In Chen Shen’s long, narrow gaze, the Prime Minister, dressed in a black wool coat, strode across the dance floor toward the door. A group of men in black suddenly rushed in and immediately spotted the tall woman in the black wool coat. Four or five of them quickly surrounded her. Chen Shen jumped to his feet and dashed toward the Prime Minister just as she was reaching into her bag for a gun. It was because she reached for her gun that one of the agents shot her in the leg. Amid the rising screams of the dancers, she had already reached the door. The door swung open, and the Prime Minister stumbled out of the dance hall. Li Xiaonan, who had been enthusiastically playing drinking games, was startled by the sound of gunfire. The glass she had been holding fell to the floor, shattering, and she stared blankly as the woman in the black coat slipped through the revolving door, followed by several men who rushed out like a whirlwind.
That day, Chen Shen stood at the entrance of the revolving door, panting heavily. He saw the Prime Minister standing in the snow under a streetlight, already surrounded by the agents. She took a step back, then another, until she was backed up against the lamppost with no way out. Bi Zhong Liang, dressed in a gray coat, walked toward her slowly, his hands in his pockets, as the sparse snowflakes drifted down. He stopped in front of the Prime Minister and stared at her intently, but spoke to his agents. “No one is allowed to leave the dance hall,” he said.
That day, Chen Shen stood beneath the dance hall’s eaves and saw the Prime Minister glance back at the entrance, as if she had a thousand words she wanted to say but couldn’t. A gunshot rang out. The Prime Minister’s body spun once under the streetlight, her black coat swirling into a large, black flower before she collapsed in the snow. Chen Shen heard a scream, and when he turned, he saw Li Xiaonan fainting from fright among the onlookers at the entrance. Ignoring everything else, Chen Shen rushed toward the Prime Minister. In the glow of the streetlight, he saw a pool of blood, the black wool coat, and the snow-covered ground. The combination of red, black, and white formed a striking and shocking image. He noticed the small “Palm Thunder” gun in the Prime Minister’s hand—a tiny pistol with a range of only thirty meters, more for self-defense or suicide than for attack.
The agents stood in a distant circle, none of them stepping forward. Only Chen Shen rushed to the Prime Minister’s side. Kneeling in the snow, he reached out slowly to check for her breath. It was clear that the Prime Minister had shot herself, her hand still loosely holding the gun, her palm slightly pink. Chen Shen’s gaze lingered on a platinum pocket watch. When no one was looking, he quickly snatched the watch and clenched it tightly in his hand. This subtle movement didn’t escape Bi Zhong Liang’s notice. He said nothing, only sighed. Slowly, he walked through the crunching snow and stood behind Chen Shen. “I couldn’t find you at the station. This mission was supposed to be your squad’s responsibility.”
Chen Shen didn’t reply. He stood up and saw that Li Xiaonan, who had fainted at the entrance, was now being helped back into the dance hall. He looked up at the swirling snow, which seemed unusually clear under the streetlights, and suddenly felt like his life was beginning, like a movie. Snowflakes fell on his eyelashes, eyes, nose, and lips, each one cool and refreshing. He heard Bi Zhong Liang’s voice again: “Send all the guests at the entrance back into the dance hall!”
Two agents grabbed the Prime Minister’s legs and began dragging her away. Chen Shen watched the black streak left in the snow, like a long road leading into the unknown. He followed Bi Zhong Liang back into the dance hall, which was as warm as spring. The people inside stood trembling. Bi Zhong Liang paced back and forth without a word. He seemed cold, and after a while, he sat down on a velvet sofa. Then, Madame Xie, the dance hall’s matron, waddled over with her large hips and approached Bi Zhong Liang, saying, “Captain Bi, is this official business?”
Bi Zhong Liang’s body seemed to tremble with cold. He forced a grim smile, but said nothing.
A pot of warmed wine was placed on the table in front of Bi Zhong Liang. Madame Xie personally poured him a cup, and after downing it, Bi Zhong Liang quickly stopped trembling. He even seemed a bit more energetic. At that moment, Li Xiaonan woke up, her clothes disheveled, looking like a sun-wilted cabbage, her legs half-draped over a chair. Chen Shen walked over and said, “Don’t be afraid, this has nothing to do with you.”
“Do the things you say still count?”
Chen Shen, bewildered, glanced at the confused crowd of dancers, who stood frozen like ants. “What did I say?” he asked.
Li Xiaonan sat up straight in the chair and lit a cigarette for herself. She blew a puff of smoke right into Chen Shen’s face and said, “You once told me you’d take care of me for life. Marry me, even if only as a concubine.”
“I was drunk back then.”
“So being drunk gives you the right to say whatever you want?”
The agents who overheard the conversation laughed cruelly, watching as Chen Shen, the captain of Squad One, sat motionless like a wooden figure in the cloud of smoke Li Xiaonan exhaled. When Bi Zhong Liang’s gaze swept over them, they immediately stopped laughing. That day, Bi Zhong Liang took eight Communist suspects away, leaving the remaining dancers huddled together, trembling with fear. Later, Bi Zhong Liang got up and walked over to the group of dancers, forcing a smile and saying, “Keep dancing.”
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