Before long, a despondent Xu Bicheng found faith in God. At her request, Chen Shen cut her hair even shorter. She said losing her hair was a way of memorializing Tang Shan Hai. On Sundays, Xu Bicheng would hurriedly take her Bible to the Hongde Church for worship. During every service, she would think about her short life and how it had become entangled in so many covert wars. She sent word of Tang Shan Hai’s sacrifice to Chongqing, and the reply was simple: “Keep fighting!”
When Xu Bicheng received the message from Chongqing, she instinctively pressed her feet tightly together, feeling as though she was completing Tang Shan Hai's mission. This sense of duty reignited her inner strength. One day, Chen Shen appeared before her again. She was crouched on the floor, tinkering with some bottles, gray powder, and small metal fragments. Chen Shen sat down on a stool, silently watching her work. Without looking up, Xu Bicheng said, “Don’t smoke.”
“I’m not stupid,” Chen replied. He then added, “You’re making explosives. But with the power of these, you couldn’t even kill a fish.”
Still not raising her head, Xu Bicheng said, “The explosives I make don’t need to be that powerful.”
When Chen Shen left the third-floor apartment in Fuxu Village, Xu Bicheng didn’t look up or say goodbye. She simply stared blankly at the crude bomb she had already assembled on the floor. It was only long after Chen Shen’s footsteps had completely faded that her tears began to fall. A thought crossed her mind—perhaps she had loved Tang Shan Hai all along. For a man like Chen Shen, whom she longed to love but couldn’t, what made Tang Shan Hai any less worthy?
Chen Shen walked on the asphalt streets of winter, reaching the coldest depths of Shanghai. He dropped a letter into the mailbox on Doule Road. He had always worried whether passing messages through the mailbox was secure. He was seeking guidance from “the Doctor,” asking if taking in a Bureau of Military Statistics agent violated the rules during the Nationalist-Communist cooperation. After posting the letter, he quickly left, knowing full well that being arrested—whether by Bi Zhong Liang or Su Sansheng—was a very real possibility. Sometimes he wondered who would worry most about him if he were caught. After thinking for a long time, the answer brought a cold sweat: it would likely be his sister-in-law, Bi Zhong Liang’s wife, Liu Lanzhi.
Three days later, the Doctor issued Chen Shen a command through a wall poster: expedite the Zero Plan. There was no mention of Chen’s inquiry about harboring a Bureau of Military Statistics agent. Chen Shen felt deflated, thinking the organization lacked compassion. He had yet to receive the Zero Plan, but in several meetings at headquarters, the orders from the 76th Special Agent Headquarters to the action team became increasingly clear: spare no effort to search for and capture a Communist agent codenamed “Sparrow.” Although Sparrow had not been active recently, intelligence indicated that over the past year, this agent had obtained eighteen pieces of intelligence from the Wang Jingwei regime, one of which was a top-secret meeting memorandum.
Meanwhile, Su Sansheng’s career at the Meijiang office and the 76th Headquarters was flourishing, with funding for the East Asia Research Institute constantly increasing. This made Bi Zhong Liang uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could do. Su Sansheng worked from his rented office space but would occasionally come to Bi Zhong Liang’s office for brief reports. He appeared more harried than Bi Zhong Liang, busier by far. Sometimes, Su would show up at Li Xiaonan’s building, pestering her and frequently driving her to the dog races at Yiyuan in the French Concession. This disgusted Chen Shen, who remarked, “What’s so great about dog races? People races are far more interesting.” But Li Xiaonan didn’t want Chen Shen meddling. “You’re minding too much of my business,” she said. “Even my dad never tried to control me like this.”
“What did your dad do?” asked Chen Shen.
Li Xiaonan shook her head, “He’s dead. These years, I’ve grown up like a wild weed. After graduating from the China Dance Academy run by Li Jinhui, I joined the Mingyue Song and Dance Troupe, singing and dancing to support myself. I worked hard to get into the Star Film Company. Do you understand?”
Chen Shen replied, “I understand.”
“What do you mean by that?” Li Xiaonan asked.
Chen Shen said, “You’re still looking for somewhere to belong.”
That day, in Li Xiaonan’s apartment, Chen Shen sat down on the sofa, but unlike usual, he didn’t challenge her to a game. Instead, he scattered a deck of playing cards across the table. Just by looking at the backs of the cards, he could memorize the value of each one. He swiftly gathered them up, moving like someone who had spent years immersed in gambling dens.
Chen Shen asked, “Do you want to learn chess or cards? You’ll need it when you become a lady of leisure.”
“I don’t want to learn either,” Li Xiaonan replied. “It’s too tiring.”
Chen Shen thought for a moment and said, “Let’s stick to chess then.”
Li Xiaonan was the worst chess player Chen Shen had ever seen. As they played Go, Chen gave her a five-stone advantage but barely paid attention to the game. Most of the time, he was flipping through a newspaper. Li Xiaonan rested her chin on her hand, staring intently at the board. It seemed as though her black stones had completely surrounded Chen Shen’s white ones. Outside, Chen Shen noticed the sunset rolling and leaping from the distance, spilling through the window and casting a startling red glow over the chessboard.
Chen Shen thought to himself, “Evening has come just like that.”
Then, he reached out, picked up a white stone between his fingers, and placed it on the Go board. Li Xiaonan was stunned for a moment. It was only then that she realized that this single stone had left her with no way out. Chen Shen stood up, stretched lazily, and said, “You need to learn how to plan every step carefully.”
“Planning every step is exhausting,” Li Xiaonan replied. “It’s not as easy as drinking and acting.”
She picked up the unfinished red scarf and, without looking at the board again, bent her head down and resumed knitting. Chen Shen finally opened the slightly worn wooden door and stepped into the weak glow of the evening sunset. Before he opened the door, he left her with a parting remark. “You’re just not cut out for needlework,” he said dismissively.
Winter was in full swing. Chen Shen walked through the desolate streets of Shanghai. After dusk would come the long, impending night. His thoughts turned to the mission Bi Zhong Liang had brought back from the Meijiang office. The Communist intelligence officer, codenamed “Sparrow,” who had frantically gathered intelligence months ago, had resurfaced and then vanished. If they couldn’t capture him, all the heads at the 76th Special Agent Headquarters could face a complete shake-up. Chen Shen also thought about the Zero Plan, which was still out of reach. His worst-case scenario was exposing himself and going all in.
As he walked on the hard, wintery asphalt streets of Shanghai, Chen Shen realized it had been a long time since he visited Pipi at the General Hall orphanage.
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