Chapter 92: The Film Inside the Bullet

It seemed Lucy knew she had been caught hiding her dried fish. The moment she saw that it was Zhou Sen, the fierceness in her eyes vanished at once.

She darted straight into Zhou Sen’s arms and rubbed herself against his chest in a flattering sort of way, meowing softly as though begging him not to take away the dried fish she had hidden.

“All right, Lucy, your dried fish are all still here. Let’s go out.”

Zhou Sen glanced at the cat bed, carried Lucy out of the attic, and locked the door again.

Back in his bedroom, Zhou Sen lay on the bed and held the bullet he had found in the cat bed up before his eyes, studying it carefully. It was not much different from the pistol rounds he usually saw, except that the workmanship seemed a little rougher than the cartridges he was used to seeing.

At that, he also remembered that his own service pistol used roughly the same caliber.

His sidearm was a Browning M1910, commonly known as the Flower-Mouth Browning. Small and handy, it was chambered for the 7.65 mm Mauser pistol round, a classic made by Belgium’s FN company.

The police in Ice City, and the Manchurian police in general, were mostly equipped with Mauser pistols. Japanese police, by contrast, were generally issued the so-called turtle-box pistol, a copy of the German Luger.

Higher-ranking police officers and Japanese officers preferred Browning pistols. Zhou Sen was a man with an appreciation for aesthetics.

Naturally, he too preferred the Browning, whose lines were stronger and more forceful, and whose appearance was better as well. It felt more comfortable in the hand. So he had paid for one himself and registered it with the precinct instead of taking the standard issue weapon they would have given him.

He could choose his firearm, but not his ammunition. That the precinct could supply. Still, aside from the shooting range, he hardly used enough rounds in a year to matter.

His gun was purely for intimidation. He did not even like carrying it into the street; if mishandled, it might be safer not to carry it at all than to carry it.

Beyond routine maintenance, he rarely armed himself on duty.

He took out his own pistol, removed the magazine, and pulled out one round to compare under the lamp.

There were indeed subtle differences. Though the two pistol cartridges looked nearly identical, their dimensions were not exactly the same.

Without comparing them side by side, it would have been hard to notice.

He weighed the two bullets in his hand. The one he had taken from the cat bed seemed a little lighter.

His Tokarev 1926 pistol used 6.35 mm cartridges, so that round was different as well.

That gun had once seemed like a hidden danger too, but now it no longer mattered much. If Father Anthony could send sleeper agents into Soviet territory, then what was so strange about him getting hold of a Cheka self-defense pistol?

Father Anthony would not have put a bullet in the cat bed for no reason. Though it was hidden carelessly, who would ever think of looking there?

This was more than hiding things in plain sight. It was a complete understanding of human psychology.

If he wanted to know whether Father Anthony had hidden something inside the bullet, there was only one way: remove the projectile and see for himself.

No sooner thought than done.

Zhou Sen fetched pliers and tweezers. For safety’s sake, he also got a mask and gloves. What if this bullet had not been prepared for him?

Once everything was ready, he clamped the bullet’s nose with the pliers and twisted hard. It was not very tight.

After twisting it back and forth a few times, the nose loosened and came right off.

No surprise was waiting for him.

Zhou Sen removed his mask, then held the shell under the lamp and examined it closely. It was clearly not compressed gunpowder.

Instead, it was a black rolled-up object, layered over and over, packed very tightly. There was no way to pull it out by hand.

Tweezers would be needed.

Carefully, Zhou Sen used the tweezers to pinch one end and slowly draw it out. It was film, wrapped in a thin waterproof layer of oiled paper.

He opened it and unfolded it slowly. To his surprise, it was a strip of miniature film about ten centimeters long.

This had to have been shot with a tiny camera used specifically by spies and intelligence agents. A normal camera could never have taken it.

Under the lamp, Zhou Sen studied it with a magnifying glass. The image was packed so densely that it felt as though thousands upon thousands of ants were crawling before his eyes.

And it was all numbers.

Was it Morse code?

Father Anthony was being far too cautious. He had even kept another trick in reserve. This did not look anything like his usual manner of doing things.

Zhou Sen was stumped.

Developing this kind of miniature film could not be done in an ordinary darkroom. It required specialized equipment and chemicals.

In Ice City, very few places had the technology and ability to do that besides the official Japanese facilities.

Of course, there was one place that certainly could: the Soviet Consulate General. Its darkroom absolutely had the necessary skills and equipment.

The problem was, could he get in?

There was also a clumsy alternative: compare the numbers on the film, make a simple device that could read them, and copy them out directly.

But the characters were so tiny and dense that if he copied even one incorrectly, he would have to start all over again. And he could not make any marks on the film itself.

Just thinking about it made his eyes ache. Was this even work a human being could do?

The mere thought made him uneasy.

Since Father Anthony could have the film developed like this, he must have a darkroom capable of doing the job.

Unless...

Sergin was a photojournalist. Zhou Sen remembered that he had a darkroom at home. Most photographers liked to develop their own pictures, and some reporters’ developing skills were even better than those of many professional labs.

But that darkroom was in Sergin’s house. Although the house had already been sealed by the precinct, it had not yet been returned to its original owner.

Still, they could hardly keep it sealed forever. Unless they bought it outright.

And if they bought it, their purpose would be far too obvious.

If the developing equipment in Sergin’s home really could recover the contents of the miniature film, it would still take time.

The Japanese side would never give him much time. They were usually very impatient. Those Morse codes certainly concealed a secret, though whether it was the so-called roster remained unknown.

And even if it was a roster, without the codebook to decipher it, it would be useless.

Zhou Sen rolled the film back up, wrapped it in the oiled paper again, stuffed it back into the shell, and reattached the bullet nose.

No, that was not right.

After thinking it over, he took a round from his own magazine, pried off its nose, emptied out the powder, cleaned the inside thoroughly, and dried it. Then he took the film back out, placed it inside this cartridge instead, and fitted the nose back on.

He removed the other rounds from the magazine, put this one at the very bottom, then reloaded the rest on top.

That way, as long as his gun stayed with him, the film would never be lost, and no one would ever imagine he had hidden anything inside.

He looked at the empty shell on the desk and thought: why not fabricate a “roster” of his own? Whether the shell contained a film strip or a paper roll, who besides him would know?

Duping Kangxi.

If the Japanese had discovered it earlier, they would already have had it developed and would be searching for the codebook to decipher the Morse. Why go to such lengths and pin their hopes on him?

No sooner thought than done.

He was far too familiar with Father Anthony’s handwriting. Copying it held no difficulty whatsoever; his original self could manage it easily enough.

Writing miniature characters was much simpler than transcribing the Morse code from the film, though it was rather hard on the eyes. The real challenge was inventing a false roster. Names were easy enough to make up, but the person’s workplace, position, and age all had to fit. If he made them up carelessly, the flaws would show at once.

He still needed to connect with the Soviets as soon as possible.

If they could provide a roster, there would be no problem. Even if the Japanese wanted to verify it, they would find nothing amiss.

For now, though, he had better put the bullet back. It was not safe to keep it within reach.

When he had finished all this, he heard the front door opening outside. It was Yilinna back from buying cigarettes. He knew her too well.

Whenever she went out for cigarettes, she always took the chance to browse around, and if she saw anything useful, she would buy it back. So she would not return in less than an hour or two.

It was almost dark by now, and she would have to come back and make dinner anyway.

“Master Vasiliev, I bought your cigarettes back for you,” Yilinna said as she knocked and came in, carrying a carton of Shuangfu cigarettes.

“Thank you.”

“Master Vasiliev, what would you like to eat tonight?”

“Make whatever you think best. I’m fine with anything,” Zhou Sen said after a moment’s thought.

The next day was the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, the Lantern Festival.

Spending a holiday alone was naturally rather lonely, and Zhou Sen was certainly not about to miss the chance to spend more time with Bai Yulan.

Once he went away for special training, three months might pass without any chance of returning.

Zhou Sen and Axiang made several kinds of glutinous rice balls: osmanthus and white sugar filling, pure black sesame filling, black sesame and peanut filling, sesame and walnut filling...

There were enough of these rice balls for everyone in Fragrant Pavilion to eat.

Of course, Zhou Sen still could not make a public appearance. The main credit still belonged to Axiang, who had been busy in the kitchen all afternoon; he had only mixed the fillings.

Eating sweet rice balls and admiring the round moon in the sky, one could not help wondering whether the Goddess Chang’e regretted stealing the elixir of immortality back then, leaving herself condemned to live alone in that cold, lonely Moon Palace.

“Have you made up your mind? You’re definitely going tomorrow?” Bai Yulan tilted her head and asked again.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid it’ll be awkward then?”

“Not with you there. Tomorrow I’ll just be your little attendant,” Zhou Sen said with a grin.

“I know Su Wenqing very well. Don’t let that outwardly righteous and honorable appearance fool you. He’s actually extremely narrow-minded. Once our relationship is officially made public, he will definitely come after you,” Bai Yulan said.

“Don’t worry. In the past he had a tacit understanding with Qin Laoqi, and the one who suffered was you—you were even forced to shut down Fragrant Pavilion. But now his biggest opponent is not me,” Zhou Sen said. “He has his heart set on the chairman’s seat of the Ice City General Chamber of Commerce, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. He has been preparing for years. If he can’t take the chair this time and lets Qin Laoqi win another term, he’ll have to wait five more years,” Bai Yulan said.

“So if we make our relationship public now, he may not necessarily move against me,” Zhou Sen said. “I’m just a small cop. If he goes after me, Qin Laoqi will surely use the matter to stir up public opinion. By then, Su Wenqing will face resistance from every policeman in Ice City, and the people behind Qin Laoqi will speak up too. Would the other members of the chamber really welcome a chairman who is so domineering and intolerant of others?”

“But as long as Su Wenqing has Japanese backing, couldn’t he still become chairman even if public opinion condemns him and the other chamber members do not support him?”

“As far as I know, the Japanese are backing Su Wenqing only to balance Qin Laoqi. Compared with Su Wenqing’s ambition and vigor, they actually prefer an older, weaker, and more obedient Qin Laoqi,” Zhou Sen said.

“That makes sense.”

“Yulan, how many votes in the chamber do you think you can influence?” Zhou Sen asked.

“If I were still in charge of the Bai family’s business, I could still influence some people. After all, we all worked together before. But now? It’s a miracle I haven’t been kicked out of the chamber yet. I’m afraid they won’t let me serve as a board member this term,” Bai Yulan said.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Learn to borrow momentum,” Zhou Sen said with a light laugh.

This game was already dangerous. Since it was dangerous, there was no point in holding back now. Winning or losing could be left to Heaven.

Zhou Sen had made up his mind. He would leave his own mark on this era.

Though I know writing it this way will make the story very slow to warm up, and many readers may leave me behind, I still hope to write about the inner struggle and transformation of an ordinary person. Perhaps my experience is not enough, and my pen too weak, so what I write may not be very good. But I still want to try. In middle age, I still want one chance to fly, even if I end up with broken wings in the end. At the very least, I can face myself without regret. Thank you to every book friend who has kept me company, steadfast and unfailing.