One day, as Chen Shen, who had been living a secluded life, stepped out onto the street, wearing a thick wool hat and scarf, someone suddenly jumped out of a car and dragged him inside. He didn’t even have time to draw his gun or see who it was before the car sped away. Chen struggled in the car but found his wrist pinned, preventing him from moving. That’s when he realized—he must have been taken by Su Sansheng’s men.
The man driving turned around and smiled at Chen. He pulled off a fake mustache and took off his hat, and that’s when Chen recognized Tao Dachun. Tao grinned, “Today, I’ll show you how the Whirlwind Team eliminates traitors.”
That evening, Su Sansheng and a woman were cornered in an alley. It was clear they had just come out of a nearby house. Tao Dachun suddenly swung his fist, hitting the woman hard on the head. She collapsed to the ground without a sound. Chen noticed that the woman was wearing a light-colored qipao with small floral patterns, looking like a spring snake coiled at someone’s feet.
As Su Sansheng reached for his gun, Chen kicked him down to the ground. Three gun barrels were immediately pressed against Su’s forehead.
Sweat started to bead on Su Sansheng’s forehead. Chen crouched down and pulled the pistol from Su’s waist, then began unbuttoning his coat slowly and deliberately. Finally, with a swift motion, Chen yanked open Su Sansheng’s shirt, exposing his bare skin.
Chen squinted and smiled, suddenly producing a razor in his hand. “Where’s the stomach?” he asked lightly.
Su Sansheng trembled all over, his voice faltering. “Captain Chen, you’re mistaken…”
Chen, his eyes bloodshot, shouted, “Tell me where the stomach is!”
Tao Dachun crouched down beside them, extending his hand. “Give it to me,” he said calmly. “You can’t do this—you’d be breaking your own code.”
Chen thought for a moment and then handed the razor to Tao. Slowly, he stood up, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out half a cigar, a gift from Tang Shan Hai. Chen clenched the cigar between his teeth and struck a match, the flame casting flickering shadows across his face. After taking a long, satisfying puff, he tossed the match away and strode forward confidently, the white ash from the cigar occasionally blown off by the wind. He suddenly felt that the breeze, now that the Lunar New Year had passed, carried a hint of warmth.
From deep within the alley came a bloodcurdling scream. Amid the cries, Chen said softly, “Rest in peace, Mr. Tang. Xiaonan, you can close your eyes now too.”
Back at the poster wall, Chen stood for a long time in a daze. The embedded instruction told him to make contact near the mailbox on Doule Road—the danger along the transport line had been cleared, and the organization was ready to take him and the Zero Plan out of Shanghai. Chen felt a surge of mixed emotions. The thought of leaving Shanghai now filled him with a surprising reluctance.
That evening, Chen gave Xu Bicheng a careful haircut. In fact, he had already cut her hair a few days prior, but Xu didn’t mind having it cut again. She loved the feeling of her hair being soaked with warm water, the wet strands sticking to her forehead. She enjoyed the sound of the scissors snipping and the way Chen’s strong hands gently held her head. But what she didn’t realize was that Chen was preparing to disappear for good. That night, Chen intentionally left the scissors behind on the table. The scissors lay there quietly, like a sleeping child. He told Xu, “You should find a better hairdresser from now on—my skills are too old-fashioned.”
Xu Bicheng didn’t think much of it; she assumed Chen was joking. She picked up her chopsticks and continued her meal, unaware of the significance behind his words.
Chen Shen disappeared, taking Pipi with him. In the alley near the General Hall Orphanage, Chen held Pipi’s hand as they walked forward. The streetlights stretched their shadows long across the ground. Pipi asked, “Where are we going?”
Chen replied, “We’re going to meet someone, then we’ll head to Yan’an. There are many children like you in Yan’an.”
“You mean kids without parents?” Pipi asked.
Chen said, “You have a father. I’m your real father. Your mother’s surname was Li, and her name was Li Danan. She had another name: the Chancellor. I recently found out that you also have an aunt. Her name was Li Xiaonan, and her other name was the Doctor.”
“Do you have another name?” Pipi asked.
“Yes,” Chen replied. “I’m called ‘the Patient.’”
Chen took the platinum watch from around his neck and placed it around Pipi’s. “This is the watch your mother gave me.”
That night at midnight, Chen and Pipi stood by the mailbox on Doule Road. Under the streetlight, their shadows—one large and one small—stretched forward, lonely and forlorn. A postal bike, weaving an S-shaped path, suddenly appeared, breaking the stillness of the cold night. The bike stopped, and a pimply 17 or 18-year-old mailman smiled at Chen. “I’m Xu Xian,” he said. “You can call me Little Xu.”
“Why do I have to deliver the information out of Shanghai personally?” Chen asked.
“Because the intelligence you’re carrying is too important to send via radio. And while the mailbox is safe, it’s not foolproof.”
Chen finally understood why, when he had once asked the Chancellor if there was any risk with the mailbox, the Chancellor had said there wasn’t. Little Xu, the mailman, was one of their own, and the intelligence would always fall into his hands first. What Chen didn’t know was that he wasn’t the only one using the mailbox; there were many couriers all over Shanghai. He also didn’t know that his old friend, Bi Zhong Liang, was no fool. Bi not only knew that Su Sansheng had been killed but had also figured out where Chen was hiding the day before. He had kept this information to himself, not even telling his wife, Liu Lanzhi. But in the end, Bi was determined to make a name for himself.
The manhunt Bi Zhong Liang ordered had officially begun. Bian Tou led the team, rapidly converging on the mailbox like a sandstorm being blown toward a target—dense and swift. Just as Xu Xian was about to open the mailbox, Chen sensed danger. He quickly pulled Pipi into his arms and drew his gun.
Xu Xian had also realized the threat. He threw the mailbox key into the box and pulled a grenade from his satchel, yanking out the pin and tossing it into the mailbox, which contained a pile of intelligence he hadn’t yet retrieved. The mailbox exploded, and the three of them ran for their lives. As the smoke cleared, Bian Tou and his team began the chase again. Chen told Xu Xian to take Pipi down an alley while he hid behind a utility pole to cover their retreat. Bian Tou and his men rushed in the direction Chen was fleeing, but the street appeared empty. Just as they advanced, a gunshot rang out, and one of the men fell. Gunfire erupted in bursts.
At that moment, Bi Zhong Liang sat silently in a car, drinking heavily. His car was parked just ahead, blocking the escape route. If Chen tried to flee this way, he would face Bi Zhong Liang, his car, and twenty men from the second action team.
As Chen fired and retreated, he reached an ambulance parked on the street. He shot the lock, climbed inside, and quickly ripped out the wires. Sparks flew as he hot-wired the vehicle, and the ambulance roared to life. It surged forward, passing by Bi Zhong Liang’s car and the second action team. They fired madly, riddling the ambulance with bullets, but it continued to wobble forward. Bi Zhong Liang’s car gave chase, tailing the ambulance closely all the way to the banks of the Huangpu River. The ambulance sped off the edge and plunged into the water.
Bi Zhong Liang’s car skidded to a stop. He stepped out, quietly watching the surface of the Huangpu River as bubbles rose. Moments later, Chen detonated the suicide grenade he had with him, causing the ambulance to explode. A column of water shot up into the air.
As the water splashed back down and the river returned to stillness, Bi Zhong Liang, his eyes red, shed a tear, yet he smiled at the surface of the Huangpu River.
“You shouldn’t have become a soldier,” Bi Zhong Liang said softly. “You shouldn’t have saved me on the battlefield. You should have just stayed a barber.”
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