Chapter 002 The Resolution of the Initial Crisis

Aoki Seigen hailed from Miyazaki Prefecture in this country, so his Japanese was impeccable. Thanks to his grandfather’s influence, his Chinese was also excellent. However, he was a bit of a hothead by nature, withdrawn and not fond of conversation.

“Yoshi, Miyazaki Prefecture, my hometown!”

“Alright, Miyazaki Prefecture, my fellow townsman!”

Nagatomoto Tsugio, the head of the Military Police Department, already had a plan forming in his mind. This was going to be simple.

When he questioned the man in the detention cell, if the person could speak fluent Japanese and describe the details of life in Miyazaki Prefecture, then he would surely be Aoki Seigen. As for the other missing man—whether he had been killed by Aoki or taken elsewhere—Nagatomoto didn’t care. He was just another Chinese; did it matter? People vanished mysteriously in Tokyo every day.

But if the man could barely speak Japanese, then he was certainly the Chinese, Chen Jiehua. In that case, he would have to be harshly interrogated to reveal Aoki’s whereabouts, and if he had murdered Aoki, he would face military justice!

With a metallic clang, the iron door of the detention cell swung open, and a shaft of harsh sunlight pierced inside. Aoki Seigen—now in reality Chen Jiehua—had just straightened his clothes and was lying on the bed, quietly practicing the Miyazaki regional accent using Aoki’s memories.

The sudden light stung his eyes, and Chen Jiehua shielded them with his arm, glancing up to see two men entering.

The man in front was familiar—Aoki had seen him before. He was the head of the Military Police Department.

At the same time, the system displayed character information in the upper left of Chen Jiehua’s vision: Nagatomoto Tsugio, from Miyazaki Prefecture, Head of the Military Police Department.

The man behind was not tagged by the system, but based on his attire, he was a military police officer assigned to school duty—just a basic NPC.

“Chen Jiehua, come with us to the Military Police Department!”

“I am Aoki Seigen! Chen Jiehua left after we fought!” Chen Jiehua sat up and replied in Japanese, “I am Aoki Seigen! Chen Jiehua left after we had a fight!” (Switching entirely to Chinese for convenience and to avoid padding the word count.)

His Japanese was accurate, though not entirely fluent, but it carried the distinct rural accent of southern Kyushu, Miyazaki Prefecture.

After speaking, Chen Jiehua (as Aoki Seigen) ignored the two men who had entered. The system reminded him to maintain the persona of someone taciturn and withdrawn.

“I hear your Kyushu accent, Aoki-kun. Are you from Kumamoto?” Nagatomoto’s question, prompted by Chen Jiehua’s less-than-fluent Japanese, was laced with suspicion.

Although the accent confirmed that this was likely Aoki Seigen from Miyazaki, why was his Japanese not quite fluent?

Nagatomoto was cunning. He decided to probe further, engaging in more conversation to be sure.

But Chen Jiehua did not reply.

In that split second, Chen Jiehua realized that as the head of the Military Police Department, Nagatomoto must have already reviewed their files or at least inquired among the students. He certainly knew that Aoki was from Miyazaki. If he still asked such a question, it was a deliberate trap—one set with malice.

Although both Miyazaki and Kumamoto were in Kyushu and neighboring prefectures, since the days of the shogunate, Kumamoto had been known as a gathering place for the destitute and unruly. Even now, people from Kumamoto were reluctant to admit their origins. Had Chen Jiehua admitted it, he would have fallen right into the trap.

In fact, at this point, any answer would have been wrong. Nagatomoto knew Aoki Seigen’s withdrawn nature—a person like that would not answer every question.

So, silence was the best response.

After a rapid analysis in his mind, Chen Jiehua chose not to reply.

Nagatomoto, receiving no response, was not displeased; on the contrary, he felt reassured. The temperament of the man before him matched the profile.

The military police officer behind him, however, felt the need to assert himself. “The section chief is speaking to you! Isn’t it rude not to answer?”

Chen Jiehua shot him a glare, then simply turned over and lay down again, facing the wall and presenting his back to the two men.

The officer was about to react when Nagatomoto said, “You, wait outside.”

After the officer left, Nagatomoto approached the bed and patted Chen Jiehua on the back, speaking in heavily accented Miyazaki dialect, “I know you’re from Miyazaki, Aoki-kun. I was testing you just now. I’m your fellow countryman. Your confinement is over!”

“In the future, if you need help at school, come to the Military Police Department.”

Though his back was turned, Chen Jiehua’s mind was still racing—was there a trap in Nagatomoto’s words? In this scenario, what reaction would be expected from someone withdrawn and taciturn?

To remain silent now would be more than just being withdrawn—it would seem as if there was something wrong with his mind or person. But someone with such issues could never have survived two years of preparatory military training and passed the entrance exams for the infantry course. Clearly, silence would not do.

So, before Nagatomoto even finished speaking, Chen Jiehua immediately sat up, turning to the head of the Military Police with eyes full of emotion.

Searching Aoki Seigen’s memories, he was certain there were no other Miyazaki natives in the 17th infantry course.

Meeting a fellow countryman at school, especially one who was the head of the Military Police Department, was cause for celebration—even if this was not the time for drinks, excitement without words was the most reasonable and fitting response.

Chen Jiehua’s reaction once again won Nagatomoto’s approval.

There is a saying: when countrymen meet, tears fill their eyes.

Though the boy still said nothing, the emotion was unmistakable. The persona was now a perfect fit.

Nagatomoto cheerfully patted Chen Jiehua on the shoulder and left the cell.

He had passed the test; his confinement was over.

Chen Jiehua did not rush to leave. Instead, he lay back on the bed, contemplating his next steps. Every move here was fraught with danger; it was better to think things through before stepping out.

First of all, as a soul born under the red flag and a party member, his ultimate goal was to return home. His heart belonged to the Party. What year was it now? The Party should have already been founded back home.

But for now, he was deep behind enemy lines, at the very heart of the enemy’s stronghold. Carelessness was not an option—the Japanese army was not the bumbling force depicted in later anti-Japanese dramas; their reasoning and analytical skills were sharp.

Here, caution and vigilance were essential—recklessness would not do. A moment’s boldness might be fine, but constant recklessness would guarantee an early end.

To survive this era, and to serve his nation and people in the future, he would follow the opening set by the author: start as a novice, use his current identity, cultivate relationships carefully, and learn to work as a spy hidden in the enemy’s lair. It was entirely possible.

Stepping out of here would mark a new chapter.

The first crisis after Chen Jiehua’s soul transmigration had been averted, at least for now.