Chapter 118: Being Followed

Under the dim light of the desk lamp, Li Wensheng sat at the edge of his bed, reviewing the documents in his hands.

After finishing, Li was taken aback by the sheer audacity of Iwai Eiichi's appetite. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and fell into deep thought.

"The initial plan to steal the keys and obtain the passwords is sound enough, but the rest is complete nonsense," he muttered. "Twenty million taels of silver weigh a thousand tons. It would take ten heavy-duty trucks to haul it all away. If you tried to move it by hand, how many men would you even need?"

"If the silver were stolen, the Municipal Council of the International Settlement would immediately suspect the Japanese. They would certainly set up checkpoints at the Waibaidu Bridge. Even with Hains's cooperation, there’s no way to get that many people across with the silver."

"If it were me..." Li stopped abruptly, then slapped his forehead with the document. "My brain must be short-circuiting. Why am I obsessing over the plan? I have no intention of stealing the silver."

"Besides," he reasoned, "this plan is clearly still in its draft phase, far from complete. Otherwise, it would have been put into motion long ago."

"I should focus on my own mission instead. Which one should I choose?"

During this week of recovering from his injuries at home, Li had been constantly debating the difficulty level of his second mission. A "Hell-level" mission would surely be grueling, but no matter how hard it was, it would likely just involve killing a few people in Shanghai—still easier than going to Japan to assassinate Emperor Hirohito.

Yet, a Hell-level mission wouldn't be simple; otherwise, it wouldn't be called Hell. He didn't want to miss out on the opportunity of a mission that only required a few hits in Shanghai, but he was wary of the potential difficulty.

After pondering for a while without reaching a conclusion, he lay down to sleep. After all, he still had plenty of time while he healed.

The next morning, shortly after six, Li washed up, went downstairs, and sat at the table to wait for breakfast. Before long, Sister Fang and her eldest daughter, You Simin, returned with groceries and breakfast.

You Simin set some food on the table and placed a newspaper down. "Sir, here is today's paper."

"Thank you. Go have your breakfast; don't worry about me."

You Simin walked to the kitchen to eat with Sister Fang and You Simei. Li picked up a bun, took a bite, set it back in his bowl, and unfolded the newspaper.

As soon as he read the headline, his expression turned grave. He spent over ten minutes reading, ignoring his food entirely.

"Sigh." With a heavy breath, he folded the paper and set it aside to finish his breakfast. The front page headline read: "KMT Defeated, Withdraws from Xuzhou!"

The paper provided a detailed report on the Battle of Xuzhou, with half the front page dedicated to it. The KMT had lost, but the Japanese had paid a heavy price. After more than four months of fighting, the KMT had suffered seventy thousand casualties, and the Japanese had lost forty thousand.

Compared to the original timeline, this battle showed progress; the Japanese death toll was over ten thousand higher.

The situation, the equipment, and the commanders were all the same. The only reason for the extra ten thousand casualties had to be the drop in Japanese morale following the death of Emperor Hirohito.

Logically, Li should have felt proud that his assassination of Hirohito had led to ten thousand more deaths in the Battle of Xuzhou. However, the paper also reported that after occupying Xuzhou, the Japanese had begun a massacre of the surrounding villages and small towns. Li could no longer find any joy in the news.

After breakfast, having put the news aside, Li turned to Sister Fang, who was just coming out of the kitchen. "Sister Fang, since you go to the market every day, you must know some servants from wealthy households, right?"

Sister Fang paused, looking nervous. "I know a couple, but sir, I haven't said anything about you."

"Sister Fang, it's nothing like that. I just wanted to ask if any of the families you know have a refrigerator?"

As the weather grew hotter, Li was craving a chilled drink, but in this era, that was easier said than done. Drinks were available—Coca-Cola had entered the Chinese market over a decade ago—but keeping them cold was the challenge.

"A refrigerator? Sir, what is a refrigerator?" Sister Fang looked at him, bewildered.

Seeing her confusion, Li began to doubt his own memory. *Did I remember wrong? Maybe they don't exist yet.*

*No, that can't be right. I remember reading that the electric refrigerator was invented in the 1920s.*

*Maybe they just aren't popular in China yet, which is why she doesn't know.*

Dismissing the thought, he said, "Never mind, Sister Fang. Go ahead with your work."

She nodded blankly and went to tidy the living room.

After spending the morning reading upstairs, Li drove to the flour mill at nine o'clock, then headed out to find Zuo Ban. Zuo Ban lived in an alleyway populated by ordinary families; to avoid drawing attention, Li parked on a different street and walked the rest of the way.

He scanned the alley, where several elderly residents sat chatting against the walls, then walked up to Zuo Ban’s door and knocked. After waiting a few seconds with no response, he turned and left.

As he walked out of the alley toward the street where he had parked, his expression tightened. He continued walking for several hundred meters, then ducked into a teahouse.

"Just one, sir?" a waiter asked.

"No, I'm meeting someone. Is Boss Wu of the Xingfa Chamber of Commerce here?"

Li tossed out a made-up name, leaving the waiter confused. "I don't know a Boss Wu, sir. Maybe you should look for yourself."

Li scanned the tables in the lobby. "I'll go upstairs and look. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

After a quick walk upstairs, Li returned downstairs looking disappointed and left the teahouse, strolling slowly past the shops to the right.

Dozens of meters later, he made a sharp turn and ducked into a side alley. It was empty, so he broke into a run, reached the intersection, darted left, and kept running.

A moment later, he emerged from an alley a hundred meters to the left of the teahouse, his clothes already changed. After walking quickly for a dozen meters, he saw a man in a traditional long gown and mandarin jacket emerge from the same alley he had just left.

Li shifted slightly, standing by the side of the road as if waiting for a tram. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the man crossed the street. Li didn't follow immediately; he waited until the man had reached the other side and looked back before he began to trail him.

The man was vigilant, checking behind him every two corners. But Li kept his distance, and the man failed to spot him.

Li had initially assumed the man was a Japanese agent, but as they walked into increasingly dilapidated territory—nearing the refugee camp—he changed his mind. Japanese agents in Shanghai were usually brazen; even if caught, they were rarely held for long. If they were infiltrating the French Concession, they would stay in hotels or hostels, not venture into the refugee camps.

Moments later, Li watched from a distance as the man entered the St. Mary’s Refugee Camp.

After a brief moment of thought, Li approached the notice board outside the camp, which was covered in "missing person" flyers. He scrutinized them carefully until one caught his eye.

"Yang Dongwu, male, 53 years old, silver-white hair, from Chongming. If anyone has information, please tell him his foolish brother, Yang Shisan, is staying at the Liuhe Hotel, Room 305, and wishes to meet."

The notice seemed normal, but it lacked physical descriptions beyond the hair, and it was loaded with numbers: 53, 13, 6, 305.

*And probably 12, too—'Dongwu' means 'noon', which is 12.*

*This is a simple numerical cipher. If I had the codebook, I could translate it.*

Li turned and walked away. He didn't know which faction the people in the refugee camp belonged to or why they were tailing him, but he knew it was better to avoid contact.

It was past noon when he returned to the street where Zuo Ban lived. He watched from across the alley for a long time, and finding no signs of surveillance, he walked in.

As he reached the door, he didn't need to knock; he knew Zuo Ban was home. The smell of cooking wafted from within.