Chapter 052: The Moon Shared in Our Hearts

Upon returning home on Jessfield Road, Chen Jiehua parked the car, and the two of them went upstairs to wash up and rest.

As mentioned in previous chapters, Japanese sake was only marginally stronger than water for Chen Jiehua, so he remained perfectly sober. While Meixiu was in the shower, he replayed her behavior from the day in his mind.

If one saw Fujiwara Meixiu as an ordinary young woman, nothing seemed amiss—she was curious about everything. Many children of prominent Japanese families, after being kept at home for long periods, would find everything fresh and novel when finally set free. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

However, she had killed before. Whether she was truly an assassin was up for debate, but her fitted attire and the practiced way she wielded a scalpel made it clear she had undergone training.

From this perspective, her relentless curiosity today was anything but normal.

So, which organization did she belong to?

A Japanese spy? If she were, there’d be no need to barrage Watanabe with endless questions; nor would a Japanese agent have to feign curiosity to investigate the Hongkou Japanese Club—she could have observed openly.

Therefore, the chance of her being a Japanese spy was low.

Comintern? That seemed more likely. At this point in time, many Japanese communists were active within Japan itself. As the sheltered heiress of the Fujiwara family, Meixiu’s unique status made her especially susceptible to recruitment.

Could it be, like himself, she was also a member of the Chinese Communist Party? That would depend on her life’s trajectory. She claimed to have taught in Nanjing; it wasn’t impossible she’d been recruited by the Party.

But she was far too reckless—her strange behavior had been noticed by him on the very first day. It was only a matter of time before Japanese agents caught on as well. Besides, in Shanghai at this moment, the intelligence game was only just beginning; after 1931, when the city became a hotbed of intrigue, her kind of carelessness would be exposed in an instant.

So, whether she belonged to the Comintern or the Party, she was one of his own. Chen Jiehua felt obliged to warn her.

After her bath, Fujiwara Meixiu emerged in her nightgown and saw Aoki Qiao sitting by the window, gazing out at the sky, motionless for a whole minute.

She walked slowly to his side. “Qiao, what’s the matter?”

“Meixiu, do you think the moon looks beautiful tonight?”

She glanced out the window. There was no moon!

Meixiu was no fool—how could a simpleton be recruited as an agent? She understood instantly.

“The moon in your heart must be beautiful,” she said, sitting lightly on Chen Jiehua’s lap.

“Then tell me, Meixiu, what is the moon in your heart like? Is she beautiful?”

“The moon in my heart? Round and bright!”

Good grief—isn’t that the sun you’re describing? He regretted trying to speak in riddles; now he’d trapped himself and couldn’t follow up.

Chen Jiehua turned his gaze to Meixiu’s face, looking at her tenderly.

“Aoki, I don’t want to lie to you. I know you’ve figured it out, but I can’t say anything—I really can’t! Please don’t force me.”

“Let me put it differently. Are you working for your own country, for the world, or for the land beneath your feet?”

“Aren’t those the same?”

“They’re not! As your fiancé, I need to be sure of where you stand.”

“Because I have a stance of my own!” Chen Jiehua decided then to reveal his identity.

Upon hearing this, Fujiwara Meixiu looked up suddenly. He was one of them! It was a simple deduction: her behavior today had been about gathering intelligence on Japan. She’d been too hasty, and he’d seen right through her—but he hadn’t exposed her, because he’d already ruled out the possibility that she was a Japanese spy.

Realizing everything in a flash, Meixiu threw her arms around Chen Jiehua, sobbing as she pounded his back. “You scared me to death! I thought we were about to break up!”

When her tears had subsided, Chen Jiehua gently straightened her up and looked into her face. “That day when you had Auntie clean the railway, why didn’t you think it through?”

“I was just too moved then—I didn’t think that much!”

Whoever had managed to recruit this heiress as one of their own must have been a master. Since fate had arranged it thus, Chen Jiehua accepted the responsibility of protecting her.

“Do you understand now?”

“I do!”

“What is it that you understand?”

“That day, when you fed me porridge, your way of doing it was completely natural. A Japanese person would never feed someone like that! The situation was unusual, and your explanation fooled me, so I didn’t think more about it.”

“And when you washed my undergarments—Japanese men would never do such a thing for a woman!”

“And the inscription on the blade—‘Hua’—that’s your real name! You’re Chinese!”

“Exactly! Smart girl. See, to be a good agent, you must stay clear-headed at all times. When you’re alert, you’ll catch your own habitual slip-ups and notice others’ too.”

“Hua-kun! I’m so happy—I thought I was going to lose you!” (Well, that's better than calling you “taikun.”)

“See, you’re losing your composure again! Remember, whatever happens, you must always call me Aoki Qiao.”

“All right!”

Now that their identities were confirmed, the next step was to share their histories. To his surprise, Chen Jiehua learned that Fujiwara Meixiu was a member of the Special Branch’s Red Team!

She had been retreating after carrying out a mission to eliminate a traitor, and while being pursued by the police, she’d escaped to Jessfield Road. On the verge of collapse, she had run into him just as he opened the big iron gate.

“You’re just a young woman—and Japanese at that. Why did the organization assign you to the Red Team?”

“I chose it myself! I don’t like sitting in the back analyzing intelligence—I prefer carrying out missions myself. Every successful operation fills me with joy.”

“Did anyone train you? The basics, skills, precautions for being an agent?”

“Yes, but I didn’t like it. The instructor had such a heavy accent I couldn’t understand a word.”

“Well then, I’ll take over your training from now on.”

“What about that box from last time? Where did you put it?”

“I handed it over to the organization. Besides the US dollars, English books, and that knife, there was nothing else inside.”

“All right, if you gave it to the organization, so be it. It’s fate. That short Chinese man you rescued—he’s with the organization too, one of my subordinates. I’ve assigned him to America to take over operations there, mainly the pharmaceutical factory.”

“Oh, that makes sense! The comrades have been short on medicine for a long time, but since the beginning of the year, the instructor has managed to procure a lot from America. You must have sent it!”

“In a way, yes.”

In the days that followed, whenever time allowed, Chen Jiehua shared his experience with Fujiwara Meixiu—how to set up safe houses, how to guard against surveillance, how to prevent wiretapping, and so on.

The most crucial lesson, though, was teaching Meixiu to use the radio, practice transmitting Morse code with both hands, and even with her toes.

In these few years before the coming intelligence battles in Shanghai, every bit of training counted. At the same time, Chen Jiehua also learned about Japanese etiquette and customs from Meixiu. They guided one another, advancing together.