Chapter 53: The Eve of the New Year

The twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month—according to northern custom, this was the Little New Year.

Zhou Sen calculated according to the Gregorian calendar and realized that, unknowingly, he had been living in Ice City for ten days, having taken the place of his predecessor.

These ten days had passed in the blink of an eye.

The Sherkin case had been closed, and both Suzanna and Feya had been handed over to the Judicial Division of the police station, though some procedures still needed to be finalized.

Most importantly, the summary report for the case—something Akiyama had specifically instructed him to write—could not be taken lightly.

The only skill Zhou Sen had to show for his time at the "police academy" was report writing; otherwise, he would hardly dare claim his status as an outstanding graduate.

But being good at reports didn’t mean he was good at literature. His predecessor had overestimated his own talent; to aspire to be a “Shakespeare” was to dream across an insurmountable chasm.

After clocking in, Zhou Sen stayed at the station to rush the report, hoping to finish early. He instructed Old Gu to handle the patrol arrangements for the day, saying he wouldn’t be going to the warehouse.

Old Gu understood this was an opportunity, possibly preparing him to take Zhou Sen’s position in the future—a chance to train.

The details of the investigation were vivid in Zhou Sen’s mind, so the report wasn’t difficult to write, especially with his existing skills.

A case investigation report was not hard.

What was tricky was not overdoing it; he had to compare it to past reports he’d written, making sure the writing style wasn’t too different.

Caution was necessary.

Fortunately, he was imitating himself; some memories and habits lingered in his mind, making the writing swift.

After drafting, revising, and rewriting, he translated it into Japanese. Once he was sure there were no omissions, he stood up to submit the report.

He glanced at the clock—it was already past noon, and no one had reminded him. His stomach growled.

The station had a small cafeteria offering lunch.

Ordinary policemen, with their meager salaries, usually ate at the station—it was free. Senior officers tended to eat at home or dine out, sometimes having meals delivered with a single phone call.

None of them actually paid for their food.

But there were distinctions: Japanese police had a different food standard from Chinese police. The Japanese ate white rice; the Chinese had to make do with sorghum and cornmeal.

Zhou Sen usually dined out or ate at home. He only ate at the station cafeteria when superiors came for inspections—just for appearances.

In truth, the cafeteria food wasn’t bad, better than the average household, at least with some oil and flavor.

He found his rarely used lunch tray, scalded it with hot water, and went to the cafeteria.

He arrived late; the meat dishes were gone, leaving only cabbage soup.

He ate a few bites and returned to his office.

Then, he waited—for Akiyama to finish lunch so he could submit the report and finally go home.

“Hey, did you hear? Su Wenqing went personally to the Fragrant Pavilion to propose marriage, and Bai Yulan threw him out!”

“Really? When did that happen?”

“Just yesterday afternoon…”

“Is that so? That’s big news.”

“That Bai Yulan really doesn’t know her place. The Fragrant Pavilion is closed for business, yet she insists on holding on. President Su offered to marry her as his second wife—he’s giving her face. She’s a widow, acting as if she’s a maiden…”

…

Zhou Sen, resting with his eyes closed, heard the gossip and opened his eyes, standing up abruptly.

“Brother, can I ask you something?”

“Chief Zhou, what can I do for you?” The policeman, seeing Zhou Sen, responded politely.

Zhou Sen was now Akiyama’s favorite; the lower-ranking officers dared not offend him.

“What’s this about Su Wenqing going to the Fragrant Pavilion to propose?” Zhou Sen asked. He’d spent all of yesterday interrogating suspects at the station, then visited the Thirty-Six Shelters at night, paying no attention to other matters.

“It’s something the brothers at Zhengyang Station passed on. That’s the story, but we don’t know the details,” the officer said. “Anyway, yesterday afternoon, Su Wenqing went to the Fragrant Pavilion but was thrown out not long after.”

“Oh, I see. Thanks.”

“No need. Why’s Chief Zhou interested in the Fragrant Pavilion?”

“I know a girl there. Now that it’s suddenly closed, I can’t visit, and I feel empty inside.”

“Haha, Chief Zhou—young, wealthy, charming, leaving traces everywhere…” The officer’s smile froze before finishing his sentence.

Zhou Sen frowned slightly. He sensed a familiar presence—Kim Soyoung had arrived.

“If you can’t go to the Fragrant Pavilion, then go to the Qunfang Tower. It’s been a while since I relaxed during all these cases,” Zhou Sen said, stretching and turning around. He saw Kim Soyoung’s cold expression and feigned surprise, “Oh, Secretary Kim, when did you arrive? You walk so quietly, like a ghost.”

“You want to go to Qunfang Tower?”

“Yes, what’s wrong? Does Secretary Kim want to go too?” Zhou Sen chuckled. “That’s a place for men to enjoy themselves. It wouldn’t be appropriate for you, would it?”

“I didn’t expect our Young Master Zhou to have so completely abandoned all pretense,” Kim Soyoung snorted coldly.

“Secretary Kim, this is my private life. Are you interfering?” Zhou Sen showed no kindness. He still hadn’t settled scores with her over Ye San’er, and her condescending attitude disgusted him.

“You’re hopeless—a mud wall that can’t be built,” Kim Soyoung said with contempt. Akiyama had warned her not to target Zhou Sen, but since Zhou Sen’s attitude had changed, she had become relentlessly critical, dismissing the man who once obeyed her every whim.

“I’d rather lean against a wall than lean against you.”

“Zhou Sen, you…” Kim Soyoung tried to restrain herself, but after only three sentences, she couldn’t hold back.

“Go on, what do you want?”

“Mr. Akiyama wants to see you upstairs right away,” Kim Soyoung recalled that she had come downstairs to find Zhou Sen for business, not to argue.

“You should have said so sooner, don’t waste my time.” Zhou Sen grabbed the report from his drawer and walked past Kim Soyoung out the door.

Kim Soyoung’s pretty face twisted in anger. Zhou Sen no longer cared about her at all.

…

He knocked, opened the door, and entered Akiyama’s office.

“Mr. Akiyama, here is the investigation report on the Sherkin murder case. Please review it.” Zhou Sen respectfully placed the report before Akiyama, then stepped back and stood with his hands at his sides.

Akiyama was surprised—finished so quickly? This efficiency was unlike Zhou Sen’s previously sluggish casework.

He picked up the report and glanced through it, his expression showing some astonishment. The report was excellent, and besides the Chinese version, there was also a Japanese one.

“Zhou Sen, your Japanese is quite impressive!”

“Mr. Akiyama, I barely passed most subjects at the police academy, but my Japanese studies are the only thing I can show for myself,” Zhou Sen replied quickly.

“Yoshi, your Japanese writing is very good. I heard your ambition is to become an author with a shelf full of works—is that so?” Akiyama asked.

“Yes, sir. I’ve always been interested in literature, so occasionally I write articles and submit them to newspapers and publishers. But most are rejected—quite embarrassing, really,” Zhou Sen admitted.

“Haha, that’s their lack of discernment, not a reflection of your abilities,” Akiyama laughed, approaching. “Zhou Sen, about your next assignment—I once gave you two options. You chose to stay in the Security Division, but I think that’s a waste of your talents. The Special Services Division would be more fitting.”

Zhou Sen’s heart skipped a beat, realizing Akiyama wouldn’t let him off so easily. He had refused the “priest” assignment; if he refused this, Akiyama might truly take action against him.

“I will follow Mr. Akiyama’s arrangements in all things.”

“Good. Since you say so, there’s a suitable position. The Special Services Division—Special High Section—just lost a chief clerk. How would you feel about taking that role?” Akiyama asked.

“Mr. Akiyama, what responsibilities does the clerk have?” Zhou Sen inquired.

“Mainly reviewing published books and periodicals, confiscating those that are anti-Manchukuo or anti-Japanese. This should be no challenge for you,” Akiyama said. “But after you take the post, you’ll need three months of training.”

“I understand. When should I assume the position?” Zhou Sen asked.

“No rush—wait until after the Lunar New Year. Besides, your adoptive father just passed away. Though we can’t publicly honor his deeds, the Empire will not neglect such loyal friends. If you have any requests, speak up—we’ll try to fulfill them,” Akiyama said gently.

Zhou Sen wanted to say, “If only you could free me from this black dog’s skin,” but he knew Akiyama would never agree. And the house was wired for surveillance—whether targeting him or for other reasons was unclear.

His instinct told him that Father Anthony’s identity was far more than merely the “priest” of the Russian Patriotic League.

Akiyama saw Zhou Sen’s silence and asked, “No requests?”

“May I know how Father Anthony actually died?” Zhou Sen bowed solemnly. As his adopted son, it was only right to care about this.

“We’ll discuss that later…” Akiyama was caught off guard. If anyone else had asked, he could refuse, but Zhou Sen was Anthony Robin’s sole adopted son and heir.

He was entitled to know. But “Bear Work” was top secret, and without higher authorization, Akiyama could not divulge anything to Zhou Sen. Otherwise, it could jeopardize future plans—a responsibility he couldn’t bear.

PS: This book is laying a foundation, a slow burn. Xiao Feng has switched styles, attempting a breakthrough. Every character has purpose and connection—no ink is wasted. Please be patient; you’ll get a story unlike any other. Such attempts haven’t been seen on Qidian so far. The results aren’t ideal yet—please support the book!