The raid to capture “the Doctor” began immediately after Bi Zhong Liang, Su Sansheng, and Chen Shen left the interrogation room. Chen volunteered to participate in the operation, hoping to use the opportunity to help the Doctor either escape or withdraw before it was too late. On the way to an abandoned warehouse at Liudadai, Chen sat in the passenger seat, chain-smoking until his mouth was dry and his lips were cracked.
Chen, Su Sansheng, and all the agents surrounded the warehouse, and the grass along the sides seemed to stir with a faint rustling sound, as if waking up. In less than a month, it would start growing wildly again after the harsh winter. Su Sansheng waved his hand, and the operation began. Chen Shen was at the forefront, pushing ahead. He couldn’t risk firing a shot, couldn’t afford to stumble and bring down the agents beside him, couldn’t make any wrong move. As they rushed through a broken door, Bian Tou was the first to charge up the stairs, but a rotten wooden stick rolled down from under his feet. Chen immediately knew—it was a warning from the Doctor. The Doctor must have sensed something was wrong.
When Chen Shen kicked open a wooden door, what he saw was a beam of quiet sunlight. The sunlight, like pine needles, evenly scattered across a table. The floor was in disarray, and the Doctor was gulping down something, her face flushed, and her throat emitted a stifled choking sound. Su Sansheng, arriving in shock, rushed forward and grabbed the Doctor by the throat, but it was too late—she had already swallowed the document. The Doctor smiled. It was Li Xiaonan.
Chen Shen, Su Sansheng, and Li Xiaonan stood in a triangle in that shabby but meticulously clean room. On the table, a pot of dark green cacti bloomed with tiny pale red flowers. In Chen’s mind, the chaotic image of Li Xiaonan’s home flashed before him. He finally understood—Li Xiaonan truly was an actress, always playing the carefree woman who laughed in the face of hardship, but in truth, she had a passion for sunflowers.
Li Xiaonan smiled and slowly raised her hands. Before Su Sansheng could reach for his handcuffs, Chen Shen, in a surprising move, swiftly cuffed Li Xiaonan to himself. At the same time, a small key, numbered Shanghai Bank 025, slipped into Chen’s palm as he fastened the cuffs. Su Sansheng, his face dark, watched as Chen and Li Xiaonan left. He let out a long sigh.
The rest of the agents followed closely, their steps disorganized. But no one knew that as Chen and Li Xiaonan walked side by side, her right thumb was constantly tapping rhythmically in Chen's palm. Though she said nothing, she was transmitting all the information she had just swallowed, using the same rhythmic tapping patterns she would use to send coded messages. The walk seemed endless—they passed through the corridor, descended the stairs, crossed the courtyard filled with wild grass, and finally approached the parked car. As they neared the car, Chen saw Bi Zhong Liang’s grim face as he arrived.
Bi Zhong Liang acted as though he didn’t recognize Li Xiaonan. He only said to Chen, “I’ve told you before, stop associating with actors.”
Li Xiaonan smiled brightly, her white teeth gleaming. She appeared cheerful as she climbed into the car. She had read Chen Shen’s file—he had spent two years at a radio school. She knew that in the event of her capture, the responsibility of transmitting intelligence would naturally fall to him. During the fast drive back to the headquarters of the 55th Direct Action Team, Li Xiaonan blinked repeatedly at Chen in varying sequences of long and short intervals. Chen noted them down, instinctively feeling that it was a phone number. After that, Li Xiaonan fell silent. She was tired. She rested her head heavily against the back of the seat.
In her mind, the image of Chen Shen playing Go came back to her. In that late afternoon bathed in a cold sunset, Chen had placed a white stone on the board, trapping a large group of her black stones. Chen had said, “You must plan every step carefully.”
Someone who could remember a chess game so well would surely remember a phone number—and the information Li Xiaonan had just transmitted with her thumb.
That day, Su Sansheng escorted Li Xiaonan into the special treatment room. They sat facing each other for a long time, and Su spoke to her in a voice that seemed filled with pain. But Li Xiaonan acted as if nothing was wrong, singing one Zhou Xuan song after another, from “The Four Seasons Song” to “The Wandering Songstress,” from “Spring Winds and Autumn Rain” to “Farewell.” She sang until her mouth was dry, while Su Sansheng was lulled into a sleepy stupor.
Finally, Su couldn’t take it anymore. “I’ll give you a pen and paper,” he said. “By noon tomorrow, write down all the names you need to.”
As Su Sansheng was leaving the special treatment room, he paused at the door, as if something had just occurred to him.
Turning back, he said, “If you write down the names, I’ll take you with me when I leave Shanghai.”
Feigning surprise, Li Xiaonan asked, “Where to?”
“Hong Kong,” Su Sansheng replied. After a brief pause, he added, “I have plenty of money.”
Li Xiaonan remarked, “Isn’t Hong Kong part of the occupied territories?”
Su, suddenly irritated, retorted, “Well, what isn’t occupied? Pretty much only Chongqing is left.”
Li Xiaonan smiled. “Apart from Chongqing, there are still four hundred million hearts that haven’t been conquered.”
The conversation turned pointless. Su Sansheng, not wanting to continue, slammed the door and stormed out. That day, Su and his team searched Li Xiaonan’s apartment, confiscating a pile of belongings. As Su and his agents were leaving, Chen Shen and Bian Tou arrived at Li Xiaonan’s room. Like a regular visitor, Chen poured himself a glass of water and sat on the sofa.
Memories of Li Xiaonan curled up on the sofa, playing chess with him, knitting a scarf, and countless other chaotic moments came flooding back to Chen. His eyes roved around the room, and he noticed that the red scarf Li Xiaonan had been knitting was gone.
While Su Sansheng was carelessly tossing a stack of Zhou Xuan records into a box, Chen Shen said, “Leave the records.”
Su paused, confused.
Chen Shen’s tone grew firmer, “I said, leave the records!”
Su Sansheng smirked, then carefully pulled the records out of the box and placed them gently on the coffee table in front of Chen. He and his team from the third action group then left the room, leaving only Chen Shen and Bian Tou behind.
Chen slowly stood up and selected one of the records, placing it on the phonograph. Zhou Xuan’s voice filled the room, singing, “Nighttime Shanghai, nighttime Shanghai, a city that never sleeps…” Chen Shen knew all too well that Shanghai truly was a city that never slept.
As night fell over this sleepless city, Chen found a public phone booth. Inside, the woman in charge of the phone lines—a plump woman—was slumped on a chair, asleep with drool dripping from her mouth, leaning against the wooden wall. Chen quickly dialed numbers on the phone, using the length of the rings to encode the secret message.
After stepping out of the phone booth, Chen looked back at the lonely booth and the soft, limp road that stretched away like a rope into the distance. Beneath the invisible stars, or perhaps under the streetlights and neon signs, or maybe on the other end of the telephone line, how many people like him were walking the tightrope of life in Shanghai?
After walking a short distance, Chen turned back, waved softly at the phone booth, and whispered, “Goodbye, comrade.”
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