Chapter 94: The Pledge

Although Zhou Sen had once held the status of a second-generation rich heir, at his core he remained an ordinary person, and his adoptive father Anthony was also a discreet individual. As a result, he rarely attended such grand social gatherings and banquets. His own personality was not particularly sociable, compounded by feelings of inferiority; he mingled only with certain second-generation heirs who lingered endlessly in the entertainment districts without returning home. Yet these people cared solely for his financial resources, and none truly respected him, a fact he understood all too well. He was Chinese, adopted by a White Russian, and the Chinese community looked down on him for it. His adoptive family’s social circle did not fully embrace him either, even though his Russian was superior to that of many second-generation White Russians born and raised in Bingcheng. Stuck between two worlds, denied a sense of belonging to any ethnic group, he felt profoundly uncomfortable. In truth, he had misdirected his search for ethnic identity; the companions he had once chosen were nothing but parasites who exploited their family’s wealth and influence. Without their status and connections, they would likely fare worse in this society than he did. Such cases were common—those who had managed their affairs poorly and suddenly exposed their weaknesses were not few, and these very individuals had once mocked him before vanishing without a trace. This was a matter of mindset. Though he remained somewhat restrained, adjusting his attitude would resolve everything.

“I suspect our conversation topics will outnumber those of the newlyweds who have not yet appeared tonight,” Zhou Sen said, picking up a glass of champagne and offering it to Bai Yulan while taking one himself and speaking softly to her.

“Regret coming?”

“No. If you have no regrets, why would I?” Zhou Sen gave a light chuckle. His presence that evening went beyond publicly declaring his relationship with Bai Yulan and provoking Su Wenqing.

“Let us sit down. The ceremony will likely last some time,” Zhou Sen said, taking Bai Yulan’s hand. “Your hands are so cold. I wish I had brought the hand warmer earlier.”

“Would that thing even let you carry it the whole way?” Bai Yulan shot him a glance.

“Yulan, no one ever told you that your stern expression is rather charming.”

“What a virtue.”

“Indeed, to outsiders it appears I am merely climbing onto your coattails. Is serving tea and fetching items not my duty?”

“We have drawn enough attention. We should leave soon,” Bai Yulan whispered, mindful of the host’s feelings. If the situation escalated, it would look improper, and she would become the target of public scorn. Such an outcome would be unwise.

“You want to meet the bride, don’t you? Then regret it?” Bai Yulan’s eyes sparkled as she asked.

“Since we have arrived, we cannot simply greet the host and depart without acknowledging the main couple. That would be discourteous, and Su Wenqing might suspect we are hiding something,” Zhou Sen explained.

“True enough…”

Although Bai Yulan and Zhou Sen had deliberately kept their distance, her beauty and presence that night dominated the entire gathering, drawing constant greetings from others. Zhou Sen accompanied her throughout, quietly deflecting numerous minor inconveniences and fully embodying the role of a devoted boyfriend. In doing so, his identity gradually solidified, eliminating any need for further public announcements.

Su Wenqing enjoyed considerable influence; the mayor of Bingcheng’s special municipality, Mayor Feng, was present, as was the chief of the police hall, Bai Ming’en. Business circles were represented as well; nearly everyone who had received an invitation had arrived, including Qin Laoqi’s eldest son, Qin Xiong. Qin Xiong appeared to be in his late thirties, with a refined demeanor, yet Zhou Sen sensed an underlying chill that unsettled him. At Nangang Police Station he recognized his former security chief, Song Pinyuan, and the director of the secret-service investigation unit, Bai Shouting. Bai Shouting reportedly maintained a good private relationship with Su Wenqing. No Japanese officers from the police hall were visible, but the captain of the Japanese military police at the Bingcheng consulate, Kato Kaiichi, was present. Orennikov, deputy editor of the Songjiang Daily, and Ozawa Hayato, its president, were also there. Though Zhou Sen had not met the Japanese, internal documents provided by Jin Suying described him in detail: his immense influence over Bingcheng’s media and public opinion, and his privileged knowledge of “Shergin’s” secrets. Clearly he held another layer of authority that could not be offended. Natsukawa Matsuo, chief of the smuggling section in the Bingchuan exclusive opium bureau, was also present. How could Su Wenqing’s vast opium trade have flourished without Japanese backing?

When Qingxiang Pavilion still operated, it had been the city’s sole establishment not selling such harmful goods, one of the reasons for its gradual decline.

A modest engagement banquet revealed Su Wenqing’s formidable power and extensive connections in Bingcheng.

“Hmm. Seeing this, are you afraid to make enemies of someone like him?” Bai Yulan noticed Zhou Sen’s inner turmoil. If he remained calm as still water, that would have been astonishing.

“Su Wenqing’s achievements today were not the result of his own efforts. Had he not sought Japanese favor, and had the Japanese not needed to support a figure like him, he would never have reached this point. His wealth serves only as clothing for others,” Zhou Sen remarked.

A flicker of admiration crossed Bai Yulan’s eyes; Zhou Sen could speak with such insight. Many failed to grasp such truths even in a lifetime.

“Bingcheng cannot be dominated by a single power. Only when two factions compete will the Japanese be able to play both sides, controlling the situation with minimal effort while securing the greatest rewards,” Bai Yulan said.

“Back then the Japanese also tried to ally with Lao Ma, didn’t they?” Zhou Sen suddenly turned his face and asked softly.

Bai Yulan’s entire body stiffened; the hand gripping his arm suddenly tightened.

“Lao Ma may not be a virtuous man, but he would never collude with the Japanese to harm his own countrymen—that would stain his legacy for ten thousand years.”

Zhou Sen nodded.

The Japanese would never tolerate anyone living who defied their will. Poisoning Lao Ma was merely a warning to others.

“Zhou Sen…”

“Secretary Jin, you’re here too?” Zhou Sen spotted the man beside Jin Suying, someone he recognized from previous drinking sessions. “Bingcheng’s industrialist’s son, Wu Qishan.”

The moment he entered, Wu Qishan’s gaze fixed on Bai Yulan, desire undisguised and unpleasant.

“Congratulations, Mr. Wu. You have finally won the beauty’s heart,” Zhou Sen greeted with a smile.

“Boss Bai is truly graceful and elegant. This humble Wu Qishan, my father is Honglong Industrial’s Wu Changtai…” Wu Qishan introduced himself with affected modesty.

“Oh, so you are Wu Qishan’s nephew. I heard from your father that you returned from studying in Japan. You truly live up to your reputation!” Bai Yulan smiled.

The boy dares to eye his sister-in-law? He is not worthy. Zhou and his father are the same generation!

Zhou Sen secretly chuckled. Wu Qishan would soon address him as “Uncle Zhou.” The thought amused him.

Wu Qishan’s face darkened instantly. Jin Suying shot Zhou Sen a glare and dragged him away before further humiliation could occur.

“Is this the female police you once fancied?”

“Let’s not dwell on it…”

Finally, under the expectant gaze of the crowd, the newlyweds stepped onto the red carpet and entered the banquet hall, accompanied by joyful music.

The couple, dressed in formal attire, advanced slowly beneath numerous eyes to the stage.

“Dear guests, friends, good evening. Welcome to my daughter Su Yun’s engagement banquet with my godson Feng Hua. On behalf of the two newlyweds, I thank you all for your presence.”

Applause erupted. Zhou Sen and Bai Yulan clapped from the crowd, though their position was not near the front.

The engagement banquet commenced; guests returned to their seats. The meal was served buffet style, a modern format increasingly popular in Bingcheng. Engagement parties often adopted this relaxed approach, while formal weddings retained traditional seated banquets for greater comfort. Attendees could choose their preferred dishes freely, eat alone or with familiar companions, free from the awkwardness of facing strangers across a table. Su Wenqing toasted the groom one by one, introducing him to Bingcheng’s influential figures. It was clear he intended to groom Feng Hua as his future successor, which explained why he chose to marry his most beloved daughter to him.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Bai Yulan murmured to Zhou Sen.

“I’ll go with you,” Zhou Sen replied naturally. As the saying went, vigilance was necessary.

Bai Yulan hesitated but did not stop him from following.

As they passed a Russian, Zhou Sen discreetly slipped a folded slip of paper between his fingers, which vanished into the man’s pocket with a soft whoosh. The person was Sisolov, first secretary at the Soviet consulate in Bingcheng. The Soviet Union recognized Manchukuo’s existence, and normal trade and economic exchanges continued; otherwise, there would have been no need for a consulate office in Bingcheng. Last year the Soviet station in the city had suffered a devastating blow, and while consulate staff were not heavily affected, personnel were rotated for security, bringing Sisolov to the post. His attendance at the engagement banquet was likely a routine political obligation; other consulates had sent representatives, and the Soviet consulate had received an invitation, so someone must come. After all, the Bingcheng Chamber of Commerce was semi-official, and Su Wenqing was a leading contender for its next chairmanship, granting him distinctive status. Since others had not approached him, he would take the initiative himself, though risky, it was worthwhile for the future.

Only the time it took to smoke a cigarette passed before Bai Yulan emerged.

“Let’s go. Shall we return?”

“Shouldn’t we greet the host? This would seem discourteous,” Zhou Sen said, linking arms with Bai Yulan.

“If you truly do not mind the trouble, I can accompany you,” Bai Yulan replied with a faint smile.

“Then forget it. We must not spoil his good mood today.” Zhou Sen smiled and left with Bai Yulan without further delay. Though impolite, it was preferable to awkwardness.

…

After Zhou Sen and Bai Yulan quietly departed, the guests at the engagement banquet gradually followed suit, including Sisolov. He exited the Grand World Hotel and immediately boarded the consulate car.

“Have Mr. Arman rested?” Sisolov asked upon returning to the consulate, nearly running.

“Not yet.”

“Thank you.” Sisolov approached the office door, composed himself, and knocked. “Please come in,” came the reply. He pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered.

“Oh, Sisolov has returned. How was the banquet? Quite lively, I hope,” Arman rose and greeted him with a smile.

“Mr. Arman, I have important news to report,” Sisolov said gravely.

“What has happened?”

“Someone slipped a note into my pocket during the banquet. It concerns our being monitored,” Sisolov explained.

Arman’s expression changed drastically. “The note?”

“Here.” Since finding it, Sisolov had kept it clutched tightly in his palm.

Arman took the paper and scanned its contents, his face growing serious.

“Mr. Arman, look quickly—the handwriting seems to have changed…” Sisolov suddenly pointed at his own writing on the sheet and cried out.

Arman was startled. Automatic disappearing ink was something only spies prepared and used; ordinary people could not manage it. Without the handwriting, all evidence would vanish.