Chapter 149: Tacit Understanding

The intelligence left by Comrade Xinghuo mentioned three matters.

“I have learned that a batch of standard-issue French military weapons being replaced has entered the black market. The main items are M1892 revolvers and Ruby pistols. The prices are relatively low. If a purchase is desired, preparations should be made early and action taken quickly.”

Peng Yu’ou was not a military man and had little concept of what an M1892 revolver was.

However, he had not only heard of the Ruby pistol, he had also seen comrades using it.

Some comrades treasured the weapon dearly, while others complained that it was unreliable and lacked shooting accuracy, speaking of it with obvious disdain.

Yet those same comrades who complained constantly maintained their pistols as though they were precious treasures.

The reason was simple.

Red armed forces could replenish weapons by capturing enemy arms on the battlefield.

Underground armed units could not rely on captured weapons.

They could only buy them.

But they had no money and could not afford quality weapons.

Even Ruby pistols copied by the Hanyang Arsenal, weapons that even warlord forces looked down upon, were considered expensive and desirable goods by Communist underground organizations.

Peng Yu’ou did not know much about firearms, nor was he familiar with the black market.

He decided to assign a knowledgeable comrade to investigate.

If the prices really were relatively cheap, they could grit their teeth and squeeze out enough money to purchase a batch.

In reality, the underground Party’s demand for firearms was not especially large.

Peng Yu’ou’s desire to buy weapons stemmed more from the mentality of taking advantage of a bargain and stockpiling some pistols for future use.

It was much like Shanghai residents rushing to buy discounted goods at department stores even when they had no immediate need for them.

“The owner of this batch of weapons also has a quantity of medical supplies and medicines for sale, primarily medical alcohol, bandages, and morphine.”

When he saw this piece of intelligence, Peng Yu’ou nearly jumped up with excitement.

The Shanghai Communist organization had long carried the responsibility of gathering supplies to support the Red guerrilla forces in the mountainous regions of southern Zhejiang.

Compared to firearms, medical alcohol and bandages, especially morphine that could be used as an anesthetic during surgery, were even more urgently needed by the guerrillas.

Many Red fighters, after being wounded, did not even have a clean bandage.

Minor wounds often developed into fatal infections.

As for anesthetics, they had long since run out.

Peng Yu’ou had once heard Comrade Wang Jun mention a Red fighter whose leg wound became infected after being shot.

The only option was amputation.

There was no anesthetic.

The fighter bit down on a towel while a carpenter’s saw was used to cut off his leg.

The young soldier died from the pain.

For these medical supplies, even if they had to spend most of their funds, even if the comrades had to survive on coarse steamed buns and cold water every day starting next month, it would still be worth it.

The third piece of intelligence concerned Comrade Xinghuo’s inquiry regarding whether Liu Bo, a French Concession constable, was a Japanese spy.

The organization could publish a missing-person notice in Shen Bao as a response.

If Liu Bo was a Japanese spy, then the notice should seek an older male cousin, Xu Zhitian, who had come to Shanghai from Tongshan, Xuzhou.

If he was not an enemy agent, then the notice should seek a younger male cousin, Xu Zhide, who had come to Shanghai from Tongshan, Xuzhou.

Of course, Peng Yu’ou and Comrade Xinghuo had already communicated about the matter face-to-face through a closed door.

There was naturally no longer any need to communicate through a newspaper notice.

Peng Yu’ou now understood why Comrade Xinghuo had delivered the message in the middle of the night.

The most important matter was those medical supplies.

Medical supplies were even scarcer than guns and ammunition.

If they acted too late, the opportunity would be gone.

Peng Yu’ou was both delighted and troubled.

The reason was simple.

Money!

Those black-market merchants recognized only money.

The Communists had always been poor.

The organization’s funds could not even cover normal operations and the most basic living expenses of its comrades.

Many comrades had no choice but to work desperately to earn money, using part of their wages to support themselves and donating another part as organizational funds.

Two months earlier, a comrade in Nanshi had collapsed while working.

He had fainted from hunger.

He had contributed nearly all of his salary to the organization.

Every day he survived on a single coarse-grain bun and some cold water.

Peng Yu’ou was distressed.

Where could he get the money?

He had never considered obtaining funds through Comrade Xinghuo.

The comrades working undercover already faced enough danger.

They walked on thin ice every day.

Any unusual behavior might arouse suspicion and bring about disaster.

Undercover comrades lived and worked in unique environments.

If Peng Yu’ou asked for help, those comrades would undoubtedly find ways to hand over whatever money they possessed for organizational use.

But without that money, their quality of life would decline.

Their habits would change.

And that would create risks of exposure.

Even something as simple as a drop in the quality of the tea they usually drank could arouse suspicion.

Where had the money gone?

You do not enjoy life’s comforts, are you a Communist?

Peng Yu’ou’s impression of Xinghuo improved even further.

This comrade strictly observed organizational discipline while avoiding rigidity.

He handled matters with flexibility.

Strictly speaking, Xinghuo’s late-night visit violated organizational regulations.

However, the comrade had found a clever compromise.

The two remained separated by a door and never met face to face, exchanging only a few words.

Of course, this approach carried a flavor of covering one’s ears while stealing a bell.

Yet underground work was complex and full of danger.

One could not be excessively dogmatic.

There was no better choice.

There was another extremely important point as well.

Peng Yu’ou had long suspected that Comrade Xinghuo was the handler of Old Liao.

This was the ace undercover agent planted inside the enemy by Comrade Zhulin before his sacrifice.

Zhulin and Peng Yu’ou had been former classmates and longtime partners.

The organization had once considered appointing Peng Yu’ou as Zhulin’s deputy within the Special Branch.

However, after Zhulin’s sacrifice and the massive destruction inflicted upon the Shanghai Communist organization, contact with the Central Committee had been lost.

Even now, the Shanghai Communists and the Jiangsu Provincial Committee remained cut off from the center.

The Shanghai Special Branch had suffered heavily during the massive roundup six months earlier.

Most had been killed.

Most of those who survived had lost contact.

Unless orders arrived from the Central Committee appointing him to take over the Special Branch, Peng Yu’ou could neither contact nor attempt to contact those missing comrades.

He did not know which comrades remained loyal to the Red cause and which had become compromised.

However, the situation surrounding Comrade Xinghuo left behind by Zhulin was rather special.

Previously, the Shanghai Communists had maintained contact with Xinghuo through the courier Old Liao.

Now Old Liao was dead.

The situation was urgent.

Comrade Xinghuo had come to contact him under emergency circumstances.

Strictly speaking, extraordinary circumstances justified extraordinary measures.

Therefore, standing on opposite sides of a door without meeting, engaging in what seemed like an act of covering one’s ears while stealing a bell, was actually appropriate.

Of course, Comrade Xinghuo had never spoken a single word revealing his true codename.

Nor had he ever admitted that he was Old Liao’s handler or the ace undercover agent planted within the enemy by Comrade Zhulin.

Yet Peng Yu’ou could guess.

It was a tacit understanding.

I never said anything.

I guessed it.

There was something remarkable about it.

Precisely because Peng Yu’ou and Comrade Zhulin had been old comrades-in-arms and longtime partners, Peng Yu’ou and the Xinghuo whom Zhulin had cultivated could achieve this silent understanding and mutual rapport.

During their earlier exchange, both men had spoken in coded language as an additional precaution.

Although it was impossible for anyone to have overheard them, what if someone had?

Cheng Qianfan tossed and turned in bed.

Even now, he still felt excited when he thought about it.

Partly because he had spoken with a comrade.

For a young man fighting alone, that filled him with immense emotion.

The other reason was that his exchange with Peng Yu’ou had been deeply satisfying.

They had never met face to face.

Yet he felt an extraordinary sense of understanding between them.

Cheng Qianfan’s use of coded language stemmed from a level of caution so extreme that it had become engraved into his very bones.

Had Peng Yu’ou disliked communicating that way, they could have switched to plain speech.

For example, he could simply have replied, “Liu Bo is a Japanese spy. Do not kill him for the time being.”

That would have worked as well.

But it would have been far too dangerous.

Cheng Qianfan would have felt uncomfortable.

Extremely uncomfortable.

Anyone hearing such words would immediately know that underground operatives were making contact.

How could that be acceptable?

It was too dangerous.

Instinctively, he felt that speaking so openly was perilous.

It was as though every flower and blade of grass beside the steps beneath his feet were a spy listening to his conversation.

After years of working within enemy ranks, every sentence had to pass through his mind several times before being spoken.

Cheng Qianfan had become extraordinarily sensitive and cautious.

Fortunately, Peng Yu’ou had almost immediately responded in coded language.

The two men shared remarkable understanding.

Each comprehended the meaning behind the other’s words.

If contact with the Central Special Branch were restored, and if the center decided to appoint Peng Yu’ou as his handler, Cheng Qianfan felt that prospect would be well worth anticipating.

For an agent embedded deep within enemy ranks, having a handler and leader with whom one shared perfect understanding and absolute trust was of immense importance.