Chapter 5: A New Direction (Please Add to Favorites!)

“Xiaosen, you haven’t met these three before, have you? Come, let Uncle Lin introduce you.” Lin Dakuan introduced each of the three to Zhou Sen.

Zhou Sen greeted Zou Shuxun and the other two, exchanged pleasantries, and then everyone took their seats.

Lin Dakuan pulled Zhou Sen to sit beside him, with the chubby interpreter Wu sitting right next to him.

“I’m good friends with Xiaosen’s adoptive father, Anthony. Before he left town on business, he specifically asked me to look after him. I’ve been busy handling cases recently and have neglected him a bit…” Lin Dakuan’s explanation and opening remarks made Zhou Sen feel a wave of nausea. This “bargain uncle” really knew how to talk, but on the surface, he had to look flattered and honored.

As for Lin Dakuan’s relationship with Anthony, who could say? After all, Anthony was a businessman—always tactful and diplomatic, especially when it came to people like Lin Dakuan, whom one simply couldn’t afford to offend. Zhou Sen did recall seeing Lin Dakuan visit their home twice.

Since Lin Dakuan had said as much, Zou Shuxun and the other two naturally had to flatter Zhou Sen for their boss’s sake.

They tossed out the usual compliments about “young Master Zhou” being promising and destined for a bright future.

All empty talk, but Zhou Sen could easily see through it. Still, at this moment, he was playing the part of a young man just over twenty.

Being praised like this, how could he not show a hint of excitement?

To his own surprise, Zhou Sen realized that perhaps his predecessor did have a bit of an artistic streak, for his performance felt quite natural.

This man must have chosen the wrong path—literature and music weren’t his strengths. He should’ve gone into theater, film, or stage acting. No wonder he hadn’t amounted to anything.

What a failure!

In truth, Lin Dakuan had been watching Zhou Sen’s reactions the whole time. From his initial nervousness and awkwardness to his flushed excitement upon being praised, it all seemed to Lin Dakuan like the normal reactions of a young man.

He couldn’t understand why the Japanese suddenly took an interest in such a frivolous young master and assigned him this bizarre task.

Zhou Sen knew none of this. He simply did his best to play the role of the old Zhou Sen, acting out the expected responses.

“Xiaosen, this promotion is recognition from the higher-ups.” Midway through the meal, after plenty of food and drink, Lin Dakuan’s face turned even redder as he grew more affable toward Zhou Sen. He asked, “What are your thoughts on your upcoming work?”

“Uncle Lin, I’m just a junior inspector. I do whatever the higher-ups assign me. What thoughts could I possibly have?” Zhou Sen responded with a naive, endearing expression.

The wine was indeed heady, but he remained perfectly clear-headed inside.

“Young people should have some ambition. Have you ever thought of joining my Special Services Division?” Lin Dakuan flicked the ash from his cigarette.

Zhou Sen was so startled he almost dropped his chopsticks. Go to Special Services? Was he courting death? In that department, when the day of reckoning came, even the lucky ones would spend a decade or more behind bars, and those with blood on their hands would certainly receive a “golden peanut”—a bullet to the head.

He wanted nothing more than to shed this “black dogskin” uniform, so why would he willingly dive into that pit of fire?

But what now?

Sweat beaded on Zhou Sen’s forehead as he desperately searched for a way to respond without arousing suspicion.

“Xiaosen, why are you sweating so much?” Li Shaotang noticed the beads on Zhou Sen’s brow and asked with feigned concern.

“Li, you’re being unfair. Xiaosen is young and full of energy, not like us old timers,” Zou the Cripple laughed, saving Zhou Sen from embarrassment. “Am I right, Xiaosen? The girls at the Fragrant Pavilion are quite something, aren’t they?”

Zhou Sen felt mortified. They already knew about his night at the Fragrant Pavilion—though they probably didn’t realize he’d actually slept with the proprietor that night.

Seeing Zhou Sen’s awkwardness, everyone burst out laughing. They were all men, after all—they knew the score.

“Look at me, I’d almost forgotten. Xiaosen’s a grown man now,” Lin Dakuan laughed heartily as well. “Xiaosen, I know you’ve been at the Nangang Police Station ever since you graduated from the academy—four years now. You must feel attached. But a person should always strive upwards; you can’t sacrifice your future for sentiment. Your father, Anthony, has high hopes for you.”

“Uncle Lin, you know I’m not particularly capable, and I’m afraid of dying. The Special Services Division is far too dangerous for me. I’m really not up to it, so I must decline your generous offer…” Zhou Sen steeled himself and put on a pleading expression.

Afraid to die!

That excuse was ironclad.

The atmosphere in the private room instantly cooled, leaving only the sounds of subdued chewing.

The smile on Lin Dakuan’s face gradually froze. The Special Services Division’s work was indeed extremely dangerous—those “anti-Manchukuo, anti-Japanese” members were all desperate men. They weren’t like street thieves who’d never dare risk their lives; it was routine to get injured, and sometimes, you might lose your life on a mission.

“Xiaosen, you can’t be a patrol officer your whole life, walking the streets every day, can you?” Lin Dakuan’s face darkened.

“I actually like patrolling. I get to see all sorts of people and things, enriching my life and experience. In a few years, I’ll write a novel about it. Uncle Lin, I think I can produce a masterpiece!” Zhou Sen said, his face full of yearning.

What a dreamer—a true artistic youth.

Lin Dakuan was left speechless, unable to comprehend.

Zou the Cripple and Li Shaotang buried their heads in food and drink. Interpreter Wu grinned broadly—it was hard to tell if he was amused or mocking.

To Lin Dakuan, Zhou Sen’s words sounded like pure trifling. He couldn’t help but show some disdain and disappointment: “Very well, Uncle Lin won’t force you. Go home and think it over. If you change your mind, you can come to me anytime.”

Zhou Sen nodded vigorously.

…

As soon as he stepped out of the Iberia Hotel, the cold wind sobered Zhou Sen considerably. Lin Dakuan had just treated him to dinner and talked about transferring him to the Special Services Division.

There was definitely something strange about all this.

If they’d wanted him for the job, why wait until after his promotion to Sub-Inspector? Why not do it sooner or later?

He still had to report to the Nangang Police Station. Even as a patrol leader, he was required to check in at the station.

The Nangang Police Station was a two-story brick-and-concrete building facing the street, with two cars and a couple of motorcycles parked out front.

A sentry box stood at the entrance, offering some shelter from the elements, with an armed guard on duty.

Of the six police stations under the Harbin Police Department, Nangang was the largest and most heavily staffed, second only to headquarters itself.

The Director of Nangang Police Station was Xu Peng, who also served as Chief of the Operations Section at Harbin Police Headquarters. His deputy, the Administrative Officer, was a Japanese named Akiyama Shinosuke—the real power behind the station.

Officers like Zhou Sen, who patrolled the streets, belonged to the Security Section.

The Security Section had four patrol groups, each led by a sergeant responsible for a district. The number of officers under each group wasn’t fixed, as the areas were large; each sergeant commanded three or four officers, plus some “runners”—unofficial helpers.

The official police ate the meat, while these helpers got the scraps.

Of the four group leaders, one was a Japanese named Matsuda (a recent graduate of the New Capital Central Police Academy), the other three were Chinese, including Zhou Sen.

Zhou Sen’s qualifications were flimsy; no one knew how he’d caught the higher-ups’ favor and managed to edge out Old Cui for the post.

Old Cui was nearly forty. He’d gone to great lengths, including reportedly treating the Section Chief to dinner at the Moderne Hotel three times, just for a chance at promotion and to get off the street.

Yet, Zhou Sen—a greenhorn—had snatched the opportunity from under his nose.

No wonder, when enemies meet, their eyes blaze with hatred. The two had previously managed neighboring districts and got along well, but now the situation had soured.

“Well, if it isn’t Young Master Bug! Finally gracing us with your presence at the station?” Old Cui blocked Zhou Sen at the door, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He didn’t even know who’d coined the nickname “Bug,” but his reputation for timidity was well-known throughout the station.

“Old Cui, we have no recent or past grievances. There’s no need for such words,” Zhou Sen frowned. He really didn’t want to clash with Old Cui—not out of fear, but because it simply wasn’t worth it. In his eyes, Old Cui was nothing.

After all these years as a group leader without a single promotion—did Old Cui really not know why?

“Hmph, Zhou Bug, just you wait!” Old Cui’s face darkened as he leaned in, hissing a threat.

But this was the station, where the Japanese valued hierarchy above all. Zhou Sen now outranked him; if they fought here, Old Cui would be the one in trouble.

Zhou Sen didn’t bother responding.

Those who talk tough usually aren’t very capable.

The truly ruthless types rarely speak much at all.

“Zhou Sen, Mr. Akiyama is looking for you!” Just as he walked in, a striking young policewoman approached him. Her black uniform perfectly outlined her graceful figure, and she radiated vitality.

Jin Soyoung, a Baekjean, was the station director’s secretary—though in truth, she was more like Akiyama’s assistant, having graduated from the New Capital Central Police Academy.

The flower of Nangang Station.

In just a year, she already wore two small plum blossoms on her shoulders, and before long, she’d probably rank alongside him.

Serving the Japanese so closely did have its perks.

“Yes, Secretary Jin.” Zhou Sen deliberately ignored her flirtatious glances. He was young and full of vigor, but he knew some women were best left alone. Besides, he wasn’t that casual—at least, not anymore.

Huh!

Jin Soyoung found this odd. Normally, Zhou Sen would stare at her incessantly, but today he seemed to be avoiding her on purpose.

Had he changed his ways?

Akiyama’s office was at the southernmost end of the second floor—the finest office in the whole station, spacious and bright, richly decorated.

“Mr. Akiyama, you wanted to see me?” Zhou Sen knocked, entered, and approached the desk where a short man in his thirties sat—sporting a toothbrush mustache, a black police uniform with Inspector insignia, and a somewhat sinister expression.

“Zhou Sen, you’re here. Please, have a seat.” Akiyama Shinosuke stood up and greeted him warmly.

Zhou Sen felt a shiver. Akiyama was known in the station as the “smiling tiger”—always genial with his subordinates, but ruthless and decisive in action.

Zhou Sen hastened to say, “Mr. Akiyama, if you have orders, please give them. There’s no need for such courtesy.”

“Oh, haha.” Akiyama laughed awkwardly, as if realizing his reputation had made the other man nervous. “Zhou Sen, you misunderstood. I’m being sincere.”

Zhou Sen forced a smile. Who would ever trust a Japanese man’s words?

“There’s been some disagreement within the station about your new appointment. I wanted to hear your personal opinion,” Akiyama said as he circled back to his seat.

“I’ll obey the station’s and your arrangements, Mr. Akiyama. I’m just a brick in the Nangang Police Station wall—wherever I’m needed, that’s where I’ll go.” Zhou Sen quickly assured him. As long as it wasn’t the Special Services Division, he’d accept anything.

“Zhou Sen-kun, you have admirable awareness. That’s very good.” Akiyama praised him. “There are two positions for you to choose from: first, staying in the Security Section as a Discipline Officer—”

Zhou Sen immediately ducked his head in feigned humility. The Japanese used “-kun” for their own people, and only the most courteous would use “-san” for Chinese. For Akiyama to call him “Zhou Sen-kun” meant he was being treated as an insider—albeit with invisible quotation marks.

The Discipline Subdivision was the easiest and most comfortable post, a real plum job. Akiyama, who’d been watching Zhou Sen closely, frowned slightly and continued, “The second is to join the Special Services Division. Chief Bai Shoutian has been asking me for promising young officers.”

Special Services again?

Zhou Sen’s heart skipped a beat—something was definitely off.

Working under that old lecher Bai Shoutian was even worse than carrying Lin Dakuan’s bags.

Naturally, Zhou Sen wanted to stay in the Security Section, among familiar faces where he could get a handle on his situation.

But from Akiyama’s tone, it was clear he intended to send him to Special Services.

That was one place Zhou Sen absolutely could not go.