Chapter 156: Fifteen Minutes

“To Guangci Hospital.”

Cheng Qianfan hailed a rickshaw.

Sitting in the rickshaw, he lit a cigarette and forced himself to calm down.

He knew that his impatience had caused him to lose his composure.

Whether it was He Guan or Fang Muheng, both came from privileged families.

Despite their comfortable lives, both possessed goodwill toward the poor and suffering masses.

Their blood ran hot.

That alone was no easy thing.

Compared to the many privileged elites who strutted about arrogantly and took pleasure in exploiting the laboring masses, passionate young men like He Guan and Fang Muheng were worthy of respect.

They were not yet comrades within the Party, so it was inevitable that they had many shortcomings.

With proper guidance, they might one day become steadfast warriors of the Red cause.

Therefore, Cheng Qianfan decided to keep his distance from those two.

Before they became true Red fighters, he did not want any work-related contact with either of them.

The nature of his work determined that his comrades and partners had to be highly capable agents.

Training and tempering impulsive, hot-blooded youths was the responsibility of local Red organizations.

Before Comrade Zhulin’s sacrifice, he had specifically instructed him that an ace agent like himself had only one creed.

Hide himself and do his job well.

Never attempt to develop revolutionary partners around himself.

That would only increase the danger of exposure, and it was not his responsibility.

Therefore, despite being very close to He Guan, Cheng Qianfan had never displayed any Red ideology in front of him, nor had he ever considered recruiting He Guan as a revolutionary partner.

In fact, even if He Guan later grew into a qualified Red fighter, unless he received organizational orders authorizing work contact between them, he would immediately distance himself from He Guan.

Revolutionary work was not a children’s game.

It involved strict division of responsibilities, extremely rigorous organizational discipline, and firm operational principles.

These were lessons paid for in blood.

In the twenty-second year of the Republic of China, a senior Communist agent codenamed Shuiquan, who had infiltrated the Shanghai Municipal Police Bureau, developed revolutionary partners among his own colleagues.

One of them lacked operational experience and acted carelessly.

He was soon captured by the Party Affairs Investigation Department and ultimately failed to withstand torture, betraying multiple comrades, including Comrade Shuiquan.

As a result, five comrades infiltrated within the Shanghai Municipal Police Bureau, including Comrade Shuiquan, were martyred.

That was a lesson written in blood.

The work of an ace agent was fundamentally different from that of ordinary underground Party organizations, both in division of labor and operational characteristics.

Apart from one’s own superior and subordinate contacts, one must never reveal political leanings to anyone else.

The sunlight was somewhat harsh.

Cheng Qianfan lowered the canopy of the rickshaw.

He took a stub of a pencil from his pocket.

His right hand slipped into the pocket on his right side, where there were two matchboxes.

He took out the matchbox onto which he had dripped two drops of candle wax.

Inside the matchbox was a blank slip of paper.

Resting the paper on the matchbox, Cheng Qianfan quickly scribbled a line of crooked handwriting with his left hand, then returned the matchbox to his pocket.

He still could not bring himself to sit by and watch his comrades walk into a trap.

Nor could he risk meeting Peng Yu’ou.

The only thing he could do was prepare the intelligence in advance and wait for an opportunity to act without exposing himself.

If no opportunity arose, the intelligence hidden inside the matchbox would simply be destroyed.

It would be as though it had never existed.

His blood ran hot, yet sometimes he had to painfully force himself to be cold-blooded.

A pungent, fragrant smell of salted fish drifted through the air.

Salted fish was one of those things.

Those who loved it adored it to death.

Those who disliked it covered their noses and fled as quickly as possible.

“That smell, wonderful.”

Cheng Qianfan smiled.

He enjoyed chatting with rickshaw pullers.

These men traveled every street and alley.

There was practically nothing happening in the city that they did not know.

Something they said casually might contain valuable information.

“Inspector Cheng, you like salted fish too?” the rickshaw puller asked between heavy breaths as he pulled the cart.

“I’ve been eating it since childhood,” Cheng Qianfan said. “This should be Dafa Market nearby, right?”

“Inspector Cheng knows his stuff,” the rickshaw puller said. “Old Zhan’s salted fish at Dafa Market is famous.”

Seeing that Inspector Cheng from the police station was willing to chat with him, the puller was delighted.

He continued, “Last time I carried Sister Xiang from Lawyer Shen’s household. She said Lawyer Shen used to love Old Zhan’s salted fish too, but now he can’t eat it anymore.”

“Why can’t he eat it now?”

“Lawyer Shen’s wife studied overseas. She can’t stand the smell of salted fish.”

The puller sounded indignant, as though defending the honor of salted fish.

“I even saw a real foreign devil eating porridge and salted fish at the market one morning. Yet that fake foreign lady won’t touch it.”

Hearing the pride in the puller’s voice when he mentioned the foreigner eating salted fish, Cheng Qianfan could not help but smile.

As was his habit, he began analyzing the matter.

Coming to the market in the morning for porridge and salted fish.

That meant the foreigner’s residence was not far away.

The nearest upscale residential area to Dafa Market was most likely the Western-style villa district on Avenue Massenet.

A foreigner from Avenue Massenet coming to Dafa Market to sample Chinese snacks.

That was rather interesting.

Suddenly, something stirred in Cheng Qianfan’s mind.

Avenue Massenet?

Avenue Massenet!

A foreigner might come to Dafa Market to eat porridge and salted fish.

But what about Professor Peng Yu’ou, who also lived on Avenue Massenet?

No.

Cheng Qianfan shook his head internally.

Peng Yu’ou’s household had Aunt Shao, who posed as a maid.

With a maid in the house, breakfast and dinner ingredients would normally be purchased and prepared by the maid.

Otherwise, suspicion would be aroused.

Dafa Market was the largest market in the area.

If Aunt Shao bought groceries, the most suitable, most natural, and least suspicious choice would be Dafa Market.

Cheng Qianfan took out his pocket watch and checked the time.

He understood the routine schedules of maids employed by wealthy households.

Ingredients for dinner were usually purchased after lunch.

Many families on Avenue Massenet employed maids.

If Aunt Shao wanted to blend in, she would likely follow the same routine and shop around this time.

“Stop at the entrance to Dafa Market,” Cheng Qianfan said.

“Right away.”

Cheng Qianfan got out of the rickshaw and paid an extra jiao for the fare.

“Wait here for a quarter of an hour. I’ll be back soon.”

Fifteen minutes.

He told himself.

Only fifteen minutes.

Cheng Qianfan believed in Red ideology.

He believed neither in ghosts nor in fate.

Yet at this moment, it felt as though insects were clawing at his heart.

Those fifteen minutes represented the possible chance of survival for whichever comrade the Shanghai organization might send to the shantytown.

If Aunt Shao appeared within fifteen minutes, that comrade would be lucky and saved.

If Aunt Shao did not appear...

Naturally, Cheng Qianfan could not simply stand there waiting.

He wandered among several stalls near the market entrance.

He had to buy something, otherwise it would seem suspicious.

Doctor Zhao Wenhua was a famous figure in Shanghai.

He had previously given an interview to a reporter from Shen Bao, where he openly admitted that he was a gourmet, particularly fond of river fish.

Cheng Qianfan had read that issue of the newspaper.

Zhao Wenhua’s love of river fish had become something of an anecdote.

Stopping at the market to buy some river fish as a gift for Zhao Wenhua would demonstrate a young man’s respect for a renowned physician.

It was neither shabby nor abrupt.

One might even call it an elegant gesture.

It was entirely reasonable.

Cheng Qianfan had already set his sights on the river eels at one fish stall.

Zhao Wenhua loved river fish, especially river eels.

However, he pretended not to have decided which vendor to buy from.

He looked at one stall, then another.

Cheng Qianfan took out his pocket watch and checked the time.

Only five minutes remained.

He knew he could not continue pretending.

He selected three river eels and also purchased a wooden bucket from one of the fishmongers.

After paying, he picked up the bucket containing the live fish and prepared to leave.

The eels inside the bucket were full of life, swimming back and forth, completely unaware of the fate awaiting them.

Cheng Qianfan’s face carried the satisfaction of a successful purchase.

Deep within his heart, however, a thread of sorrow tormented him.

Just then, he heard the voices of several women talking behind him.

He did not turn around.

Instead, he walked over and asked the fish seller to add more water to the bucket.

From there, he could observe them out of the corner of his eye...