Chapter Seven: The Confession

In the neighboring room, Weiss and Zhou Weiqiang exchanged a glance, both seeing the shock reflected in each other's eyes. Song Yingge’s performance was nothing like that of a newcomer. Many clues they had overlooked were clearly visible to Song Yingge’s sharp eyes.

“You’re clever; losing to you is no injustice. But there’s one thing you’re wrong about,” Ma San sighed heavily.

Song Yingge was taken aback. “What is it?”

“Ma Lezhen is truly Chinese,” Ma San said with a smirk, seemingly mocking.

At this point, Ma San had no reason to lie about this matter. If Ma Lezhen was indeed Chinese, then his identity must be very special.

“What is Ma Lezhen’s true identity?” Song Yingge asked.

“This is a big favor. I can tell you, but you have to promise to spare my life,” Ma San said.

“I promise,” Song Yingge replied without hesitation.

“He’s Chen Pengfei, the son of Chen Ming, who was assassinated in the Northeast, and the grandson of the current Vice Premier of the Executive Yuan, Chen Guoliang,” Ma San revealed.

“What?” Song Yingge stood up in shock.

Ma San was not mistaken; this was indeed a significant favor.

The Executive Yuan was the highest administrative organ of the National Government, with departments such as Interior, Foreign Affairs, and Finance, led by a President and a Vice President. At the time, Chairman Chiang was the President.

Chen Guoliang, as Vice Premier, held a position of great power and influence.

Chen Guoliang had only one son, Chen Ming, and Chen Pengfei was Chen Ming’s only son.

After Chen Ming’s sacrifice, Chen Guoliang had pleaded with Principal Chiang to have the Secret Service search for Chen Pengfei in the Northeast, but to no avail.

“Is there any proof to confirm Chen Pengfei’s identity?” Song Yingge asked.

“He has a heart-shaped birthmark on his back. The Chen family can naturally recognize it,” Ma San said.

Weiss and Zhou Weiqiang, unable to stay next door any longer, hurriedly pushed open the door and lifted Ma Lezhen’s shirt, indeed revealing the birthmark on his back.

“Hurry, inform Boss Dai,” Weiss said, abandoning the interrogation as he carried Ma Lezhen and left, Zhou Weiqiang following closely behind.

Song Yingge broke out in a cold sweat.

If Ma San had revealed this only after torturing Chen Pengfei, although ignorance may excuse guilt, the consequences would have been disastrous.

He shuddered at the Japanese’s wolfish ambitions.

“Five years ago, after Chen Ming was killed, I was assigned the task of bringing Chen Pengfei from the Northeast to Jinling, to live under an assumed name. Only in Jinling could Chen Pengfei’s growth be pure and clean, so that he could one day reunite with the Chen family,” Ma San explained.

Song Yingge knew that during Chen Pengfei’s upbringing, Ma San must have subjected him to militaristic indoctrination and brainwashing.

Once reunited, as the sole heir, the Chen family would undoubtedly cultivate Chen Pengfei intensely.

By then, the Japanese would have gained a pro-Japanese, even fervently Japanophile, high-ranking official in the Republic of China government.

Originally, Song Yingge had looked down on the Japanese, knowing the course of history, but now his disdain vanished completely; like a lion fighting a rabbit, he exerted his full strength.

“Since you have a mission, why were you hiding in Yingchun Tower, delivering people to the Japanese consulate?” Song Yingge asked.

Ma San gave a bitter smile. “The secrecy level of Chen Pengfei’s mission is very high; the Japanese consulate was unaware. Moreover, the Japanese intelligence departments do not operate as a united front. They often work independently, even sabotaging each other.”

“If Chen Pengfei were lost, the mission would fail, so you risked everything trying to escape with him,” Song Yingge surmised.

Ma San nodded.

“Why not abandon the mission and simply flee somewhere to live under a false name? China is vast; the Japanese spies surely wouldn’t find you,” Song Yingge questioned.

“I could run, but what about my family back home? If you promise me one thing, I will cooperate,” Ma San said.

“Speak,” Song Yingge said.

“I know your Secret Service also has eyes in Japan. I want you to send my family to the United States,” Ma San requested.

“I can promise that, but aren’t you afraid I might go back on my word?” Song Yingge asked.

“You won’t. You’re the proud type at heart,” Ma San said.

Song Yingge had to admit Ma San was right.

“Tell me everything. The sooner you do, the safer your family will be,” Song Yingge urged.

Ma San no longer hesitated; he had nowhere to retreat.

His real name was Arai Tasuke, an intelligence officer in the Japanese Army who later infiltrated Jinling and was recruited by the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs to be stationed at Yingchun Tower.

Over the years, he had delivered a dozen or so young girls to the Japanese, but not to the consulate; instead, to an antique shop.

This shop, named Qiwu Zhai, was located near the Confucius Temple.

There were many antique shops around the Confucius Temple; Qiwu Zhai was small and somewhat secluded, attracting very few customers and hardly noticeable.

Now, Song Yingge faced two options.

One was to immediately seize the people in Qiwu Zhai to prevent any complications.

The other was to lie in wait, surveil those entering and exiting, and then capture them all at once.

Both choices had pros and cons.

At this moment, Dai Li also arrived at Caodu Alley, ordering Song Yingge to report the situation.

Upon arriving at Dai Li’s office, Weiss and Zhou Weiqiang were also there.

“Yingge, you truly are my lucky star. Just starting your job, and you’ve already achieved such great success,” Dai Li said with a smile, clearly in good spirits.

“I’m just running errands, not daring to take credit,” Song Yingge replied modestly as always.

After some light-hearted conversation, Song Yingge reported on Qiwu Zhai.

“If Ma San goes missing, how soon will the Japanese consulate notice?” Dai Li asked.

“Besides delivering people, Ma San also gathered intelligence at Yingchun Tower. Every seven days, he would place the gathered intelligence into a dead letter box.

More importantly, there is also a Japanese spy embedded in the Confucius Temple Primary School that Ma Lezhen attends.

His alias is Zhao Feng, a teacher.

He and Ma San are old acquaintances.

If tomorrow Zhao Feng doesn’t see Ma San escorting Ma Lezhen to school, he will surely sense something is wrong,” Song Yingge explained.

Dai Li was decisive. “Immediately arrest everyone at Qiwu Zhai.”

Song Yingge and the others accepted the order and prepared to coordinate the operation, but Dai Li stopped Song Yingge.

“Later, the Chen family will send someone to pick up Chen Pengfei and specifically ask to see you,” Dai Li said.

Song Yingge knew this was Dai Li’s way of mentoring him. After some hesitation, he said, “Uncle, I still want to participate in the arrest operation.”

“You kid, leave the arrests to the action team. A gentleman does not stand under a dangerous wall,” Dai Li said.

“Don’t worry, Uncle. I’m top-notch in hand-to-hand combat; I’m not afraid of anyone in operations,” Song Yingge insisted.

Dai Li sighed helplessly. “Suit yourself. Just remember, safety first.”

Weiss gathered all the idle members of the operations section—over seventy people.

Qiwu Zhai had only the owner and three assistants, four people in total.

Seventy against four, the advantage was ours.

It was already past three in the morning, and the streets were nearly empty.

After deploying at several intersections near Qiwu Zhai, Weiss gave a signal, and the operatives swiftly climbed over the wall, opening Qiwu Zhai’s door from inside.

The team moved silently, entering in single file.

Two minutes later, all four were apprehended.

The entire process was surprisingly smooth, lacking the fierce firefight Song Yingge had expected, leaving him somewhat disappointed.

The four were swiftly escorted back to Caodu Alley.

Zhou Weiqiang and his intelligence team searched Qiwu Zhai.

Because the shop was filled with valuable antiques, everyone moved cautiously.

If nothing unexpected happened, these antiques would become property of the Secret Service.

Song Yingge also joined the search but found no evidence proving the four were spies—a bad sign.

It meant the next step would rely entirely on interrogation to force their mouths open.