Chapter 303 Undercover Agents in the Capital

"Where did this money come from?"

Wang Defa remained silent. Old Sun sat down opposite him, lit a cigarette, but didn't smoke it, just held it between his fingers. The smoke rose and dispersed under the light, making Wang Defa cough.

"Wang Defa, you've worked in the neighborhood for six years. You're in charge of public order. In this area outside Deshengmen, if a child goes missing, if a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law quarrel, or if someone's stove goes out, they all come to you. Everyone says you're honest and kind."

Wang Defa's shoulder twitched.

"Which factory does your son work at again?"

"...North Suburbs Timber Yard"

"Where is your spouse?"

"...a cardboard box factory in the street, making cardboard boxes."

Old Sun nodded and flicked off the ash from his cigarette.

"Old Wang, if I were you, I wouldn't say anything either. Who wants to confess what they've done?" He picked up the wad of money, patted it in his hand, "But if this stuff is in your room, you have to explain yourself."

Wang Defa lowered his head, looking at his hands. His hands were rough, with black grime embedded in his fingernails, and large joints—hands of manual labor. He stared at them for a long time.

"...The man said he was just passing on a message. To tell them what was happening here. Who came, who left, what happened. He said nothing bad would happen."

"Who said that?"

"He's from the south. His surname is Chen. He's a businessman."

Old Sun paused for a moment. "Chen Zhiyuan?"

Wang Defa nodded without looking up.

Old Sun opened the notebook and pointed to a page. "What about these people? From the Ministry of Military Industry, the Railway Bureau, the Post Office. You know them all?"

Wang Defa shook his head. "I don't know them. Chen Zhiyuan gave me the list and asked me to help contact them. How to contact them and what to say were all decided by him."

Old Sun stared at him. "Anything else?"

Wang Defa fell silent. The room was quiet; the sound of a radio could be heard from downstairs, distant and faint. After a while, Wang Defa looked up, his eyes red.

"There's another one. His code name is 'Boss.' Chen Zhiyuan said that's his superior. He told me to listen to 'Boss.'"

"Who is the boss?"

"I don't know. I've never seen him. Chen Zhiyuan said—" He paused, "that his 'boss' is in Beijing, and at a very high level. He told me not to inquire, and that I would find out when the time was right."

Old Sun stood up and walked out of the interrogation room. He Yuzhu stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall, still clutching the gloves in his hand.

"Old He, this 'boss' is even bigger than the 'manager.' In Beijing, he's a very high-ranking person."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He thought of the account book in Northeast China, of "Third Master," of "Master," of "Manager." Now there was another "Owner."

"What about the people Wang Defa mentioned?"

Old Sun said, "Arrest them. Arrest them tonight."

At daybreak, Old Sun returned. He placed a list on He Yuzhu's desk, containing eighty-three names. He Yuzhu picked up the list and looked at it for a long time, going through each name one by one. He recognized some, and didn't recognize others. They were from military enterprises, government agencies, railways, and postal services—all key departments.

"Do you have any leads on that 'owner'?"

Old Sun shook his head. "No. I've never met Wang Defa, and Chen Zhiyuan didn't mention him either. I only know he's in Beijing and holds a very high position." He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to He Yuzhu. The paper contained only one sentence, Wang Defa's last instructions: "The boss said to keep a close eye on the research institute's materials."

He Yuzhu pressed his fingers on the words until his knuckles turned white. "Research Institute stuff. Archives? Tank blueprints? Or something else?" He looked up at the window. Dawn was breaking, but the sun hadn't risen yet. The city wall near Deshengmen was dark in the morning light, like an old wound.

Yang Xiaobing pushed the door open and came in. "Commander, the neighbors have all come to see Wang Defa. They're saying, how could such an honest man like Old Wang be a spy?"

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He stood up and walked to the window. In the yard, several children were playing hopscotch, the white lines they had drawn already blurred. An old woman came out carrying a basin to pour water, saw them, paused for a moment, and then shrank back inside. He Yuzhu remembered when Wang Defa was arrested, he was wearing that gray cloth jacket, the cuffs were frayed, and there were patches on the elbows. The light in his window was still on; his wife probably didn't know yet.

"Let's go." He Yuzhu put the list into the drawer and walked out of the office.

The corridor was dark, except for the emergency exit light, which glowed green. He walked past the records room door and paused. The door was closed and securely locked. The key felt heavy in his pocket. He continued walking and pushed open the door. A breeze blew in, carrying the aroma of breakfast stalls from the alleyway, mixed with the smell of coal smoke.

He Nianhua was playing in the yard, holding a tank made from a bullet casing and shouting "Boom boom boom!" When he saw He Yuzhu, he ran over, the tank dangling from his hand. "Dad! Uncle Yang said the bad guys have been caught!" He Yuzhu picked him up, and he wrapped his arms around He Yuzhu's neck, the cool tank hitting his shoulder.

"Yes, we caught them."

He Nianhua was delighted, wriggled out of his arms, and ran off to play with her tank. Qin Huairu stood at the door, wearing an apron, her hands still covered in flour. "You're back?" He Yuzhu nodded. "I'm back." She looked at him, asked nothing, and turned to walk into the house. "Dinner's ready."

He Yuzhu followed behind her. Several dishes were laid out on the table, steaming hot. He Nianhua ran in, climbed onto a stool, picked up his chopsticks, and stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth. Qin Huairu wiped his mouth beside him, and he dodged around, giggling. He Yuzhu sat there, watching them, without touching his chopsticks. Qin Huairu looked at him, a hint of inquiry in her eyes. He shook his head: "It's nothing." He picked up his chopsticks, took a bite of food, and put it in his mouth. He chewed a couple of times, but couldn't swallow. He put down his chopsticks, picked up his bowl, and drank a sip of soup. The soup was hot, scalding his mouth.

That night, He Yuzhu lay on the kang (a heated brick bed), listening to the wind outside. He Nianhua turned over, her small hand resting on his face—warm and soft. He closed his eyes, his mind replaying Wang Defa's words: "The boss said we need to keep a close eye on the things at the research institute."

That "boss" is a very high-ranking person in Beijing. Who is he? He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the room. He gently placed He Nianhua's small hand back under the covers and turned over. The key to the archives was under his pillow, feeling uncomfortable.