Far from the dust of battle on the western frontier and the cold snows of Manchuria, Nanjing, the new capital of the Republic, throbbed with a different life. The streets were lined with Model T Fords that occasionally competed with traditional carts, and pedestrians in Western suits mingled with those still wearing changshans. But beneath the facade of modernity and optimism, the political air was thick with intrigue and distrust. The recent civil war had left scars and factions still suspicious of each other.
In the heart of the city stood the imposing Ministry of Defense Building, a bureaucratic fortress where the fate of thousands of soldiers and the Republic's security was decided over mahogany desks and behind closed doors. In one of the offices in a less conspicuous wing, Major Lee Junshan worked late into the night, accompanied only by the greenish glow of a Banker's desk lamp and a mountain of paperwork.
His once placid face now looked gaunt, and thin dark circles shadowed his sharp eyes. Several months of service in a special counterintelligence unit-a unit whose existence was kept secret even from many of the military's top brass-had drained him of his energy. His job was to hunt down ghosts, traitors hiding among themselves, selling state secrets to the enemy, whether renegade warlords, lurking foreign powers, or even rival political factions within the country.
That night, Lee Junshan stared at a large map of the Republic of China that hung on the wall of his office. Red threads crisscrossed the map, marking a series of suspicious incidents: military operations that mysteriously failed, supply lines ambushed with suspicious precision, strategic information leaked prematurely. Too many coincidences to be simply bad luck.
He had just received an official report-which he knew had been filtered and watered down-about a "fierce battle" on the western border involving Hu Yanzhen's unit. The report mentioned "significant losses" but emphasized "strategic success in hampering the enemy's advance." Lee Junshan knew Hu Yanzhen. His friend was a skilled fighter, not the type of commander who would suffer "significant losses" without overwhelming resistance or betrayal.
He also read the report from the North Manchurian garrison, which mentioned "an increase in minor bandit activity" and "the situation is generally under control." This contradicted the personal letter he had received from He Xiang just a few days ago. He Xiang's letter, though carefully worded, implied a much greater threat, the involvement of foreign powers in arming separatist groups.
Lee Junshan picked up two new tacks, one dark blue, one moss green. He stuck the blue one in Hu Yanzhen's area of operations, and the green one near He Xiang's location. A pattern was beginning to form, an invisible web stretching far and wide, connecting these seemingly separate incidents.
His investigations over the past few months had led to several middle-ranking officials in various departments who had access to sensitive information. But every time he approached one of them, his target seemed to vanish: suddenly transferred to a remote post, suffered a tragic "accident," or suddenly resigned for "health reasons." The masterminds were clever, ruthless, and always one step ahead. They cleaned up their tracks neatly.
He opened his desk drawer, pulling out an old photo album from his Arsenal Academy days. There was a photo of the three of them: him, Hu Yanzhen grinning broadly with his arm around his shoulder, and He Xiang (then still He Longchen) standing slightly awkwardly but with a rare, faint smile. Simpler times, though full of challenges. Back then, their enemies were clear, and they fought side by side. Now, enemies lurked in the shadows, perhaps even among their own comrades.
The secrecy of his assignment forced him to keep his distance, even from He Xiang and Hu Yanzhen. He could not share details of his investigations, because any additional information leaked could jeopardize the operation and the lives of those involved. At times, he felt isolated, carrying this burden alone. Their correspondence became more formal, less frequent. He missed their casual conversations, Hu Yanzhen's explosive laughter, or his sharp strategic discussions with He Xiang.
There was a soft knock on the door. A young soldier from his unit, Second Lieutenant Wang, entered with a tray of hot tea and some biscuits.
"Major, you haven't had dinner yet," Lieutenant Wang said, his voice full of respect. He was one of the few people who knew the true nature of Lee Junshan's work.
"Thank you, Wang," Lee Junshan replied, tried to smile faintly. "Just put it there."
Lieutenant Wang put down the tray, but did not leave immediately. "There is the latest news from the surveillance team at Shanghai port, Major. The loading and unloading activities at the warehouse belonging to the Mitsui Trading Company have increased rapidly tonight. Most of the wooden crates are unmarked, and are heavily guarded by Japanese ronin."
Lee Junshan nodded. The Mitsui Trading Company was one of the fronts often used by Japanese intelligence for their covert operations in China. "Keep an eye on it. Don't be reckless. We need stronger evidence."
"Yes, Major." Lieutenant Wang saluted and left the room, closing the door carefully.
Lee Junshan took a sip of his still-hot tea. His thoughts returned to Xie Xiang's letter. Japanese weapons in Manchuria. The suspicious activities of the Mitsui Company in Shanghai. And the failure of Hu Yanzhen's unit in the west, where rumors of Japanese military advisors were also circulating. Was this all part of a larger plan by the Japanese Empire to destabilize the Republic?
He rose from his chair, pacing back and forth in the narrow room. This web of treason, whoever was behind it, clearly had extraordinary connections and resources. They were not only leaking information, but also actively facilitating enemy operations on Chinese soil.
The phone on his desk rang, its sound deafening in the silence of the night. He picked up the candlestick-style receiver.
"Lee..."
The voice on the other end was hoarse and hurried. It was General Zhang, his immediate superior and one of the few high-ranking officers he trusted completely.
"Junshan, there's something you need to see. Come to the safe house on Xuanwu Street immediately. Do not use the official car." Click. The connection was cut.
Lee Junshan's eyebrows rose. General Zhang had never contacted him like this unless there was something extremely urgent and dangerous. He quickly put on his suit jacket, took his Browning FN Model 1910 pistol from the drawer, and tucked it behind his waist. Before leaving, he paused in front of the map. His gaze fell on three tacks: red for previous incidents, blue for Hu Yanzhen, green for He Xiang.
"No matter what," he murmured softly, "I will not let you two get dragged deeper into this mess on your own."
He turned off the light and stepped out of his office, into the Nanjing night that held more secrets than met the eye. The shadows of the ministry were growing thicker, and Lee Junshan knew he had to act quickly before they swallowed everything. His struggle might not involve the boom of cannons or the charge of cavalry, but the silent battle he fought in these corridors of power was no less deadly. And he began to suspect that the roots of this betrayal might run deeper than he had ever imagined, perhaps even reaching into the place that had once been a second home to the three of them: Arsenal Academy.
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*****to be continued chapter 4