Chapter 17: Shocking News of Tragedy

Zhou Sen entered the Nangang Police Station with Susanna, immediately drawing the attention of his colleagues. After all, among the White Russian women, Susanna counted as young and beautiful. Ice City had always been a city of diverse ethnic groups living together, with great tolerance for outsiders and their cultures. The White Russians had settled here for years, long since integrated into local life. Many of them had married locals, started families, and raised children.

Standing next to Zhou Sen, the “pretty boy,” the pair truly resembled the proverbial “talented man and beautiful woman.”

“Brother Sen, is this your new girlfriend? She’s gorgeous,” remarked a colleague from Security, surprised at Susanna’s appearance.

“Don’t talk nonsense. She’s a party involved in one of my cases,” Zhou Sen replied, breaking into a cold sweat. He refused to explain further—these people always had loose lips.

“Where’s Old Cui?”

“He’s sobering up in the detention room, locked up by Chief Song.”

“How long has it been? Shouldn’t he be let out by now?”

“He made a scene drunk in public—a terrible influence. Chief Song gave strict orders: not to be released before the end of the shift.”

“Alright, I’ll go find him.”

In the detention room, Cui Miao sat dozing, hands clasped, leaning against the iron bars, head lolling on the chair. This guy could sleep anywhere.

Zhou Sen walked over, picked up leftover peanut shells from the guard’s desk, and threw them directly at Cui Miao’s face.

“Who’s playing tricks on me…” Cui Miao cursed, startled, then saw Zhou Sen and grew even angrier. “Zhou brat, it’s you.”

“Old Cui, didn’t you blame me for stealing your case? Well, I’ve found your person and even delivered her to you,” Zhou Sen laughed, pulling up a chair.

“You’d be so generous?”

Cui Miao was suspicious. Zhou Sen felt different today—less timid than before.

“Come in,” Zhou Sen called Susanna into the detention room.

As soon as Cui Miao saw Susanna, his eyes widened. He hadn’t met her before, but Susanna’s uncle, Balov, had shown him her photo when reporting her missing. This young, beautiful Russian girl before him was undoubtedly the missing Susanna.

“You’re Susanna?”

“Yes, Officer Cui,” Susanna nodded.

“Zhou brat, you found her?” Cui Miao looked at Zhou Sen.

Zhou Sen didn’t explain further, simply nodded. Whether he found Susanna or Susanna found him, it made no difference to Cui Miao.

“Old Cui, I helped you find her. The disappearance case is solved—the credit’s yours.”

“Zhou brat, you’d help me so kindly?”

“I’ve brought her to you—how could it be fake?” Zhou Sen chuckled. “Of course, if you don’t want the credit, I wouldn’t mind claiming it myself.”

“Fine, Zhou Sen, I owe you one this time.” Cui Miao gritted his teeth. “But I’m still locked up for now, about to be released. Wait for me outside—I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

“No need for dinner. Just close the case, and it’s settled,” Zhou Sen replied.

“Alright, I’ll close the case once I’m out.”

“Then I’ll leave her to you.” Zhou Sen gave a few instructions to Susanna, then left the detention room, calling Ye San over and whispering instructions in his ear.

Ye San nodded, indicating he understood.

…

On the second floor, in the station’s kendo practice room, Zhou Sen knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Zhou Sen pushed the door open, immediately greeted by a wave of heat—the fireplace was blazing, erasing any trace of the harsh cold outside.

Akiyama-no-suke, barefoot and dressed in traditional Japanese warrior attire, practiced swordsmanship alone.

Akiyama-no-suke was an acknowledged kendo master in both the Nangang Police Station and Ice City Police Department.

As for Japanese kendo, Zhou Sen had little appreciation, but the Japanese sword arts, in actual combat, did possess a certain power—not to be underestimated.

His original self had studied horsemanship and trained in martial arts, though not traditional Chinese styles, but Western fighting techniques. He vaguely remembered practicing something called "jujutsu" as well…

“Isn’t jujutsu supposed to be for girls? Why would a grown man practice it, especially with Old Anthony being such a rugged fellow? How would he know such things?”

“Zhou Sen, what did you think of my moves just now?” Akiyama-no-suke put away his sword, and Jin Su-young quickly handed him a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“I don’t understand swordsmanship and can’t really comment, but facing you just now, I felt a moment of suffocation—an overwhelming presence!” Zhou Sen bowed slightly as he spoke.

“You certainly know how to flatter,” Akiyama-no-suke smiled, wiping his face before switching to a hand towel, waving Jin Su-young away. “You go now, I have matters to discuss with Zhou Sen.”

“Hai!” Dressed in a pale cherry-blossom kimono and wooden clogs, Jin Su-young nodded and walked out in tiny steps. As she passed Zhou Sen, her gaze lingered playfully.

Only Zhou Sen caught this subtle gesture, but he pretended not to notice, offering no response.

“Please, take a seat, Zhou Sen.”

Zhou Sen thanked him, removed his shoes, and in socks knelt respectfully on the tatami before Akiyama-no-suke.

“This tea is top-grade West Lake Dragon Well—quite rare, taste it,” Akiyama-no-suke offered.

“Thank you, sir. I actually came to report the case to you,” Zhou Sen straightened, respectfully accepting the tea with both hands.

“Tea first.”

Zhou Sen had no choice but to lower his head and drink the tea in one gulp.

“How is it?”

“I don’t know much about tea—I drink it for refreshment, but your tea, sir, is slightly bitter at first, then turns sweet, filling the mouth with fragrance. It must be excellent!” Zhou Sen replied, somewhat awkwardly.

“You say you don’t understand tea, but you describe it well enough.”

Zhou Sen smiled shyly and set the cup down. “Sir, I’ve come to confess. Earlier this morning, when I came to report, I had already met Miss Susanna, but didn’t mention it to you.”

Akiyama-no-suke simply responded with a quiet “Oh,” showing no anger.

“The situation is as follows: Early this morning, after breakfast with my subordinate Wu En at the market, we went to the station for roll call and noticed a White Russian woman following us. I stopped her; she said her name was Susanna, girlfriend of Mr. Shcherkin, editor at the Songjiang Daily. She had information to share and sought our protection. I felt bringing her directly to the station wasn’t wise—news might leak—so I had Wu En take her to my rented lunch spot…” Zhou Sen explained, glancing up at Akiyama-no-suke.

“So, she was with you?”

“No, I brought her back to the station,” Zhou Sen hurried on. “I should have brought her back immediately, but she shared some information, so I took her to the Songjiang Daily to investigate before returning her here.”

“You handed her over to Cui Miao?”

Zhou Sen was startled, replying anxiously, “I acted without permission. Please punish me, sir.”

“You must have your reasons. Tell me,” Akiyama-no-suke sipped his tea.

“I’m young and inexperienced, not good at judging people, but after interacting with Susanna, she didn’t seem like a Soviet spy, so I took the liberty of closing the case.”

“And your reasoning?”

“My thinking was, she’s just a frail young woman. If she really were a Soviet spy, coming to us would be tantamount to walking into a trap. Moreover, she showed no fear—on the contrary, she cooperated fully with my questions.”

“Zhou Sen, you’re too naive. You’ve never dealt with Soviet intelligence officers. If it were so easy to spot a spy, we wouldn’t need to work so hard,” Akiyama-no-suke chuckled in a kindly, almost paternal way. “You’re Mr. Anthony’s foster son. You’re meant to inherit his legacy.”

Legacy?

Zhou Sen’s eyes clouded with confusion. Inheriting the family business made sense, but inheriting a legacy was altogether different.

“Sir, I was wrong. Please punish me,” Zhou Sen stood and bowed deeply.

“Since you believe Susanna isn’t a Soviet spy, I’ll leave her in your care. You are to verify her identity,” Akiyama-no-suke said, watching Zhou Sen.

“I’m to verify Susanna’s identity?” Zhou Sen was stunned.

“Yes, you, Zhou Sen. There are things you need to know.” Akiyama-no-suke retrieved a document envelope from under the tea table, stamped “Top Secret.”

Zhou Sen hesitated, took it, but didn’t open it right away. Whatever lay inside, once seen, couldn’t be ignored.

“Go ahead and open it,” Akiyama-no-suke urged.

Zhou Sen nodded, opened the seal, and pulled out a few thin sheets. Reading their contents, he froze.

After finishing, Zhou Sen’s eyes reddened, his hands trembling. “Sir, this—this can’t be true, can it?”

“I’m sorry, it is the truth. Zhou Sen, Mr. Anthony was the Japanese Empire’s best friend, a brave man who opposed the Soviets and communism. Sadly, he was killed on a classified mission. He was a man of ideals, someone I admire deeply,” Akiyama-no-suke spoke solemnly.

“My foster father’s remains?” Tears streamed down Zhou Sen’s face, his original self’s memories overwhelming his emotions.

“I’m sorry, Zhou Sen, we couldn’t recover his body. And this matter must remain secret—you cannot speak of it to anyone, and must not announce his death to the outside world, not even a hint,” Akiyama-no-suke bowed in apology, then reminded him earnestly.

“May I know what mission my foster father was undertaking?” Zhou Sen asked, eyes still red.

“That’s top secret—there’s no need for you to know at this time,” Akiyama-no-suke refused to answer.