Chapter Three: The Swaying Fan

Chapter Three: The Swaying Fan

The night deepened into impenetrable darkness, and the rain fell even more heavily.

In Shanning City, at 56 Nanning Road, the light in one office of the Special Services Bureau still burned brightly. Behind the desk sat Liu Peiru, his expression content as he savored a cigar. His mood was particularly good that evening—and for good reason. Tonight’s harvest had been bountiful.

He had managed to apprehend the primary leader of the Red Party in Shanning. Although the interrogation had not yet begun, Liu Peiru was confident that he could make the other man talk. He had broken the will of many Red Party members before, even those who fancied themselves unshakable in their beliefs.

Of course, such a victory was due to the ace he held in his hand.

At that moment, the telephone rang.

“Did you get him?” The voice on the other end was low, with a raspy undercurrent.

“Of course. Your information was extremely accurate,” Liu Peiru replied with a laugh. “I’ve already had your payment delivered to the usual place, and to express my appreciation, I’ve doubled it. I hope it meets your satisfaction.”

“Thank you. For the time being, to avoid unnecessary trouble, I’ll be going dormant,” the mysterious informant replied. The cold indifference in his voice softened ever so slightly at the mention of double payment.

“As you should. I wouldn’t want my trump card revealed too soon,” Liu Peiru replied cheerfully.

“Goodbye.” The mysterious informant hung up without another word.

Liu Peiru merely smiled at the abruptness, showing no concern. Just as he set down the phone, a voice called from outside, “Reporting in!”

“Come in,” Liu Peiru replied with a nod.

“Chief, we’ve made a new discovery. In the ashes of the wastepaper basket at 32 Ping’an Road, we found a small fragment, bearing the character ‘pawn,’” the subordinate reported, handing over the evidence.

“Good. Tell the Intelligence Section to send men tomorrow to thoroughly search 32 Ping’an Road for anything else of interest—especially the codebook. We didn’t find it during the raid. Could it be that Mr. Li memorized the entire codebook?” Liu Peiru said doubtfully.

“Understood, Chief.”

“And have someone watch Mr. Li twenty-four hours a day to prevent suicide. Without my orders, no one is to approach him,” Liu Peiru instructed.

“Yes, sir.” The guard left as soon as he finished speaking.

Liu Peiru examined the charred scrap, barely the size of a fingernail, with the word “pawn” written on it, but the clue led nowhere. Aside from Mr. Li himself, the codebook remained his greatest interest.

When they stormed 32 Ping’an Road, Liu had noticed the radio was still on and warm. Yet, after turning the place upside down—tearing through boxes, breaking through walls—they still had not found the codebook. It was as if the house had been all but dismantled.

From experience, Liu Peiru guessed the codebook was likely not in that residence. But where could it be?

Now, if he wanted what he sought, he would have to rely on Mr. Li. But it was already late, and dealing with a high-ranking Red Party member would require patience; results would not come overnight.

So, Liu Peiru left his office. As it was already late, and unwilling to go home, he found a random room in which to rest.

The next morning, despite having slept late, Bai Zeshao rose early, troubled by the matters weighing on his mind. After a brief training session and a quick breakfast, he made his way to Liu Peiru’s office at the military academy to report for duty with the Special Services Bureau.

Unfortunately, when Bai Zeshao arrived, Liu Peiru was not there. The secretary told him to return at three in the afternoon.

With no other choice, Bai Zeshao headed back to his dormitory. Halfway there, a sudden thought struck him—he recalled something odd at Mr. Li’s house after the gunfight.

It was autumn, and rain was falling. Ordinarily, Mr. Li would not have used the fan. But after the gunfire, the ceiling fan was spinning at a low speed.

At first glance, it seemed natural—perhaps because the window had been opened, and the night wind had set the fan in motion. Such a detail was easy to overlook.

But could it be…?

Bai Zeshao’s eyes lit up with a flash of realization. He had guessed at a possibility. He quickened his pace and hurried toward Mr. Li’s house.

56 Nanning Road.

Liu Peiru, having risen early and enjoyed a breakfast prepared by his subordinates, proceeded to the cell where Mr. Li was being held, and had him brought to the interrogation room.

The dim room brimmed with all manner of torture instruments, their edges stained with black, dried blood. The air was thick with a nauseating stench of iron. The entire atmosphere was oppressive, heavy with the threat of violence.

“Mr. Li, are you finding the food to your liking?” Liu Peiru sat in the shadows, feigning concern as he glanced at the meal set before Li under the harsh lamp.

“Hmph. In a place like this, who could possibly enjoy their meal?” Mr. Li answered coldly.

“True enough.” Liu Peiru chuckled softly, then his expression grew serious. “You know, Mr. Li, I’ve admired you from afar for some time, but fate never brought us together—until now. Heaven has given us this chance to sit across from each other. Why not have a chat?”

“A chat? What could we possibly have to discuss?” Mr. Li shot Liu Peiru a derisive glance, then fell silent.

“It seems you have quite the misunderstanding of me.” Liu Peiru shrugged indifferently and rose to his feet. “But I believe we do have things to discuss. For example, don’t you want to know how you ended up here? Or that, despite your efforts to burn your telegrams last night, we still recovered some fragments?”

Though Mr. Li knew Liu Peiru’s words were meant to break his psychological defenses—perhaps pure fabrication, or a ploy to sow discord—he could not help but stiffen inwardly. Yet he did not speak, nor even blink.

As if oblivious to Mr. Li’s indifference, Liu Peiru continued, “There’s one thing I’m very curious about. Last night, you clearly sent and copied telegrams, yet we found no codebook in your home. Would you care to enlighten me on this mystery?”

“If I told you I memorized everything in the codebook, would you believe me, Chief Liu?” Mr. Li suddenly replied.

“I must say, Mr. Li, you are truly a man of extraordinary memory—to keep so much information in your mind. In our line of work, that’s a rare gift, almost miraculous. Remarkable, indeed…”

At that moment, Liu Peiru was struck by a detail he had subconsciously overlooked the night before—the seemingly mundane, yet thought-provoking, swaying fan.

He called a subordinate over, whispered instructions in his ear, then turned back to Mr. Li, his gaze full of meaning.

“Mr. Li, would you like to know what I just sent that man to do?”