Chapter 36: Woon Causes Trouble (Please add to your favorites, please vote for me!)

When it came to identifying Susanna’s true identity, Zhou Sen had no idea where to even begin. There was no template for this kind of work, nor any standard procedure he could follow. All he could do was start by investigating her social connections, then keep her under his own watchful eye and observe.

Yes, observe—that was all he could do.

As someone who was already thinking about extricating himself from this maelstrom of trouble, why would he go out of his way to help Akiyama Susuke identify a “Soviet” spy? If he helped the Japanese, how would he ever rid himself of this black mark? Did they really think he was that much of a fool?

The best strategy was to drag things out, to stall and delay until the Japanese themselves grew tired of waiting and realized he was useless—nothing but a pile of mud that couldn’t be shaped into a wall. That would be for the best.

Right now, he had only one principle: Old Anthony was Old Anthony, and he was himself. Though there was a connection between them, they were two independent individuals. As for Old Anthony’s affairs, Zhou Sen didn’t want to get involved, nor did he want to know more—unless Akiyama Susuke came to him directly, he would never ask.

As for the family’s secrets, he was considering how to deal with the weapons hidden in that secret room. Should he find a safe place to hide them himself, or should he hand them over to the Japanese? He hadn’t decided yet. For now, leaving them in the secret room wasn’t a problem.

He had no intention of retrieving anything from the Basha Club for the time being, either. He couldn’t be sure if someone was still secretly watching him. As long as the items remained undiscovered, he could fetch them whenever he needed.

As for inheriting Old Anthony’s legacy—he had never even considered it, nor did he believe the Japanese’s lies. If he really took up that mantle, who knew how he might die in the end?

He could do many things, but there was one line he would never cross: he would never become a traitor to his people. That was his bottom line.

…

“Boss, about that Feiya woman—I’ve found out some things.” Once Wuen had seen Susanna off, Guo Laoliu came to report what he’d learned.

“Speak.”

“This Feiya is forty-seven. Her husband worked on the Middle East Railway, but they divorced a few years ago—mainly because he was a drunk and violent. Whenever he got drunk, he’d come home to beat his wife and child. They have a son who dropped out of school very early. Two years ago, the White Russian regiment was recruiting, and he signed up. The family’s financial situation isn’t bad. Feiya has been working for Shergin for about a year. The neighbors all speak well of her.”

“Does most of the money she earns go to help her son?”

“Her son is in the White Russian regiment—they provide food and lodging. He shouldn’t need her support,” Guo Laoliu replied.

“We should check on that. Does she still have contact with her ex-husband?”

“When they divorced, her son stayed with his father—the man had a steady income and there were no worries about food or shelter. Feiya didn’t even have a place to live, so whenever she wanted to see her son, she had to go through her ex-husband…” Guo Laoliu had been quite thorough in his inquiries.

“Then look into the relationship between Feiya and her ex-husband—see if there’s any financial connection,” Zhou Sen instructed.

“Boss, does this have anything to do with the case?” Guo Laoliu murmured, puzzled. “Aren’t we just casting about aimlessly, looking for a needle in a haystack?”

“Otherwise, you could go look for someone in the underworld who’s skilled with knives, left-handed, and has appeared in Harbin recently?”

“Well…” It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. Guo Laoliu had consulted the old hands in the underworld. There were a few who matched the description, but after checking, they’d either kicked the bucket or were locked up—no chance of committing the crime. That lead was a dead end.

“So which will you choose?” Zhou Sen chuckled.

“I’d rather stick to investigating Feiya and her ex-husband,” Guo Laoliu replied dejectedly.

“Do me another favor. Pass a message to Boss Qing of the Shuangqing Society—tell him I’ll treat him to lunch tomorrow, book the restaurant and let him know.” Zhou Sen gave further instructions. He hadn’t forgotten that someone had set him up, and if he wanted to find out who was behind it, he couldn’t do it alone.

“Boss, what’s gotten into you, inviting him to eat? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” Guo Laoliu asked in surprise.

“You’ll understand tomorrow.”

Guo Laoliu grinned, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be left out of tomorrow’s meal.

…

The Shuangqing Society was a small gang operating in his patrol district. There were many small gangs in Harbin, and the Shuangqing Society had a bit of a reputation. It was mainly run by the Qing brothers, who led a group of petty criminals: pickpockets, beggars, con artists, and the street vendors eking out a living in the neighborhood—cigarette sellers, fruit stalls, newspaper kiosks. All of them had to pay monthly protection, the amount varying from person to person.

Of course, there were also the toughs who looked after the turf and collected protection fees. But those fees didn’t all go into their own pockets—most of it had to be handed over to the police station.

To put it plainly, every month the Shuangqing Society had to pay Zhou Sen, and it didn’t matter who was in charge of the district—the rules were the same. Otherwise, the police would simply sweep their turf clean.

That money didn’t go straight into Zhou Sen’s pocket either—it had to be turned over to the station and then redistributed. It was an extra income, on top of the basic salary.

It was quite a tidy sum. Otherwise, with just the original’s wages and Old Anthony’s support, how could he afford to dine at upscale restaurants all the time or spend money in extravagant places like the Fragrant Pavilion? A single night there, drinking and doing nothing else, would cost at least one or two “old sheep” notes.

Usually, Guo Laoliu handled this business—Zhou Sen seldom bothered with it, and he didn’t plan to in the future either.

With Guo Laoliu sent out to work, only he and Wuen were left for patrols—at least two officers had to be on duty.

There was plenty to deal with on the streets, especially the petty squabbles and trivial matters that were a real test of one’s mettle.

So that afternoon, he and Wuen took to the streets.

Things were generally peaceful, especially with the Lunar New Year approaching. The crowds had grown, and so had the minor crimes and accidents.

There were traffic officers on the streets, but they were a different department. Zhou Sen and Wuen only handled everyday disputes.

Most common folk didn’t want police involvement. By the time the officers arrived, the parties had usually already reached an agreement.

A lot of disputes were family matters. Influenced by the belief that “family disgrace should not be made public,” the police rarely, if ever, got involved—and they didn’t want to, either. Even an honest judge would have trouble settling household quarrels.

Apart from the people’s outdated attitudes and the tense, even hostile, relationship between police and civilians, the work was not so different from that of ordinary police in later times.

Of course, the puppet police were accomplices and tools of the Japanese invaders—their professional philosophy and values couldn’t be compared to those of later generations.

Still, it couldn’t be denied that, from his position, if he could look after the people under his jurisdiction, their lives would be a little better.

But that didn’t change the big picture. Only by driving out the invaders and overthrowing the current regime could this cannibalistic world be changed for good.

He’d seen it himself: in broad daylight, Japanese men bullying Chinese on the street, harassing women, even slapping faces and kicking people. Even when the Japanese were clearly in the wrong, it was the Chinese who had to apologize—and sometimes pay compensation.

As for eating and drinking for free, or even outright robbery—such incidents were all too common. Even if the perpetrators were finally arrested, the cases would fade into nothing.

“Hey, little girl—where are you running off to? Ha ha…”

Just as Zhou Sen was hoping he wouldn’t run into such trouble—he really wasn’t sure he could restrain himself if he did—he heard a burst of chirping Japanese from a nearby alley.

Speak of the devil.

Before Zhou Sen could get a sense of the situation, Wuen had already rushed off.

With no choice, Zhou Sen hurried after him.

In the alley, several men dressed as Japanese ronin samurai were chasing a young woman, who was desperately fleeing for her life.

When the girl saw someone burst into the alley—especially a police officer in a black uniform—she instantly felt hope and ran even harder toward Wuen, crying out, “Help me! Help me…”

The four Japanese ronin, seeing the police, didn’t retreat at all. On the contrary, they began shouting in Japanese and continued their pursuit.

They weren’t afraid of the police in the slightest.

One of them, quick on his feet, caught up with the girl, grinning savagely as he yanked her to the ground. Her coat tore open with a loud rip.

She screamed, “Help me!”

Wuen, seeing this, glared with eyes that seemed to shoot fire. With a tiger’s roar, he charged forward, swinging his massive fist down on the back of the Japanese ronin’s head.

The man collapsed in a heap, knocked out cold by Wuen’s blow. With strength like that, how could a slight Japanese frame possibly withstand it?

The other three ronin rushed forward, drawing their swords and surrounding Wuen and the girl.

Zhou Sen hurried up but was still a step too late—Wuen had already struck. There would be no peaceful resolution today.

The three samurai brandished their swords, charging at Wuen as if intent on killing him on the spot.

But Wuen showed not a trace of fear. As the nearest ronin swung his sword, Wuen lunged forward, grabbed him, and slammed him into the ground.

With a sickening thud, the man was instantly knocked unconscious, just like his companion.

The remaining two ronin exchanged a glance—not with fear, but with a surge of viciousness at their companions’ defeat. They attacked Wuen from either side.

Zhou Sen was terrified. One against two, both wielding weapons—could Wuen possibly win?

The outcome stunned him. Wuen’s gaze turned icy. With a deft move, he seized the sword-wielding ronin’s wrist.

There was a crack, and the Japanese howled in pain, his arm going limp, useless for fighting.

The last ronin, thoroughly frightened, turned and ran straight for Zhou Sen.

But before he could reach him, a dark blur flashed behind him—Wuen had picked up a discarded sword, reversed it, and thrown it. It struck the fleeing man in the back of the head.

He crashed face-first into the ground and joined his three companions in unconsciousness.

Zhou Sen was dumbfounded.

He knew Wuen was skilled, but he hadn’t expected him to be so formidable, dispatching four Japanese ronin with such ease.

Now they were in trouble. These weren’t ordinary thugs—they were clearly connected, walking around armed and in full ronin dress. They’d seen Wuen’s face clearly.

Worse, Wuen was in full police uniform—his identity would be recognized, no question. The Japanese weren’t blind.

Here, on the streets, even Chinese had to bow to the Japanese. Now, they’d beaten up Japanese men—even if those men had been assaulting a woman.

But the Japanese would never listen to reason. Manchukuo’s laws weren’t meant for them to follow. If they decided to pursue this, Wuen would be in deep trouble—he might even go to prison.

And as his superior, Zhou Sen would be implicated as well. He wasn’t worried about that. What concerned him was what would happen to Wuen.

One moment of impulse could bring disaster—not just for himself, but for his parents and family, too.