Chapter 7: The Operation

Chapter 7: The Operation

After roaring out of the gates of the Central Police Station, the three military trucks split up and headed in different directions.

Cheng Qianfan stood in the truck bed as the chilly wind of the late spring cold spell blew against his face.

Pretending to casually glance at the colleagues around him, he yawned, yet his heart sank.

The police station did not possess military trucks.

Nor did it have the standing to deploy such fuel-hungry machines.

These trucks had obviously been transferred from the Truck Unit of the Political Department’s Armored Vehicle Corps.

Cheng Qianfan began to feel somewhat nervous.

Old Liao’s sudden exposure and sacrifice had cost him his contact.

Now, on the very next day, the police station had suddenly launched such a large-scale operation.

Cheng Qianfan did not know whether the two events were connected.

Cheng Qianfan felt his heartbeat accelerating, and his palms sweating from nervousness.

He took a deep breath and told himself to stay calm.

Who exactly was the man in the photograph, the target of this operation?

Was he one of his comrades?

Very likely, he told himself inwardly.

What Cheng Qianfan wanted now was to preserve his comrades from the enemy’s bloody arrests while ensuring that he himself remained undiscovered.

Old Liao’s blood.

The scene of Old Liao’s heroic sacrifice yesterday.

It stabbed at his heart like needles.

The truck passed through an intersection.

The wind was particularly strong there, kicking up dust and grit.

Cheng Qianfan instinctively closed his eyes.

He seemed to see the man from the photograph being arrested, interrogated, and eventually collapsing in a pool of blood.

Cheng Qianfan gripped the truck railing with such force.

He truly did not want to see Old Liao’s tragedy repeated before his eyes.

Old Liao’s final smile surfaced in his mind.

The memory of that smile made his heart ache even more.

The truck sped onward.

Seeing the murderous-looking police officers, pedestrians on the streets could not help but point and whisper, their faces filled with alarm and suspicion.

In all of great Shanghai, the concessions were among the few areas where public order remained relatively good.

If the situation within the concessions deteriorated further, life would become even harder for everyone.

Cheng Qianfan took out a pack of Triple Turret cigarettes and passed them around.

Everyone accepted them with smiles.

Within the police force, it could not be said that everyone liked Cheng Qianfan.

At the very least, however, most people had a favorable impression of the young man.

The lad understood proper manners.

Most of the cigarettes in his pockets ended up in other people’s mouths.

On payday, he would occasionally treat everyone to snacks and meals.

All were policemen.

Most had connections among every sort of social group imaginable and possessed their own methods of making extra money.

Nobody really cared about a few cigarettes.

What mattered was the attitude.

Little Cheng knew how to conduct himself.

Of course, there was another important reason that could not be ignored:

Little Cheng was not without backing in the police station.

Someone with connections who also knew how to behave, who wouldn’t like that?

Cheng Qianfan chatted casually with everyone, attempting to probe whether any of his colleagues knew more about the target or the operational plan.

The others were equally surprised and curious about the operation.

The massive crackdown jointly conducted by the Nationalist government and the various concession authorities at the end of the previous year had achieved what they considered tremendous success.

Large numbers of active Communist members had been rounded up.

In particular, the destruction of the Communist Jiangsu Provincial Committee and the Shanghai Special Branch had completely severed communication between the Communist central leadership and the local Shanghai organization.

The French Concession authorities, especially the Political Department, were very pleased with this.

They believed that under the severe suppression of the Nationalists and the combined pursuit of the concession police, Communist organizations in Shanghai had virtually vanished. Whatever few remained had been forced into hibernation.

The police station had not participated in any Communist arrests for quite some time afterward.

Some guessed that the man was an important Communist figure.

“Use your brains, will you?” someone disagreed. “I think this little brat is the junior relative of some Communist big shot. Oh my, incredible. Maybe he’s the son of one of those leaders.”

This explanation received considerably more support, including from Cheng Qianfan.

At the very least, it sounded more plausible than the theory that a young man himself was an important Communist leader.

Playing along, Cheng Qianfan remarked that Big-Head Lu ought to be promoted to detective.

“Little Cheng understands things,” Big-Head Lu said proudly, bursting into laughter.

Cheng Qianfan chuckled and was about to respond when the truck suddenly took a sharp turn at an intersection.

The driver did not brake.

Everyone in the truck bed immediately lurched sideways.

He Guan, showing off and trying to look cool, had not been holding onto a handrail.

Had Cheng Qianfan not grabbed him, the fellow would have smashed his head open.

“Are you trying to get reincarnated in a hurry, you idiot?” He Guan furiously slapped the metal roof of the truck and cursed.

“You fool, shut your damn mouth!” Jin Kemu’s roar came from the cab.

Everyone struggled to contain their laughter.

They wanted to laugh but dared not.

Someone held it in so hard that two muffled Pfft, pfft. sounds escaped.

Fortunately, the open truck bed allowed the smell to dissipate quickly.

The driver was Sergeant Jin Kemu.

He Guan’s maternal uncle...

Cheng Qianfan was suppressing laughter as well, but inwardly he felt disappointed.

He had not managed to extract any valuable information from the others.

Like him, they seemed completely ignorant about the operation, or at least that was how they appeared.

At the same time, he quietly committed the location of that sharp turn to memory.

Liu Bo was a heavy smoker.

A cigarette disappeared after only two puffs.

Cheng Qianfan directly forced the remaining half-pack into his hands.

“When the operation starts, keep your eyes open,” Liu Bo said.

The man was decent enough.

He often received gifts from Cheng Qianfan and generally looked after him.

“We’ve got a photo and an address. Never seen an easier operation. It’ll be fine,” Cheng Qianfan said dismissively.

“Listen to me.” Liu Bo lowered his voice and made a pistol gesture with his hand. “Be careful. Don’t act like a fool.”

Firearms were prohibited on their side, but that did not mean the target could not have a gun.

This operation looked easy on the surface, but in reality it might be more dangerous than usual.

“Got it.” Cheng Qianfan nodded gratefully.

“Old Liu, you’re trying to stop Little Cheng from earning merit,” another officer said sarcastically.

“Merit? What merit? Better make sure you’re alive to enjoy it.” Liu Bo glared at him and cursed. “Old Mo, if you want merit, you go first.”

“I mean well. Isn’t that right, Little Cheng?” Old Mo said with a grin.

“Brother Mo means well too. I know that,” Cheng Qianfan replied calmly with a smile.

He understood these colleagues very well.

The others were not as kindhearted as Liu Bo, who specifically warned a younger man to watch out for his safety.

But neither would they deliberately harm him.

This Old Mo was the worst sort.

He had smoked plenty of Cheng Qianfan’s cigarettes and enjoyed his hospitality in the past.

After their relationship soured over a few trivial matters, the man stopped behaving decently altogether.

He was deliberately provoking Cheng Qianfan, hoping he would rush forward like a hotheaded fool and become the first one to catch a bullet.

He Guan chuckled and repeatedly winked at Cheng Qianfan, clearly asking whether they should find an opportunity to teach Old Mo a lesson.

Cheng Qianfan shot him an irritated look.

This was all his fault.

Originally, Cheng Qianfan had no conflict with Old Mo.

However, He Guan had gotten into an argument with Old Mo over some ridiculous nonsense.

Since Cheng Qianfan had been trying to get closer to Jin Kemu through his friendship with He Guan, he naturally had to stand on He Guan’s side.

Old Mo probably thought Cheng Qianfan’s backing was weaker than He Guan’s.

Unable to squeeze the hard persimmon, he chose the soft one instead and targeted Cheng Qianfan.

A thought suddenly occurred to Cheng Qianfan.

Looking up at the sky, he complained casually, “Looks like it’s going to rain.”

He Guan received the message:

Wait and see. It might be worth doing.

Several officers shifted to a more popular topic, discussing a new dancer named Honey Peach at the Great World amusement hall and how beautiful she was.

Those eyes.

Those breasts.

That backside.

Just thinking about it made them click their tongues.

This was Old Mo’s favorite kind of conversation.

He finally stopped covertly trying to stir up trouble for Cheng Qianfan.

Watching the scenery outside the truck, Cheng Qianfan fell into thought.

Meanwhile, inside a shikumen residence on Route Père Robert.

“Team Leader, I lost him. Punish me as you see fit.”

Song Fuguo said nothing.

He stared at the map for quite a while before coldly asking, “Where did you lose him? Tell me every detail.”

“He came out of the rear entrance of the Japanese Consulate building in Shanghai, and we followed him. He went all the way into the French Concession...” The team member quickly pulled himself together and carefully recalled the events.

“Mark the route.”

Song Fuguo pointed at the map.