Chapter 62: Life Is Like a "Play"

When Zhou Sen woke up, he found himself in a vegetable cellar. The pungent odor of radishes and cabbages was unmistakable to his nose.

His hands were tied behind his back, and his eyes were covered with a black cloth.

Fear is an instinctive reaction. He had no idea what fate awaited him—would these people use him to bargain with the Japanese for Susanna?

He didn’t know how much time had passed. Hunger gnawed at him, his stomach rumbling, and as the cold seeped in, his legs were almost numb.

Just as despair began to overtake him, someone descended the stairs.

Two people—it seemed. One propped him up, the other pulled the rag from his mouth and poured a bowl of hot soup down his throat.

His life had spun around the gates of hell and, for the moment, returned.

“Taking me won’t do you any good. I’m just a low-level policeman. They won’t care whether I live or die…” Zhou Sen said.

“Shut up. Warm up your hands and feet first. Then write a letter to your superior, Akiyama, and tell him to exchange Susanna for you!” one of them ordered.

Zhou Sen recognized the accent—this was the man who’d kidnapped him and spoken with him all along.

“How—how am I supposed to write it?”

“Just say you’re in our hands and must be exchanged for Susanna. If they refuse, we’ll kill you, and more besides.”

“Killing the innocent like this is too cruel…”

“Cruel? You work for the Japanese. What they’ve done is a hundred, a thousand times crueler than this. Enough talk—write the letter, and don’t try any tricks, or I can’t guarantee you’ll leave here in one piece!”

“Sir, if you want me to write a letter, at least tell me who you are…”

“My name is Yurekin. You must have heard of it,” the man replied with a cold snort, revealing his identity.

“Mad Bear” Yurekin.

This name was infamous. Half a year ago, when the “Soviet” Harbin spy ring was cracked, dozens of Soviet agents and spies lurking in Harbin were captured. The Soviet intelligence network there was dealt an almost fatal blow.

Only a handful escaped that massive roundup—Yurekin, the “Mad Bear,” was among them.

He was the top assassin for the Soviet spy station in Harbin, specializing in eliminating traitors and rooting out enemy agents within the Soviet intelligence apparatus.

His identity was so secret that even those within the network didn’t know who he really was—not even his gender. He belonged to the Soviet Far East intelligence department, reporting directly to the consul general at the Soviet consulate in Harbin.

Japan and the Soviets still maintained diplomatic relations, and they couldn’t simply detain a consul general for questioning. So, the Japanese intelligence services were desperate to uncover Yurekin’s true identity, but had never succeeded.

Now, this legendary top agent stood before Zhou Sen—it felt almost unreal.

Why would such a high-level agent bother with a lowly policeman like him? Was the Soviet network in Harbin so depleted, or did he somehow warrant this kind of attention?

Zhou Sen might have lacked ability, but not intelligence. He’d always been one to ponder and analyze, which was why he’d chosen an obscure and stagnant field to work in, quietly toiling away. Yet fate had swept him into this, and, to make things more complicated, he wasn’t even in the familiar setting he’d written about. No wonder he felt so out of his depth.

Still, he had some relevant knowledge and understood the general contours, not to mention basic common sense.

From the moment he noticed that familiar scent, he’d sensed something was afoot. He couldn’t know precisely when or what, but he could guess at the general outline.

He didn’t want to risk his life, but living in constant fear, always on guard, was exhausting. This was dangerous, yes, and he feared death, but if they’d truly wanted him dead, they’d have done it already, not waited until now.

Based on that, he judged they were unlikely to kill him. This whole drama was more real than not, but still partly an act.

Fortunately, his performance had held up—at least, he thought he’d given nothing away so far.

When someone reveals their identity so directly, it’s usually a lie—unless the group is too stupid. But would the “Mad Bear” Yurekin, trained by the Cheka, be so careless?

It didn’t make sense.

Why would they assume Yurekin’s identity? There were many possible reasons, but Zhou Sen chose not to dwell on them. For now, he’d do as he was told—cooperation was the only way to survive.

“Do you have any token to prove your identity?” he asked.

“Is a handwritten letter not enough?”

“Letters can be forged, but a personal token cannot,” Yurekin replied.

“How about this ring? Anyone who knows me will recognize it…” Zhou Sen slipped a ring from his right middle finger.

“That will do.” Yurekin took the ring and the letter, then left. Zhou Sen was bound again, but this time they provided straw and a mat for him to lie on, and loosened his bonds periodically to let him stretch his legs and restore circulation.

He had no idea how much time had passed.

He recalled his blindfold being removed. He’d eaten about five meals—never more than half full, never anything rich, and certainly nothing tasty. But he forced it down, for survival’s sake.

Eventually, he was knocked out again.

When he next awoke, the sharp scent of disinfectant stung his nose. He opened his eyes to see a white ceiling and an incandescent lamp.

He looked down to find himself dressed in a hospital gown bearing the emblem of “Municipal Hospital.”

Was he rescued?

The room was a private ward. Zhou Sen struggled to sit up, then went to open the door. Sure enough, it was the Municipal Hospital—a place he’d been before, the largest, best public hospital in Harbin.

“Officer Zhou, you’re awake!” a nurse exclaimed with delight.

Then a flurry of white coats rushed in, ushered him back to bed, and examined him thoroughly. The verdict: he was recovering from a serious illness, physically weak and in need of rest, but otherwise fine.

“Doctor, excuse me, what day is it today?” Zhou Sen finally asked.

“February 17th.”

“Then tomorrow is New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes. It seems your mind is sharp, Officer Zhou—you remember the date precisely.” The oldest doctor nodded.

“So, if I’m all right, may I be discharged?” Zhou Sen asked.

“Not yet. You were brought in by the police department. You’ll need their permission to leave,” the doctor replied.

“All right. Can you contact the department for me, and let them know I’d like to be discharged?”

“Of course.”

The doctors left, leaving behind a nurse. Zhou Sen bore no visible injuries, only weakness and a slight fever on admission, now nearly gone.

He calculated the time: he’d been abducted on the 25th day of the lunar month; today was the 29th. He’d been in Yurekin’s hands for about three days. Had they really used him to exchange for Susanna?

Would the Japanese comply so easily? Was he really worth so much?

He didn’t wait long. Footsteps sounded outside; the door opened, and Akiyama entered, accompanied by Kim Soyoung.

Akiyama bowed deeply to Zhou Sen as soon as he entered. “Zhou Sen-kun, you’ve suffered greatly.”

Kim Soyoung, startled, had no choice but to bow awkwardly as well.

“Mr. Akiyama, you flatter me!” Zhou Sen hurried to rise and return the gesture.

Akiyama reached out and gently pushed him back onto the bed. “You’ve only just woken up, Zhou Sen-kun. You should rest.”

“Mr. Akiyama, what exactly happened? I was kidnapped and then returned without knowing how or why…”

“Zhou Sen-kun, as I told you, Susanna was a Soviet agent in deep cover. You didn’t believe it. Though you ultimately captured her, her comrades could not abandon her. They took you to force an exchange. Given your importance to the Empire, Director Shibuya authorized the swap,” Akiyama explained.

“So Susanna was simply released?”

“Yes. Had we refused, your life would have been forfeit. We could not bear to lose a friend like you,” Akiyama said, his tone earnest and sincere.

“Thank you, Mr. Akiyama. I will never forget your kindness,” Zhou Sen replied, tears welling in his eyes.

“It’s over now. For your safety, you should not return to the station for the time being. Take this opportunity to rest,” Akiyama advised.

“Yes, sir.”

“Secretary Kim will help with your discharge and escort you home. The two of you can talk.” Akiyama rose—he’d only come to check on Zhou Sen and had no intention of lingering.

“Let me see you out, Mr. Akiyama…”

“No need. Take care and rest well.”

Akiyama left Kim Soyoung behind—clearly not without ulterior motives. Zhou Sen, however, could hardly refuse her help, as he still needed someone to complete the discharge procedures.

Once Akiyama was gone, Zhou Sen threw back the covers and got out of bed. “Secretary Kim, would you please step outside? I’d like to change.”

Kim Soyoung stood her ground. Zhou Sen didn’t care—he’d already asked her to leave. He began unbuttoning his hospital gown.

When he reached for his waistband, the woman finally relented and turned away, leaving the room.

Zhou Sen dressed quickly. The clothes were a bit dirty, but it didn’t matter—just a little mud on the outside.

The IOU written by Yan Yuyan was still there, as was everything else, except for the ring Yurekin had taken as proof of identity.

After completing the discharge formalities, Zhou Sen stepped outside. A car was already waiting to drive him home.

He climbed in and closed his eyes. Kim Soyoung joined him, but seeing his indifferent attitude, she was clearly offended. “Zhou Sen, don’t you have anything to say to me?”

Zhou Sen didn’t even twitch, turning his head away, ignoring her completely.

Kim Soyoung had no choice but to instruct the driver to take them to Zhou Sen’s home.

The rest of the journey passed in silence.