Shanghai!

This was an extraordinarily "advanced" bomb. It broke away from the predictable detonation methods of timers or tripwires. In a sense, if the fighting in Songhu broke out naturally, or if Zhang Zhizhong succeeded in pushing his plan through at the national defense conference, no one would ever realize that an advance team primed to ignite the war even existed. This was Zhang Zhizhong's opening move, and his trump card. Before departure, headquarters handed a compact military radio and a hand-crank generator to Yu Yang, emphasizing that the team was permitted only one-way communication with headquarters. In other words, the team could only report upward to Suzhou, and for any operational move, they had to obey Suzhou's direct command. Zhu Shiqing and Fang Wenjian had spent just one night in the single-room dormitory at Suzhou's Lingering Garden before boarding a train bound hurriedly for urban Shanghai. In a corner of the train's dining car, team leader Ping Hong took out several small hand-drawn map cards from his pocket, filled with red and black markings. It was clear he had put real effort into learning Shanghai; at this moment, he seemed more local than the locals themselves. It was also rare for headquarters to place such trust in a youth with a secret-service background. Of course, this was partly because he hailed from the Fuxing Society, rather than the Party Affairs Investigation Division. "Brothers, I'm sure you all understand the task Officer Li laid out last night," Ping Hong said, tapping a landmark on the card map with practiced familiarity. "After we arrive in Zhabei this afternoon, our safehouse will be at No. 7 Xibaoxing Road. It's just across the street from the border between the Chinese and Japanese sectors, making our movements convenient. "In addition, Little Brother Yu Yang, we must report to Suzhou twice a day, morning and evening. During daylight hours, we can split up and stake out separate points, but everyone must return to the safehouse at night for the debriefing." "Understood," Yu Yang nodded obediently. "The salient jutting from along the International Settlement boundary into our controlled zone is the Japanese Special Naval Landing Force Headquarters. Taking that as the axis, to its left is Zhabei, to its right is Hongkou, directly ahead are Bazi Bridge and the Patriotic Girls' School, and behind it lies a sprawling expanse of low-rise residential housing, mostly populated by Japanese immigrants. "Starting from where Suzhou Creek empties into the Huangpu River, the left terminus is Wayside Wharf and the right terminus is Kung Dah Cotton Mill. The Japanese have fortified extensive perimeter positions along that line." Zhu Shiqing narrowed his eyes, silently admiring the professionalism. As expected of someone formally trained, these sketches might not have been standard German-style military operational maps, but organizing the spatial relationships among these landmarks by hand was no small feat. The train rumbled along toward Shanghai North Railway Station. The Shanghai Peace Preservation Corps had no idea why this six-man team was arriving; they only knew it was an order from the supreme command of the Nanjing-Shanghai Garrison. Yet ironically, ever since the opening salvo at Lugou Bridge, Zhang Zhizhong had already dispatched two regiments of the Supplementary 2nd Brigade to Shanghai, disguised as military police and peace preservation units. At this very moment, the number of regular soldiers in the ranks of the Shanghai Peace Preservation Corps almost surpassed the actual peace preservation recruits. Could this still be called a peace preservation corps? It was the Central Army draped in peace preservation uniforms! Following the railway line into Shanghai and crossing Suzhou Creek, the dazzling vista of the ten-mile foreign settlement unfolded on the right, an overwhelming blur of varied Western buildings within the concessions. But as the train rolled steadily onward, the scene north of Suzhou Creek appeared somewhat bleak. Endless clusters of low, tiled roof houses ran together. Greyish rubbish was scattered throughout the alleys, and pedestrians mostly wore drab grey clothes and caps, with several scholar-like gentlemen in long gowns moving in and out of various bookstores. Stepping down from the passenger car at Shanghai North Railway Station, Zhu Shiqing scanned the area. Within a few li, only two prominent structures caught the eye: to the southwest stood the bronze-clad Broadway Mansions, and to the northeast stood the Japanese Special Naval Landing Force Headquarters in Tiantong'an. By erecting such a tall headquarters here, the Japanese Navy had secured open rooftop space for spotting scopes and machine-gun nests. If a Japanese lookout on duty aimed his binoculars toward the platforms of the North Station at this moment, he might have caught a faint glimpse of several dark silhouettes. Men who would soon become sworn enemies, locking horns with the Japanese forces in Shanghai day and night. Time had already marched into the afternoon of August 7. No. 7 Xibaoxing Road had originally been an operational outpost for the Fuxing Society in Shanghai. After years of disuse, the duplex attic was caked in dust, though it remained fully furnished. Ping Hong led the group inside, saying repeatedly, "It's been a long time since anyone was here. We'll have to trouble everyone to tidy things up in a bit." No sooner had they set their gear down than Ping Hong added, "Shiqing, let's leave this to the boys for now. You and I need to report to the Shanghai Peace Preservation Corps first." In truth, Zhu Shiqing harbored doubts about the arrangement of team leader and deputy leader. For an advance team of only six men, why designate a deputy leader when there was already a team leader? When it came to bureaucratic postings, Zhu Shiqing was naturally cautious. He knew full well that leaders in high places like Zhang Zhizhong might speak pleasantries, but they never made idle moves. Was this meant to maintain balance, or did it carry some deeper intention? Zhu Shiqing would have to observe carefully as things developed. Because of this, he maintained a quiet vigilance in his interactions with Ping Hong. The two walked through the streets of Shanghai toward the headquarters of the Shanghai Peace Preservation Corps on the north bank of Suzhou Creek. Colonel Ji Zhangjian received them warmly. Once inside his office, he personally poured water and offered greetings, all of which Ping Hong accepted without demurral. "Commander Zhang has already telegraphed the particulars to me, so please rest easy," Ji Zhangjian said with a professional smile, gesturing animatedly with his hands. "Word has been passed down. I've already arranged for your peace preservation uniforms; you can take them shortly. The peace preservation corps in Shanghai will cooperate with you fully." "Colonel Ji, you can rest assured that our mission in Shanghai is primarily to observe the Japanese military's recent movements. We will not interfere in your regular duties; our only wish is not to cause you any trouble." "Not at all! Since it is Commander Zhang's order, you have surely come with a special mission. If there is anything you require, just come directly to me." Ji Zhangjian kept his beaming smile throughout, looking as though he would gladly surrender the regiment itself if asked. Such was the weight of a personal call from Zhang Zhizhong. From Ji's deference, Zhu Shiqing could plainly see Zhang Zhizhong's towering status within the party and the military. *** Returning to the safehouse, Fang Wenjian was already panting like an ox from the scrubbing. He twisted his mouth and grumbled, "Brother Ping, has this place sat empty for ten years? The dust was thick as spectacle lenses!" "My apologies, my apologies! Tonight's dinner is on me," Ping Hong laughed heartily, scratching his head. He dumped the armful of peace preservation uniforms onto the newly polished table and shouted to the room, "I'll treat the brothers to a good meal at a local Shanghai joint to celebrate the official start of our team's mission!" "I hear the vegetarian fare at Gong Delin is quite famous," Yu Yang said, looking up. "No, no, Gong Delin sounds like a Buddhist retreat from the name alone!" Deng Yifei shook his head and offered his own suggestion. "Let's go to Shanghai Old Restaurant instead! Since Team Leader Ping is treating, we've got to take him for a proper ride!" Yu Feishuang didn't mind either way. Having eaten military rations for so long, any bite of meat in Shanghai would taste heavenly to him. "I vote with Brother Deng," Fang Wenjian said, raising a hand. "These past two days have worn me out." Ping Hong turned to Zhu Shiqing. "What does the deputy leader think?" "I have no objections," Zhu Shiqing said with a smile. "Whatever you decide." An hour later, the group of young men arrived at Shanghai Old Restaurant, devouring the food and sweeping the dishes clean in the ground-floor dining hall... That single meal set Ping Hong back three whole silver dollars. Early the next morning, on August 8, the 26th year of the Republic of China, six men in black-and-white peace preservation uniforms—adorned with silver-white inspector armbands, carrying Zhongzheng rifles across their shoulders, and wearing dark grey cloth shoes—stepped onto the streets of Zhabei.