Chapter 88: A Letter from Manchuria

Cheng Qianfan carefully examined the course schedule.

The courses offered in this Hangzhou Special Training Class were:

Agent Techniques, Intelligence Operations, and Scientific Investigation Methods, each consisting of 65 class hours.

Foreign Languages, 78 class hours, including Japanese, English, German, and Russian. Trainees selected courses according to their own needs.

Political Training, 39 class hours.

Firearms Shooting, 78 class hours.

Automobile Studies, 16 class hours.

Automobile Driving, 65 class hours.

Photography, 78 class hours.

Forgery Techniques and Capture Techniques, each consisting of 78 class hours.

In addition, there were Group Meetings, Memorial Week activities, and other courses, each consisting of 13 class hours.

Although Cheng Qianfan had studied agent skills under Comrade Zhulin while in the Special Section, he was still astonished by the densely packed curriculum.

Compared to the Special Section’s training program, the Special Service Office’s curriculum was clearly more professional, more specialized, and far more detailed.

“This is the normal course arrangement,” Zhao Yansheng said.

“You’re currently in the Special Training Class, so the class hours have been compressed somewhat. However, when it comes time for evaluation, the standards will not be lowered because of the reduced class hours. If anything, they will be stricter.”

“You’ve got some hard work ahead of you, little brother.”

Zhao Yansheng smiled and patted Cheng Qianfan on the shoulder.

Cheng Qianfan nodded.

His eyes seemed to shine.

The Special Training Class had less than one-third of the instructional hours of the regular class.

To graduate successfully would require effort beyond what ordinary people could imagine.

Yet Cheng Qianfan feared no hardship.

On the contrary, he eagerly anticipated it.

This was an exceptionally rare opportunity to improve himself.

The thought of systematically and professionally improving himself through the Nationalist Special Service Office’s training filled him with an indescribable sense of anticipation and pleasure.

He silently calculated in his mind.

He had already mastered Japanese, English, and Russian.

For the foreign language course, he chose German.

As for firearms shooting, he had already achieved outstanding results while attending the Central Military Academy.

He intended to study all the other subjects, especially professional courses such as Intelligence Operations and Scientific Investigation Methods.

In fact, he had already mastered part of this material during his time in the Special Section.

However, Cheng Qianfan reminded himself that in such professional courses, he absolutely had to keep a low profile and could not reveal that he already possessed a foundation.

Outstanding performance in foreign languages and firearms shooting was reasonable based on his background and would not expose any flaws.

But if he displayed an excellent foundation in professional intelligence techniques, that would clearly become a point of suspicion.

He could present himself as talented and as someone who learned rapidly.

That was the balance he needed to maintain carefully.

Talent and prior training were completely different concepts.

That afternoon, Cheng Qianfan appeared in the Special Training Class for the first time.

There were not many trainees who had chosen German.

Only a little more than ten.

Within the Special Training Class, Japanese was the most commonly selected language.

The German instructor, Huo Shuying, was a highly poised and exceptionally capable middle-aged woman.

To her surprise, this plain-looking transfer trainee in her classroom was able to keep up with her teaching pace.

In fact, his spoken German pronunciation was even better than that of many trainees who had already studied for more than twenty class hours.

“Cheng Wufang, have you studied German before?”

“I taught myself for a while and only understand bits and pieces,” Cheng Qianfan replied.

“It’s mainly because you’re such a good teacher.”

He did not mention that his knowledge of English and French made learning German, a language from the same family, much easier.

Cheng Qianfan always remembered one thing.

These classmates would become one of the greatest dangers to his future exposure.

The less people knew about him, the greater his chances of survival.

Huo Shuying nodded, accepting the explanation.

“Cheng Wufang, come here.”

Firearms instructor Wan Delong glanced at Cheng Qianfan, a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

During the operation to capture Kawada Eikichi, he had witnessed Cheng Wufang’s pistol marksmanship.

Therefore, what he handed Cheng Wufang was not a Mauser pistol.

It was a Zhongzheng rifle.

Rifles and pistols were entirely different.

Being good with a pistol did not necessarily mean one could handle a rifle well.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Wan Delong thought to himself, Kid, you’ve fallen into my hands now.

The Zhongzheng rifle’s recoil was extremely powerful.

For beginners, the heavy recoil could be very uncomfortable.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Watching Cheng Qianfan fire, work the bolt, and fire again with practiced ease, repeating the process over and over.

He was remarkably steady.

“Nine rings, nine rings, ten rings, ten rings, nine rings...”

The target report echoed from afar.

“Ten hits. Average score, 9.6 rings.”

Hiss.

Wan Delong clenched his teeth.

What kind of monster was this kid?

He could blow someone’s head off with a single pistol shot from more than ten metres away, and now his rifle shooting was just as stable and accurate!

The other trainees looked at the newcomer with expressions of astonishment.

“Could this kid be from the military?” someone whispered.

“Even in the army, marksmanship like that isn’t common,” another person said, shaking his head.

This new classmate was certainly mysterious.

“Delong, how is Cheng Wufang performing?”

Yu Ping’an arrived to inspect the training accompanied by Zhao Yansheng and asked the question.

“Deputy Director Yu, is this kid from a military background?” Wan Delong asked quietly.

Yu Ping’an merely smiled without answering.

He had reviewed Cheng Qianfan’s records from the Central Military Academy Infantry Department.

His firearms shooting grade had been First Class Excellence.

Cheng Qianfan looked at the Czech light machine gun in his hands with gentle eyes.

It had been a long time since he had spent time with this old companion.

Rat-tat-tat.

“Deputy Director Yu, I think Cheng Wufang can graduate from firearms training already.”

Wan Delong glanced at Cheng Qianfan, who was happily firing away, and gave a bitter smile.

“This kid attending firearms class is just wasting bullets.”

He often scolded trainees for wasting bullets.

However, this kind of wasting bullets was entirely different from the other kind.

“Very well.”

Yu Ping’an nodded.

Cheng Qianfan had entered midway through the program and already faced an extremely tight schedule.

Naturally, it would be best if he could devote more time to other courses.

Thus, after attending a single firearms class, Cheng Qianfan graduated from the course ahead of schedule.

Several days later.

Changchun, also known as Xinjing, the capital of Manchukuo.

Under the complicated gazes of Manchukuo Imperial Guard soldiers, gazes that concealed their anger, Imai Futoshi lowered the whip in his hand.

“Lock him up. No food for three days.”

“Yes!”

A military officer smiled obsequiously, bowing and scraping.

The other soldiers all dared to be angry but dared not speak.

Little Shuanzi’s father had fallen ill, and the boy had secretly gone home.

When he returned to camp, he had been caught by the brutal instructor Imai Futoshi.

A whip had already been broken on his body.

Now he was being locked up without food.

How could Little Shuanzi possibly survive?

Several hours later.

At Segawa Tavern.

A drunken Imai Futoshi staggered out while holding a woman who forced herself to smile.

“Mr. Imai.”

Imai Futoshi instinctively looked up.

Bang!

A gunshot suddenly rang out, throwing the crowd into chaos.

Amid the confusion, a man wearing a trench coat quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Passing a cesspit, he tossed the Mauser pistol in his hand into it, turned into another alley, and vanished into the night.

The next morning.

Shanghai.

French Concession.

Yande Lane.

At Cheng Qianfan’s residence.

A postman slipped a letter from Xinjing in Manchukuo through the crack beneath the door.