Agent: Intercepting Yu Manli at the start!

Chapter 26 This world no longer belongs to you!

Gao Zhanlong suddenly stood up, walked to the window, his back straight: "Our duty as the Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics is to drag out the rats that have infiltrated, one by one."

"Zheng Yaoxian is a slippery old eel; if we can't investigate him, then we'll find a way to break through his apprentice."

"Tian Hu, keep an eye on Zheng Yaoxian. I suspect he has planted spies within our Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics long ago—as long as we keep a close eye on Zheng Yaoxian, he'll eventually slip up."

"Director Shen, investigate Zhou Xiao discreetly. Be quiet and thorough. I intend to live a few more years."

The two answered in unison, "Yes!"

After they left the office, Shen Lin couldn't help but ask in a low voice, "Brother Tian, ​​why did Director Gao decide to investigate a veteran of the War of Resistance against Japan?"

Tian Hu shook his head and smiled: "We can't fathom Mr. Gao's thoughts. Director Shen, just do your job and fulfill your duties."

Shen Lin nodded silently.

The Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics (Zhongtong) and the Military Bureau of Investigation and Statistics (Juntong) are fundamentally different.

The Military Intelligence Bureau (MIB) was under the control of the military, while the Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics (CBIS) was directly under the control of the Party.

Shen Lin was well aware that the two families were irreconcilable, but he was even more aware of his responsibilities: as the head of the investigation department, he had to dig deep into every detail.

For the next few days, Zhou Xiao stayed by Zheng Yaoxian's side, never leaving his side.

In the world of espionage, books and ruthlessness alone are far from enough. How far a person can go is often determined by whether their mentor is tough, ruthless, and accurate enough.

Inside a torture chamber at the Military Intelligence Bureau detention center.

A bloodied figure hung from the cross, its skin torn and bleeding, soaked not only in sweat but also in oozing blood. Zhao Jianzhi was holding a branding iron, about to press it hard against the man's chest—

"ah--!!!"

The screams hit the concrete wall and bounced back, making the door frame vibrate.

Outside the torture chamber, Zheng Yaoxian and Zhou Xiao stood side by side, quietly watching inside.

"A Japanese spy, arrested last month at the liaison station in the mountain city, codenamed 'Mount Fuji'." Zheng Yaoxian exhaled a puff of smoke. "He was interrogated for over a month, subjected to every kind of torture device used by the Military Intelligence Bureau, but his mouth was still made of iron."

Zhou Xiao stared at the man's twitching fingers, his brows furrowing slightly: "His Bushido brainwashing is thorough; his bones are harder than steel. To pry him open his mouth, we need to find out what he's afraid of first."

"Difficult." Zheng Yaoxian stubbed out his cigarette in a crack in the wall. "We only found out his name, when he enlisted, and where he trained—weakness? We haven't found a single clue."

This case is indeed tricky.

Inside the torture chamber, Zhao Jianzhi put away the branding iron, looked down at the nearly lifeless Japanese man—any longer and he'd be ruined. He shook his hand, turned, and pushed open the door to leave.

"Sixth Brother," he wiped the sweat from his brow, "this Japanese devil is really tough. He pulled out all ten fingernails and stripped his toes clean. Even pouring chili water down his throat didn't kill him; he still kept quiet."

"Sixth Brother, this is a big fish." Zhou Xiao stared at the blurry bloody figure inside the door, his voice extremely low. "Anyone who can have Bushido etched into their bones is definitely not a small fry. If we pry open his teeth, we'll probably find a gold mine of intelligence underneath."

Each agent underwent rigorous anti-interrogation training and was repeatedly indoctrinated and brainwashed by the Japanese army's distorted Bushido ideology. Their bones were as hard as quenched steel, and their mouths were sealed tighter than an iron bucket—ordinary methods simply could not pry them open.

"Yes, but that's the problem: we can't pry it open." Zheng Yaoxian slowly turned around, his gaze fixed on Zhou Xiao's face. "That's why I invited you here—to see if you have any ideas on how to smash this rusted door open with a single blow."

Zhou Xiao lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked up and made up his mind: "I'll give it a try. But I need all his files, and there are a few other things that I need to prepare on the spot."

Without the slightest hesitation, Zheng Yaoxian said, "I'll make room for you in terms of people, resources, and time."

The next day, in the underground prison of the Military Intelligence Bureau.

The cold, damp air smelled of rust and medicine. Zhou Xiao stepped into the cell and glanced at the Japanese spy nailed to the cross—his skin was torn and blood scabbed over the whip marks, his breathing heavy but not stopped. He waved his hand: "Put him down. Give his wounds a simple bandage, don't let him pass out."

"yes!"

Two operatives swiftly removed his shackles and helped him sit on an old wooden stool; the accompanying medic quickly applied medicine and wrapped gauze, his movements swift and efficient.

Zhou Xiao crouched down, looking directly at the pale, swollen face: "You understand Chinese?" Seeing the other person's eyelids tremble slightly, he nodded, "Okay, let's talk in Chinese."

"Let me show you something first."

He handed over a copy of the Central Daily News, still damp with ink. The front page prominently featured the headline, "Japanese Emperor Issues Imperial Rescript on Termination of War, Unconditionally Surrenders," accompanied by a picture of a crowd kneeling outside the Tokyo Imperial Palace. The words were forceful and the details meticulous, making it seem like real news that had just arrived from the front lines of the war.

The spy's pupils suddenly contracted, his Adam's apple bobbed, and his lips pressed into a pale line—he didn't believe it, yet dared not disbelieve it. Zhou Xiao had already noticed that slight wavering.

"Don't trust it? Then listen to the original recording." He pressed the switch on the recorder.

An aged, hoarse, metallic male voice slowly flowed out: "Deeply considering the global situation and the current state of the empire... I hereby inform you, my subjects, that I have ordered the Imperial Government to notify the four nations that I am willing to accept their joint declaration..."

After the imperial edict was read, its lingering sound reverberated in the cracks between the bricks. Zhou Xiao sat quietly, his fingertips lightly tapping his knees, without uttering a word.

The spy trembled violently, then suddenly roared out a string of Japanese in a hoarse voice: "Impossible! The Great Japanese Empire will never be defeated!" Before he finished speaking, his fingernails dug deep into his palms, drawing blood.

A few minutes later, Zhou Xiao spoke, his voice not loud, but like an ice pick piercing your eardrum: "In the six months you've been locked up, the front lines have long since collapsed—the Kwantung Army has been routed, the North China Garrison Army has been encircled and annihilated, and Britain, the United States, and the Soviet Union have all declared war on you. Six months is enough time for the world to change."

In reality, this person was only imprisoned for sixty-three days. But Zhou Xiao insisted on saying "half a year"—the cell had no windows, no clock, no calendar; even the sound of rats gnawing at the wall seemed to be gnawing at time. Trapped in a dark cage, with no distinction between day and night, the days became a jumbled mess. The more uncertain one was about how much time had passed, the easier it was to believe whatever others said.

"You don't believe me? Fine, we can go out for a walk in a bit." Zhou Xiao's tone was as relaxed as if he were inviting someone for tea. "Look at the tram tracks that have been burned down at the street corner, listen to the people shouting 'Get out of here, you little devils'—this world is no longer yours."

"Six months is enough to wipe out a division, enough for a city to change masters three times. The intelligence you were guarding is now worth less than waste paper."

"The war is over, the Emperor has knelt, and the soldiers on the front lines can go home by boat. But you—whether you can step out of this iron gate alive depends entirely on your mouth, whether you're willing to loosen your grip."

The spy's shoulders slumped suddenly, a sob escaped his throat, and his fingers spasmed as he scratched at the edge of the wooden stool, his nails splitting but he felt no pain.

Zhou Xiao softened his tone: "Your codename is 'Mount Fuji,' right? How many years has it been since you last saw that mountain? The snow-capped peak is dazzlingly white; at its foot, cherry blossoms are in full bloom, floating on the slope like pink mist. When the wind blows, the petals fall softly, covering your shoulders..."

His voice was low and slow, as if he were blending the morning mist of Mount Fuji, the sweet fragrance of cherry blossoms, and the crispness of snowmelt into the air.

The spy's gaze softened, a thin layer of tears welling up in his eyes, as if he had truly seen that homeland.

Zhou Xiao immediately seized the opportunity: "Your wife must be in her early thirties, right? Gentle, skillful, her miso soup is both comforting and heartwarming; your daughter is seven or eight, with pigtails, and she rushes to hug your legs as soon as you come back. The three of you sit on the tatami mats, eating salmon sashimi fresh from Hokkaido, dipped in soy sauce, with sake, and you tell her funny stories about the alleyways of Shanghai, and she laughs so hard she almost falls over..."

"And now? She holds her daughter's little hand, standing in the entryway every day waiting for you. Standing on tiptoe, gazing into the alleyway, her eyes ache from waiting—have you ever experienced that feeling?"

"If you collapse here, they'll have to remarry tomorrow. You know how a stepfather treats his daughter. What kind of life can a little girl without a father's protection live under someone else's roof?"

The spy's throat heaved violently, and tears finally splattered onto his knees, spreading into two small, dark patches.

Zhou Xiao straightened up, leaning on the chair arm, his shadow pressing against the other man's face: "The war is over, and all spies will be secretly executed. But if you're willing to confess, you can still walk out alive—leave a way out for your wife and daughters, and leave yourself some breathing room."

"Even the Emperor has admitted defeat. Those secret codes, contact points, and names of your undercover agents that you risked your life to protect are long gone, buried in piles of papers. Whether you tell them or not is up to you. But you only have one life. If you make the wrong choice, there's no turning back."

He glanced at his watch, then clicked the case back on. "Five minutes. When it's time, you can either stand up and walk by yourself, or be carried—it's your choice."

The only sound in the cell was the dripping of water.

The spy's forehead rested on his knees, his shoulders heaving like the tides. Sometimes he would look up and stare intently at Zhou Xiao, and sometimes he would turn his head to the east, as if he could truly penetrate the thick wall and see the shadow of Mount Fuji on the other side of the Pacific Ocean.

He was tearing, burning, pacing back and forth on the edge of the cliff.

The second hand ticked away, while Zhou Xiao stood with his hands behind his back, motionless, like a pine tree that had taken root.

And those bloodshot eyes are slowly, bit by bit, rekindling a flame from the ashes.

Time flies by in the blink of an eye; five minutes pass in the blink of an eye.

Zhou Xiao's gaze was like a knife, piercing directly into the Japanese spy's eyes: "Have you thought it through?"

That day, the spy's face was ashen, his forehead was beaded with sweat, and his fingers were repeatedly clenching and unclenching on his knee—clearly, he was being torn apart by fear and loyalty, unable to breathe.

"Refusing to speak?" Zhou Xiao's lips curled into a sneer, his voice as cold as frost. "Drag him away and execute him on the spot. This kind of person should never return to the island nation alive."

"Yes!" Two agents responded and grabbed Aokiyama's arms like iron clamps, dragging him towards the cell door.

Just as the iron gate slammed shut with a loud crash, Aokiyama's Adam's apple bobbed violently, and he managed to squeeze out a hoarse question: "You...you keep your word?"

Become!

That nerve, stretched to its limit, finally snapped.

Zhou Xiao nodded, his tone steady yet carrying an undeniable weight: "Tell me everything you know, and I'll guarantee your life and send you home safely."