian Fei bent over Lin Shi and asked: “What’s in the safe deposit box?”

Lin Shi blinked, as if not quite fully awake, somewhat groggy.

“Who is this Manager Wu?” Tian Fei lowered his voice.

Lin Shi thought about it: “Manager Wu of the Zhonghui Trust Bank?”

“You were supposed to meet him this month on the tenth—were you planning to see him after the meeting?” Tian Fei fired off questions in rapid succession, though there was no logic connecting them.

Liang Shichao cut in: “Why do you think the enemy discovered our secret meeting?”

“Why do you think they discovered it?” Lin Shi asked back, smiling.

“This is a formal inquiry from the temporary Party branch—please be serious,” Cui Wentai said from where he leaned against the door, some distance off.

That didn’t sound serious at all, Liang Shichao thought, and waved a hand at Cui Wentai. “We already discussed this question in the enemy’s detention house—the conclusion was that the organization very likely has an enemy agent planted within it.”

“We can’t say there’s a conclusion yet.” Lin Shi’s tone was calm. “Carelessness in the work, or a leak through some other channel—both possibilities exist. It needs to be strictly reviewed by the organization, under the leadership of the higher-ups.”

“We can’t reach the higher-ups. Even if we could reach them now, we shouldn’t rashly make contact—we have to root out the insider first.”

“These two comrades,” Lin Shi pointed at Tian Fei and Cui Wentai, “shouldn’t be here. They weren’t arrested—it’s not really appropriate for them to come running over to meet with us like this.”

Tian Fei grew angry and stepped forward, yanking the blanket off Lin Shi. “Sit up and answer the questions properly.”

“The owner of the safe deposit box is a bank client,” Lin Shi said, sitting up, leaning against the headboard. “I work at the bank.”

“Don’t try to fool us. You work at Rentai Bank Company—the safe deposit box is at Zhonghui Trust Bank. It’s not some client’s box—you rented it yourself.” Cui Wentai laughed a little smugly from a distance.

“I think, unless we open that box and see what’s actually inside, you’re not going to tell the truth.” Tian Fei’s voice grew louder and louder.

Cui Wentai exchanged glances with the other two. The three left the room; Tian Fei turned back at the door and said to Lin Shi: “Don’t move.”

Back in the consultation room, Tian Fei asked: “What do we do?”

No one had any idea. Qin Chuan’an had just opened his mouth when Liang Shichao cut him off: “We’ve already looked into it this far—might as well see it through to the end.”

“We can’t lay hands on him, can we?” Tian Fei sounded hesitant.

“Absolutely not,” Qin Chuan’an said firmly.

Seeing everyone standing there at a loss, Cui Wentai said: “Let’s tie him up first. If he really is an agent, he might try to run.”

Liang Shichao thought it over: “Tying him up isn’t a bad idea either—see if it scares him.”

The three rushed back into the ward again.

Qin Chuan’an listened for a while in the corridor—no particular commotion. He thought, at least Lin Shi wasn’t resisting. He went back to the consultation room, found a Schubert record, meant to listen to some music for a while, but had barely turned on the gramophone before he switched it off again. He looked out the window, feeling more and more uneasy.

He suddenly spotted a woman getting out of a rickshaw across the street—brocade lined gown, purple wool overcoat, carrying a Guansheng Yuan pastry box, dressed like a wealthy lady out visiting relatives for New Year’s. She stood at the curb, looked both ways, and just as she was about to cross the street, looked up toward the clinic once more—only then did Qin Chuan’an recognize her as Ling Wen. Had Liang Shichao notified her too? he wondered, puzzled. This really was getting out of hand—unable to reach the higher-ups, the comrades were acting on their own, turning his clinic into their contact station. The trouble was, the clinic might well be under enemy surveillance right now.

The nurses hadn’t come in yet; he went down himself and opened the door.

“Dr. Qin,” Ling Wen said with a smile at the door, “I’ve come to see Mr. Lin—”

“There’s no one else here,” Qin Chuan’an told her once she’d come in. “It’s not consultation hours yet—the nurses haven’t come in.”

As Ling Wen went upstairs, she told Qin Chuan’an that Lao Yi had sent her to let everyone know he’d made contact with the higher-ups.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Qin Chuan’an said, genuinely delighted. “I’ve been at my wit’s end.”

“What’s happened?”

Once in the consultation room, Qin Chuan’an told her everything that had just occurred.

“That won’t do at all,” Ling Wen said at once. “Let me go take a look first.”

The moment she entered the ward, she saw the three of them gathered around a chair in the middle of the room, Lin Shi seated in it, his arms bound to the chair back.

Ling Wen said bluntly, right off: “Let him go.”

“Can’t let him go—he’s an insider.” Among the three men, only Liang Shichao recognized her; he added, “—very likely.”

“Internal investigations must follow the higher-ups’ instructions.”

“We can’t reach the higher-ups.”

“We’ve made contact.”

At these words, everyone in the room looked at her, and Tian Fei’s grip on Lin Shi’s hand loosened.

“The higher-ups sent someone to contact Lao Yi,” Ling Wen told them all, a bit excitedly. “The contact went very smoothly.”

“Did the higher-ups say whether we can resume work?” Tian Fei asked eagerly.

“Look at the lot of you—no organization, no discipline, gathering as you please, investigating comrades however you like, running wild. Comrade Tian Fei, the meeting location above the market was one the organization asked you to arrange—should we suspect you because of that?” Ling Wen glared at him.

Tian Fei couldn’t help feeling a bit wronged, thinking to himself that he’d only arranged the meeting spot on Lao Fang’s instructions.

Lin Shi looked gently at Tian Fei, then turned to Ling Wen and asked: “What did Lao Yi say?”

“Lao Yi thinks we should hold a meeting as soon as possible to discuss things—before the organization begins its internal investigation, everyone should get ready, carefully recall the situation before and after their arrest, and report truthfully to the higher-ups when the time comes.”

“Please tell Lao Yi I want to go back to work in the Soviet Area,” Liang Shichao said very earnestly.

“He was originally a Red Army commander—came to Shanghai for medical treatment and can’t get back there for now,” Qin Chuan’an explained to Ling Wen.

“Lao Fang said he’d reported my situation to the organization, then suddenly called me in to the market meeting, saying there was an urgent task. Now, with things turning out this way, I can’t get back there either.”

“The higher-ups must have had a reason for assigning you to this mission.” Qin Chuan’an turned to address everyone. “Everyone think carefully about your own identity—the organization must have had considerations in choosing us for this. If this keeps up, the clinic nurses will start getting suspicious too.”

Liang Shichao said nothing. He’d nearly given half his life in Shanghai; it was Dr. Qin who had saved him.

“Right, you should rest and recuperate—you can stay here a few days.” Lin Shi said, smiling, looking toward Liang Shichao.

Liang Shichao had never liked the look of Lin Shi—lying about in the detention house the whole time, clearly a bit afraid of the enemy. Even setting aside the investigation of Lin Shi for now, Liang Shichao still had his doubts: “I’ve rested far too long already. In a situation like this, how can I possibly feel at ease?”