Agent: Intercepting Yu Manli at the start!

Chapter 2 Unbeknownst to Gods and Ghosts!

Two plainclothes officers were suspended at a distance, their steps precisely timed, not a step off.

Zhou Xiao had already shaken off his tail and quietly followed behind Zhou Hanguang, as silent as a shadow.

"Well……"

As soon as he stepped off the dance hall steps, Zhou Hanguang leaned against the wall and began to retch. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the street corner and caught a glimpse of two swaying figures—but he didn't notice that another dark figure was steadily following him three steps behind.

He staggered forward, clearly drunk, each step feeling like he was walking on cotton.

Reaching the street corner, he slumped against a green mailbox, bent over, and gagged: "Ugh—ugh—"

The voice coming from his throat was hoarse and realistic, and even the oil stains on his sleeves from the mailbox made him look just like an ordinary person who was dead drunk.

After pausing in front of the mailbox for about two or three seconds, Zhou Hanguang swayed and continued moving towards home.

His steps were unsteady, his body swayed, and he looked like a drunkard just pulled out of a wine vat. He shuffled along, bumping into walls and trees, stumbling and tripping, and even passing rickshaw drivers turned their heads and shook their heads.

This appearance naturally did not escape the eyes of Zhou Xiao, who was watching from the shadows.

After Zhou Hanguang and the two Kuomintang agents disappeared around the street corner, Zhou Xiao emerged from the shadows of the sycamore trees and strolled leisurely to the mailbox. He crouched down, his fingertips lightly tracing the rust on the mailbox's surface. His gaze swept over the base, the rim of the cover, and the mailbox slot—right at the edge of that narrow iron seam, a faint scratch from a fingernail was faintly visible, still stained with half a dried wine stain. A silent laugh tugged at the corner of his lips: "Heh... this old fox, really daring to gamble, using drunkenness as a smokescreen, stuffing intelligence into the rhythm of his vomiting."

Before he finished speaking, he had already pried open the lock, reached in, and taken out a slightly damp kraft paper envelope.

There were many letters, but to find Zhou Hanguang's, there was no need to even look at it—just a sniff revealed a strong smell of sorghum liquor. He pulled out the letter, glanced at the heading and signature, deftly folded it, stuffed it into his trench coat pocket, and turned to disappear into the twilight.

Training Center of the Military Staff Committee in Nanjing.

In a bright office, Zheng Yaoxian leaned back in a rattan chair, a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, while the melody of "Night Fragrance" played softly from the gramophone.

Fang Tian, ​​standing to the side, was as taut as a fully drawn bowstring, with beads of sweat on his forehead.

Three days have passed, and the "shadow" that has been hiding in the committee for months is still nowhere to be found. The superiors are sending telegrams three times a day, each word like a knife.

"Sixth Brother, have you found any leads?" Fang Tian's voice was tense. "The higher-ups have issued a stern warning—if we can't find the person, all the young and promising staff officers will be dismissed. Better to kill the innocent than let the guilty go free."

Zheng Yaoxian exhaled a puff of bluish-white smoke, his tone as calm as a lake: "It'll be soon, we'll see tonight."

Click—

The door hinges clicked softly.

A Kuomintang agent strode in, his hat pulled low: "Sixth Brother, we've lost them! Zhou Xiao circled the Qinhuai River dock three times, shook off our men, and disappeared."

"What?!" Fang Tian whirled around, looking anxiously at Zheng Yaoxian. "Sixth Brother, this guy is probably 'Shadow'! Otherwise, how could he be so adept at counter-surveillance? He only ran because he was guilty!"

Zheng Yaoxian simply raised his eyes and smiled, without replying.

A moment later, another agent pushed open the door and entered, panting as he reported: "Sixth Brother, Zhou Hanguang has been behaving himself these past two days: he attends meetings and drafts proposals during the day, and as usual goes to the Rose Ballroom at night, where he gets drunk and staggers, vomiting against the wall until he gets home. He hasn't shown his face since then."

This is their daily, unwavering routine report.

"Oh?" Zheng Yaoxian's fingers paused, and ash fell from his cigarette. "Where did he stop on his way back?"

The man frowned and thought back, then shook his head: "He really didn't stop—he stumbled the whole way, refusing to even take a rickshaw, just clinging to the wall bricks with his hands to move around. It really didn't look like he was faking it."

"You missed a crucial moment." Zheng Yaoxian lightly flicked his cigarette ash and shook his head.

The two were taken aback and looked at each other in bewilderment.

"Fang Tian, ​​what is the deadline given by the higher-ups?" Zheng Yaoxian suddenly asked.

"Before sunset tomorrow," Fang Tian answered decisively. "Once the deadline is passed, the operation will commence immediately."

Zheng Yaoxian nodded; the cigarette had burned out.

The next morning.

The General Staff continued to operate as usual, with young officers working at their desks, strategizing and setting up battle plans on sand tables, their steps hurried yet orderly.

At this moment, Zhou Xiao held the still-smelling letter in his hand, firmly grasping Zhou Hanguang's vital point.

He found an opening and stopped Fang Tian directly: "Instructor, there's something urgent that needs to be reported in person!"

"Speak," Fang Tian said without even lifting his eyelids.

Zhou Xiao said, enunciating each word clearly: "Shadow."

Fang Tian's pupils contracted sharply, his breath hitched, and then he said in a deep voice, "Come with me." He turned around and led him into a small, enclosed room on the west side of the training center.

Only Fang Tian and Zhou Xiao were inside the room.

Next door, Zheng Yaoxian was leaning against the door, listening quietly.

"Speak." Fang Tian stood with his hands behind his back.

Zhou Xiao stood ramrod straight: "I've confirmed it—there's a Japanese spy hidden in our Nanjing Military Staff Committee, codenamed 'Shadow'."

"I'm not the only one being watched these past few days, which means the list of suspects has already been compiled. And I just happen to be the prime target."

As he spoke, his eyes darted quickly across the door crack, window frame, and vent—he was certain that Zheng Yaoxian was next door.

This person is intelligent and cautious.

He knew that the Military Intelligence Bureau headquarters was far away in Chongqing, but the mission happened to fall in Nanjing; he also knew that the coded numbers on the envelopes exchanged between Zhou Hanguang and Feng Zixiong had already etched the word "Shadow" into the paper texture.

Real name? Never. In chaotic times, code names are the mark of survival.

"And then?" Fang Tian pressed.

Zhou Xiao took the letter out of his pocket and held it out to his chest: "At 8:47 last night, Zhou Hanguang pretended to vomit while drunk, and then pressed his hand against the mailbox and stuffed this 'love letter' in—the recipient was written as Feng Manna, but in reality every casual sentence was a secret code, and every punctuation mark was a coordinate."

squeak-

The door was pushed open.

Zheng Yaoxian walked in, the hem of his trench coat fluttering slightly.

"Sixth Brother!" Fang Tian immediately stood at attention.

Zhou Xiao raised his eyes and his gaze briefly met Zheng Yaoxian's—in that instant, he knew in his heart that the man in the trench coat with the smell of cigarettes on his fingers was the master he was going to become.

Zheng Yaoxian glanced at Zhou Xiao, then fixed his gaze on the letter. His voice was low and deep: "I'd like to hear what makes you so sure that Zhou Hanguang used the excuse of gagging by the mailbox last night to secretly slip the letter in. It's perfectly normal for a drunkard to vomit by the mailbox."

This is precisely Zhou Hanguang's most cunning move.

When a man is so drunk he's staggering around, who would suspect he's using the opportunity to send secret messages? No one knows, not even the gods or ghosts.

Zhou Xiao tapped the table lightly with his fingertips, his tone firm: "A person who vomits will instinctively arch their back, turn to the side, and avoid the filth. They would never reach out and touch the mailbox slot—but last night, I clearly smelled a strong smell of alcohol at the edge of that narrow entrance, with a hint of the sourness of aged rice wine. It was Zhou Hanguang's smear when he stuffed the letter in."

"Second question: You said he used love letters as cover to pass on intelligence, what was his basis for that?"

"Who would use an airmail stamp for a regular love letter?" Zhou Xiao turned the envelope over, his fingertips tracing the blue-and-white stamp. "Affixing this stamp is like sending an urgent telegram—it has to be fast and secret!"

"I opened the letter and read it. It was all rambling, everyday talk: children's weddings, my mother's cough, the osmanthus flowers in the yard... But the flaw was hidden under this stamp."

"Zhou Hanguang was meticulous and had anticipated that the letter would be thoroughly investigated, so he simply etched the intelligence into the adhesive layer of the stamp. I used hot steam to open the adhesive, and the writing emerged—the duty roster of the sentry posts at the three ferry crossings along the Suzhou River, the intervals between night patrols, and even the location of the ventilation openings in the underground bunker."

Pop, pop, pop.

Zheng Yaoxian clapped three times slowly, took off his sunglasses, his gaze sharp as a knife, but a hint of approval appeared on the corner of his mouth: "Okay, all correct. Quick-witted and sharp-eyed."

Although he did not personally keep an eye on Zhou Hanguang, he could deduce the other party's methods with great accuracy from the tracking reports presented by the Military Intelligence Bureau agents alone—this is the true weight of the Military Intelligence Bureau's Sixth Brother.

Fang Tian suddenly spoke up: "Zhou Xiao, last night you deliberately shook off the Kuomintang agents who were following you, just so you could turn around and pinpoint Zhou Hanguang?"

"Yes." Zhou Xiao answered decisively, "I have to prove my innocence before the Military Commission takes action. I know their 'better to kill the innocent than let the guilty go free' policy very well—if they really wait for them to purge according to the list, my life will probably be buried in the ground along with that 'shadow'."

Fang Tian's Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and he was momentarily speechless.

These words struck a nerve—the order to suppress the enemy was indeed issued by his own hand.

How can one not feel embarrassed when even one's plans have been seen through?

Taking down all the young and promising staff officers was a last resort and a poorly executed strategy.

However, if they could not find the "shadow" for a long time, the enemy's intelligence would flow to the Japanese command like a living river, and the defense line that the soldiers on the front line risked their lives to fill would be torn open in the blink of an eye; many lives were lost in these unseen hands.

So even if it costs a few young officers, we have to take this gamble—to gain a big victory with a small cost.

Others might not have the heart to do it, but the Military Intelligence Bureau has always dared to walk a bloody path.

"Leave the letter." Fang Tian glanced at Zheng Yaoxian, then turned to Zhou Xiao, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You go back and await orders. Zhou Hanguang, we'll close the net immediately."

"Yes!" Zhou Xiao responded and withdrew.

The military police immediately rushed to Zhou Hanguang's residence.

Zhou Hanguang reacted extremely quickly. As soon as he saw the courtyard gate being kicked open, he grabbed his pistol, jumped out of the window, and fired as he retreated, the bullets grazing the pillars and sparking.

boom! boom! boom!

Gunshots rang out in the courtyard of the Military Commission, paved with blue bricks, startling countless birds into flight.

He fought and retreated, but was eventually surrounded and killed at the foot of the west corner tower steps, with military police approaching from all sides with guns at their ready.

"Zhou Hanguang! Disarm! You can't escape!" the military police captain shouted sternly.

His response was a series of short, vicious bursts of fire.

Zhou Hanguang didn't speak; the gun barrel was his answer.

He may never understand, even until his death, which step he slipped up.

But for spies, exposure is never a mystery—it's the final bell.

As a Japanese agent planted in the military, he knew better than anyone the methods used in the Military Intelligence Bureau's torture chambers: a living hell where death was unbearable. Surrender? It would only prolong the suffering.

Since death is inevitable anyway, why not die a quick and painless death?

Da da da—!

The military police stopped trying to persuade him to surrender and immediately opened fire.

Even though Zhou Hanguang was one of the top gunners in the General Staff, he couldn't withstand the simultaneous aim of twenty rifles; the Browning rifle in his hand with a five-round magazine was already red-hot from firing, with very few bullets left.