Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

Chapter 1044 King Jiuyan of Chaoxiang Palace

At first, Yusuke Ichijo did read the letter with a subtle feeling, even mixed with a touch of pity.

This Chinese woman, whom I had never met, this wife of Li Shouren, possessed such delicate writing skills and such sincere and abundant emotions.

In particular, the vivid depiction of life in Nanjing throughout the four seasons and the recollection of happy times in the past are filled with deep longing and unforgettable love.

The maternal glow flowing between the lines, the attachment to her husband, and the earnest expectations for her daughter's future, almost pierced through the paper and scorched the cold, hard shell of Yusuke as an imperial soldier.

For a moment, he was almost moved by this seemingly pure and unadulterated affection.

This appears to be nothing more than an ordinary family letter filled with love, reluctance, and longing; a mother's tearful blessing to her child in the face of an uncertain fate.

A universal human yearning for peace and tranquility briefly transcended the boundaries of friend and foe in his mind.

He could even imagine a gentle woman from Jiangnan, under the lamplight, suppressing the foreseeable sorrow of parting, carefully instructing her on household chores, and meticulously sewing the memories of a city and the hope for survival into this small piece of paper.

However, this emotional ripple only lingered in his heart for a moment before being overwhelmed by vigilance.

Something is wrong!

A strong sense of unease, like a mist quietly spreading in the dark night, began to gather in his heart.

This letter mentions so many places!

Xuanwu Lake, Confucius Temple, Qixia Mountain, Drum Tower, Xinjiekou... various locations and places... it's understandable that these serve as backdrops for fond memories.

But there are too many of them!

Especially the latter part, starting from "at the foot of the old city wall in the south of the city" and ending with "Old Man Shi on the west side of Yuhuatai," so densely, even deliberately, lists at least five specific geographical locations, each accompanied by descriptions of varying lengths, such as "hidden," "a place to hide," "little known," "trustworthy," and "a reliable person."

This seems unusually abrupt, even redundant, in a text message that should be a warm farewell and a way to express longing!

The most core emotions conveyed in a mother's message, seemingly a farewell to her family, are reluctance, admonition, and blessings.

Even if one were to make arrangements for their affairs after death, it should concern fundamental principles of survival or important connections, rather than listing a series of scattered, specific geographical coordinates in such detail, like a guidebook.

This writing style is more like using the natural camouflage of "mother's admonitions" to convey a complex set of information.

Yusuke's fingertip tapped the table unconsciously, making a dull "tap-tap" sound.

His eyes sharpened as he re-examined every word on the letter.

Those seemingly emotional descriptions began to take on a different possible structure in his eyes at this moment.

"Go boating on Xuanwu Lake when spring is in full bloom," "Under the old locust tree next to Confucius Temple," "The modern school near Drum Tower," "Buy a decent home in Xinjiekou"...

Especially the later descriptions of the hiding places: "abandoned air-raid shelters," "dense reed beds," "little-known caves," "trustworthy families," and "honest street vendors."

This perfectly matches the characteristics described in underground intelligence networks regarding safe houses, emergency shelters, secret contact points, and even supply depots!

The wording, seemingly a mother's instinctive reaction to worry, subtly revealed the rigor and precision that only a trained intelligence officer would possess!

Taking a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turmoil in his heart, he reached out and grabbed the internal telephone receiver on the table.

"Hey! It's me, Yusuke Ichijo." His voice returned to its usual coldness: "Two things: First, immediately dispatch your most reliable action team to secretly monitor the following locations..."

His gaze swept across the list in his notebook, and he quickly recited the key locations: "The foot of the old city wall on the east side of Zhonghua Gate in the south of the city, the reed marshes three miles east of Xiaguan Wharf, the area behind the Observatory dormitory on the south slope of Zijin Mountain, the alley of Renhe Lane inside Zhonghua Gate, and the area near Andemen west of Yuhuatai."

Closely monitor for any suspicious individuals, especially those attempting to find or approach specific landmarks! Remember, this is covert surveillance! Do not alert them without my orders!

"Second," he paused, his tone growing even colder, "strengthen the surveillance of Li Shouren and secretly monitor his every move!"

After hanging up the phone, Yusuke Ichijo walked to the window and abruptly pulled open the heavy velvet curtains.

The night sky over Nanjing was filled with thick, inky clouds that hung low over the city's skyline, obscuring any starlight or moonlight.

Yusuke Ichijo felt as if he too was shrouded in this huge cloud of doubt.

. . . . . . . . . . .

In January 1938, the leaden sky hung low over Tianjin Port, and the sea breeze, carrying the smell of salt and coal smoke, howled across the cold sea.

The waves of the Bohai Bay rolled under the leaden sky, churning up layers of yellowish, turbid foam.

The docks were piled high with wooden crates and sacks bearing the words "Manchukuo." Hundreds of dockworkers, under the supervision of military police, moved goods like ants into warehouses, while military trucks covered with tarpaulins regularly hauled loads of cargo out of the warehouses.

On the sea, a gray-black warship, like a ghost, quietly entered Dagu Port and slowly docked at Pier No. 3.

The warship's waterline was deep, indicating that it was loaded with a lot of supplies. The turrets were completely covered by tarpaulins, and there was no one on the deck. Only the fluttering Rising Sun Flag indicated its ownership.

The hatch opened, and a gangway was quietly lowered.

The iron pedals made a dull thud in the cold wind.

A group of Japanese officers dressed in woolen overcoats, accompanied by a group of vigilant attendants with guns at their waists, set foot on the land of Tianjin.

The leather boots clattered on the cobblestone dock, producing a rhythmic and heavy echo that mingled with the distant sounds of ship horns and waves.

Outside the port, military police stood guard every three steps and sentries every five, their bayonets gleaming coldly in the gloomy light.

Further away, some Chinese laborers wearing tattered cotton-padded coats were carrying goods with their heads down, their eyes lowered, their steps hurried, not daring to look in this direction for long.

An atmosphere of oppression and unease filled the air.

The leader of the group disembarking was none other than Prince Asaka Yasuhiko, Emperor Showa's uncle.