Chapter 20: A Collision

Around six o’clock the next morning, light snow drifted from the sky. In the morgue of the Special High Police, a man in his fifties gazed at the bodies delivered by the Military Police, murderous intent burning in his eyes.

He didn’t care about the deaths of the Military Police; what enraged him was that the bullet wounds on Naoko Koyanagi were identical to those on these soldiers. This meant the person who killed her hadn’t fled at all—an utter affront to the dignity of the Special High Police.

“Chief, the Military Police just sent word again. All the files in their archives are gone. The killer infiltrated them in disguise, but as for how one man could carry off everything, they still can’t figure it out,” a man reported as he entered, addressing the old man.

The old man jerked his head around, suspicion and surprise on his face. “Infiltrated the Military Police? How did he get in? Does the killer know someone there?”

“The Military Police didn’t say, Chief, but I found out it was they themselves who brought him in. He pretended to be a drunk second lieutenant and made a scene at the site where the patrol was shot. An MP officer saw him and had men bring him back to their headquarters,” the man replied quietly.

The old man was astonished. He’d thought the killer was bold enough simply not to flee after murdering Naoko Koyanagi, but this was brazen beyond belief—posing as an officer at the very scene of the crime.

Just then, the door was thrown open and the hook-nosed man who had made arrests at Fenghua Restaurant strode in.

“Chief,” he greeted.

There was a note of dissatisfaction in his tone. Subordinates resenting their superiors was common, but to show it so openly was a dangerous breach of decorum anywhere. Yet he dared, because he had the backing for it. He was highly capable; under his leadership, the Special High Police had nearly destroyed the Jinling Station in just three months. More importantly, his mentor held high seniority in the main office in Japan—even without real power, no one in the agency dared cross him.

The old man paid no mind to the man’s attitude. He glanced at him, then turned to the bodies on the table. “Kawano, the gunshot wounds on these bodies match those on Naoko Koyanagi.”

Kawano Yoshiyo’s face darkened with fury. Naoko Koyanagi was his junior, and their mentor was especially fond of her. The mentor had even arranged for her transfer here so Kawano could look after her and help her make a name for herself. Yet after only a few days, she was dead—and Kawano had no idea how to face their mentor.

Since her death, he’d been pursuing the killer relentlessly, even neglecting to investigate the head of the Jinling Station’s operations team. All he’d managed to learn from residents near the crime scene was that a young man in his twenties, smartly dressed in a suit, had passed by at the time.

Now, the murderer had struck again, killing members of the Military Police. There had to be some new clue in this.

“Chief, I request that you assign this case to me. I will catch the killer,” Kawano declared at once.

The old man turned his gaze to him and nodded. “That’s exactly why I called you here. I want you to apprehend the person who killed Miss Naoko with your own hands and restore the honor of the Special High Police.”

“Yes, I will not fail you,” Kawano replied, brimming with confidence.

“I’ll have the files sent to you shortly,” the old man said, and then left. Kawano began to examine the corpses. When he was finished and returned to his office to review the files, Li Wensheng was just leaving for his bookstore.

His assistant had already opened the shop. Li Wensheng took a quick look around and then stepped out again. He bought a newspaper from a street vendor and then had a bowl of wontons at a food stall.

Back at the shop, he pulled a book from the shelf and said to his assistant, “I’ll be reading in the back. Don’t disturb me unless it’s important,” and headed into the inner room.

Once inside, he bolted the door, sat down, set the book aside on a small table, and took out a file from the Military Police archives from his system space.

It had been too late to go through them the night before. Lighting an oil lamp would have looked suspicious from outside, and he was tired—he’d gone straight to bed without even washing off the smell of alcohol.

He glanced at the first file and set it aside. It was simply a roster of Military Police strength—useful to Military Intelligence, perhaps, but of no use to him. He picked up another file but it was equally useless: a duplicate of a collaborationist’s appointment document.

Li Wensheng spent the entire morning in the inner room, emerging only when his assistant called him for lunch. After eating, he returned to the files. All morning, he’d sifted through a hodgepodge of documents, none of which were of any use to him, and he was getting increasingly irritated.

After another hour, just as he was about to give up, his eyes suddenly lit up as he read a file. His thoughts raced.

A moment later, Li Wensheng murmured with a smile, “A few days from now it will be New Year’s. They say New Year’s is time to slaughter pigs—well, I’ll slaughter a lieutenant general instead.”

He set the documents aside; having found what he needed, there was no point reading further. As for discovering sensitive secrets and passing them to Military Intelligence to help the front lines, Li Wensheng had long since lost hope. The Nationalist Army’s defeats weren’t because the soldiers or weapons were lacking—there were enough men to bury the enemy in bodies alone. The real problem was the deep-rooted factionalism; every warlord looked after his own strength, and unity was impossible.

Besides, what kind of “secrets” would be left lying around in a file room? Real secrets were locked in the safe of the top commander, or simply kept in his head.

Li Wensheng stowed the document back in his system space and picked up his book. He’d barely started reading when there was a knock at the door.

“Boss, Mr. Qin’s assistant was just here.”

Li Wensheng frowned and got up to open the door. “Xiaoshan, what did he say?”

The assistant, Xiaoshan, handed him a slip of paper. “Boss, Mr. Qin said he’ll send someone to pick up the book.”

Li Wensheng took the note and nodded. “Got it.”

“I’ll get back to work then, boss.”

“Mm.”

After Xiaoshan left, Li Wensheng closed the door again, settled into his rocking chair, and calmly opened the note. “Mr. Li, it’s New Year’s—let’s celebrate together.”

“Damn, he picked the same time and place as me.” Li Wensheng muttered, then tossed the note into the stove to burn.

The file that had caught his attention earlier detailed a public relations event: for the sake of “Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity,” the Japanese would be hosting a banquet on New Year’s Eve at the East Asia Hotel for Jinling’s collaborators and gentry. All the senior Japanese officers stationed in Jinling would attend, including Lieutenant General Yoshisuke Kizumi. Security would be handled by the Military Police.

The highest-ranking Japanese officer present would be Kizumi himself; Li Wensheng didn’t even need a photo—just aim at the man in the lieutenant general’s uniform and shoot.

He wasn’t bothered by the coincidence of time and place. With so many high-ranking Japanese officials, security would be tight; there was no way to strike inside, only to snipe from afar. Qin Chi’s people would never see him at work. As for whether his actions might cause Qin Chi’s mission to fail—what did that have to do with Li Wensheng?