Far from the dust of battle on the western frontier and the cold snow of Manchuria, Nanjing, the new capital of the Republic, pulsed with a different kind of life. Under the shade of the plane trees planted along Zhongshan Avenue, shiny black Model T Fords and luxurious Buick sedans occasionally competed with traditional mule-drawn carts, their hoarse horns part of the bustling city symphony. Government officials in crisply pressed Western suits and foreign diplomats in top hats weaved in and out of Art Deco buildings, while in the narrow alleys behind them, life went on as it had for centuries.
But beneath the Kuomintang government's facade of modernity and optimism, the political air was thick with intrigue and distrust. The wounds of the recent Civil War had not yet fully healed. Factions within the party and the military remained suspicious of each other, and political maneuvering in backrooms was as dangerous as military maneuvering in the field. Every pledge of loyalty can hide personal ambition, and every smile can mask deadly intent.
In the heart of the city stands the imposing Ministry of Defense Building, a bureaucratic fortress where the fate of thousands of soldiers and the Republic's security are decided over mahogany desks and behind tightly closed doors. In an office in a less conspicuous wing, where the corridors are quieter and the lights are dimmer, Major Lee Junshan works late into the night. His only companions are the greenish glow of a Banker desk lamp, the mountains of paperwork, and the oppressive silence.
His once serene face is gaunt, and thin dark circles shadow his sharp eyes. Months of service in a special counterintelligence unit—a unit whose existence is kept secret even from many military brass—have sapped his energy. His job is to hunt ghosts. Ghosts wearing the same uniforms as his, sitting in neighboring offices, selling state secrets to enemies—whether rebel warlords, lurking foreign powers, or even rival political factions within the country.
That night, Lee Junshan stood in front of a large map of the Republic of China that hung on his office wall. The map was his battlefield. Red threads stretched between tiny nails crisscrossed the map, marking a series of suspicious incidents over the past six months. Each red thread was a failure, a betrayal.
One thread stretched off the coast of Shandong, where a naval operation to intercept arms smugglers had gone awry because their patrol schedule had mysteriously leaked. Another thread pointed to an ammunition factory in Wuhan, where a brilliant chief engineer, developing a new gunpowder formula, had been killed in a bizarre traffic "accident" the day before he was scheduled to present his findings. Several more threads marked supply lines ambushed with suspicious precision in Henan and Anhui. Too many coincidences to be dismissed as mere bad luck.
His investigations had led him to several mid-level officials in various departments. People with access to sensitive information, whose lifestyles had suddenly become extravagant, or who had hidden connections to foreign contacts. But every time he approached one of them, his targets seemed to vanish into thin air. A colonel in the logistics department was suddenly transferred to a remote post in Xinjiang for "routine rotation." A clerk in the strategic planning board suddenly resigned for "health reasons" and moved to Hong Kong. A lieutenant in the communications unit suffered a fatal "accident" while cleaning his gun.
The masterminds were clever, ruthless, and always one step ahead. They cleaned up their tracks neatly, cutting loose threads before Lee Junshan could pull them off. Frustration gnawed at him. He felt like he was trying to catch smoke with his hand.
His eyes shifted to two new reports on his desk. The first was an official report—one that he knew had been filtered and smoothed by bureaucracy—about "fierce fighting" on the western border involving Hu Yanzhen's unit. It mentioned "significant losses" but emphasized "strategic success in hampering the enemy's advance." Bullshit.
Lee Junshan knew Hu Yanzhen better than anyone. His friend might be reckless and arrogant, but he was a brilliant cavalry tactician. He was not the type of commander who would suffer "significant losses" unless he encountered overwhelming resistance or—and more likely—treachery.
The second report came from the North Manchurian garrison, noting "increased activity of small bandits" and "the situation is generally under control." This was in stark contrast to the personal letter he had received from He Xiang a few days earlier. He Xiang's letter, though carefully worded, implied a much greater threat, the involvement of foreign powers in arming separatist groups, and possible corruption at the local command level.
Lee Junshan took two new tacks from a small box on his desk, one dark blue, the other moss green. With slow, deliberate movements, he hammered the blue tack in Hu Yanzhen's area of operations in Gansu. Then he hammered the green tack near He Xiang's location in Heilongjiang.
He stepped back from the map. With the addition of the two new dots, a pattern began to form. An invisible spider web stretching from north to west, and all its threads seemed to converge on one point: Nanjing. The enemy was not just attacking the borders. They were controlling the battle from the heart of the Republic. His friends were not just fighting warlords or separatists. They were fighting the same ghosts he was hunting.
A cold isolation enveloped him. His top-secret assignment forced him to keep his distance, even from He Xiang and Hu Yanzhen. He could not share details of his investigation, for the slightest leak could jeopardize the entire operation and the lives of those involved. Their correspondence became more formal, less frequent. He missed their casual conversations, Hu Yanzhen's booming laughter, or his sharp strategic discussions with He Xiang. Now, he could only read censored reports about them, like reading about a stranger.
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out an old, worn photo album from their days at the Eternal Flame Military Academy. He opened a familiar page. There was a photo of the three of them, taken after a tough field exercise. Hu Yanzhen was smiling broadly, her arm roughly around Lee Junshan's shoulders. Lee Junshan himself looked stiff, as usual, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. And He Xiang (then still He Liangchen, disguised as a man) stood a little awkwardly beside them, but with a rare, faint, genuine smile on her face.
Simpler times, though full of challenges. Back then, their enemies were clear, and they fought side by side. Now, the enemies lurked in the shadows, perhaps even among their own comrades. She closed the album slowly. The memories were too painful now.
A soft knock on the door interrupted her reverie. A young soldier from her unit, Second Lieutenant Wang Wei, entered with a tray of hot tea and some biscuits.
"Major, you haven't had dinner yet," Lieutenant Wang said, his voice full of respect. He was one of the few who knew the true nature of Lee Junshan's work, a bright and loyal young man she had recruited straight from the academy.
"Thank you, Wang Wei," Lee Junshan replied, trying to smile faintly. "Just put it there."
Lieutenant Wang set the tray down, but did not leave immediately. He seemed hesitant. "Is something the matter, Major?" Lee Junshan asked.
"It may not be important, Major," Wang Wei said. "But I just reviewed the civil telegram traffic reports from the past few months, as you instructed. I found an anomaly. There was a significant increase in telegrams between some officials here and a trading company in Lanzhou, just before some supply line ambushes in the northwest occurred. And again, there was a similar pattern with a lumber company in Harbin before some 'bandit attacks' in Manchuria."
Lee Junshan's heart beat a little faster. This was something new. "What companies?"
"A company called the 'Great Wall Trading Company' in Lanzhou, and the 'Black Dragon Lumber Company' in Harbin. On the surface, they seem legitimate. But…"
"But they're facades," Lee Junshan interrupted, his mind racing. He walked over to the map, his eyes scanning the area around Hu Yanzhen and He Xiang's positions. "Good job, Wang Wei. Continue digging. Find out who owns these companies, who the board of directors are, where their money is flowing. Do it quietly." "Yes, Major." Lieutenant Wang saluted and left the room, closing the door carefully. Lee Junshan took a sip of his still-hot tea, but his thoughts were far away. Trading companies. It was a classic method of channeling funds and information. He looked at the map again. The red threads now had names attached to them. The spider web was beginning to become more visible, and at its center, he sensed the presence of a large, patient spider, lurking somewhere in the city.
He took another red tack and stuck it right in the center of Nanjing. He stared at the three main tacks: blue for Hu Yanzhen, green for He Xiang, and red for himself. Three points of a triangle, separated by vast distances, yet connected by a common enemy.
"No matter what," he murmured softly to the empty room, an oath made to the ghosts of his friends. "I will not let you two get dragged deeper into this mess on your own."
He turned off the light and stepped out of his office, into the Nanjing night that held more secrets than met the eye. The shadow of the ministry was growing thicker, and Lee Junshan knew he had to act quickly before it swallowed everything. His fight might not involve cannon blasts or cavalry charges, but the silent battles he fought in these corridors of power were no less deadly. And he was beginning to suspect that the roots of this betrayal might run deeper than he had ever imagined, perhaps even reaching back to the place that had once been a second home to the three of them: the Eternal Flame Military Academy.
__
Whispers in the Harbor
The tea Lieutenant Wang Wei had brought was getting cold, but Lee Junshan barely noticed. His mind was racing, fueled by the adrenaline of the small breakthrough that had just come to light. The "Great Wall Trading Company" in Lanzhou, the "Black Dragon Timber Company" in Harbin. These were no longer just random dots on his map; they were names, entities he could investigate. They were the first threads he could pull from this tangled web.
He sat back down at his desk, but the fatigue that had weighed him down had vanished, replaced by focused energy. He knew he had to move quickly. This network had proven its ability to cut loose threads the moment they felt threatened.
He pressed a button on the internal intercom on his desk. "Wang Wei, come back here."
A moment later, the young lieutenant reentered, his face full of anticipation.
"Lieutenant," Lee Junshan said, his voice sharp and commanding. "I want you to deploy our best surveillance team in Shanghai. Not the Nanjing team. Too risky. Use our cell unit there, led by 'Tea Seller'."
'Tea Seller' was the code name for one of Lee Junshan's most capable field agents, a man who could blend into the cosmopolitan Shanghai crowd without drawing attention.
"Their job," Lee Junshan continued, his eyes fixed on Wang Wei, making sure every word was understood, "is to keep an eye on the Mitsui Trading Company. I don't want passive surveillance from across the street. I want them close. I want to know what goes in and out of their warehouse at the Hongkou docks. I want the hull numbers of the trucks, the loading and unloading schedules, the faces of the guards. Every detail, no matter how small."
"That's very dangerous, Major," Wang Wei said with concern. "The Hongkou docks are de facto Japanese territory. It's controlled by the Imperial Navy and guarded by hired ronin who won't hesitate to kill."
"I know the risks," Lee Junshan replied coldly. "That's why I want the 'Tea Seller' to handle it. Tell him: the safety of the team is the top priority. Don't take any unnecessary risks. But we need proof. Concrete proof that we can take to General Zhang. Photos, documents, anything."
"Yes, Major. I'll send the order over the encrypted channel now."
"One more thing," Lee Junshan added as Wang Wei turned to leave. "Have our research team dig up everything they can about the two companies you found. 'Great Wall' and 'Black Dragon.' Financial statements, board of directors, political connections. I want to know who's behind those names."
"Yes, execute."
As Wang Wei left, Lee Junshan felt his first glimmer of hope in weeks. He was no longer simply reacting to enemy movements; he was now proactively attacking one of their nodes.
Shanghai – Three Days Later
The Hongkou Wharf in Shanghai was a different world. The air was salty and heavy, smelling of rotting fish, tar, and coal. The hoarse whistle of steamers mingled with the shouts of porters in various languages. Here, the Rising Sun flag fluttered proudly alongside the Republican flag, a constant reminder of the deepening Japanese influence in this bustling port city.
In a small noodle shop across the street from the main gate of the Mitsui Trading Company's Warehouse No. 7, two men sat hunched over their bowls. To anyone looking on, they were just two dockworkers taking a break. But their eyes, which occasionally glanced toward the warehouse, were watchful. One was the 'Tea Seller', a middle-aged man with an ordinary face. His companion was the 'Barber', a brisk young man who was an expert at sneaking around and taking pictures.
For two days, they had been watching. The warehouse was more heavily guarded than a military fortress. Ronin—masterless samurai who had become hired thugs—patrolled around with katana swords slung at their waists and often pistols hidden beneath their jackets. Loading and unloading operations were always carried out at night, under the bright light of searchlights, making surveillance from a distance difficult.
"We won't get anything out of here," whispered 'The Barber'. "We have to go inside."
"Major Lee's orders were not to take unnecessary risks," replied 'The Tea Seller'.
"The biggest risk is going back empty-handed," argued 'The Barber'. "I see a weak spot. A ventilation window at the back of the warehouse, near the drain.
The guards rarely patrol there because of the smell."
The 'Tea Seller' thought for a moment. He knew the young man before him was the best. He also knew how important this mission was to Major Lee. "Very well," he said finally. "Tonight. At the changing of the guard at two in the morning. I will create a diversion at the front gate. You have fifteen minutes. Go in, take whatever pictures you can, and get out. Don't be greedy."
That night, as thick fog began to creep in from the sea, their plan was put into action. At exactly 1:55 a.m., a small commotion broke out near the front gate. The 'Tea Seller', disguised as a drunkard, deliberately bumped into one of the guards. A scuffle ensued, drawing the attention of most of the patrol.
Amidst the chaos, the 'Barber' moved like a shadow along the back side of the warehouse. Nimbly, he climbed up the drainpipe, opened the rusty ventilation window grill, and slipped into the pitch-black darkness of the warehouse.
The smell of gunpowder and engine oil immediately assaulted him. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light coming in from the window. What he saw made him hold his breath. The warehouse was filled with wooden crates. Most were unmarked, but one nearby crate was slightly ajar, its cover broken off.
Using his miniature Leica camera, he began to take pictures. He photographed the stacks of crates, trying to capture the scale of the operation. Then, he approached the open crate. Inside, wrapped in oilcloth, were the components of a Type 10 machine gun. 92 Japan. He snapped a clear close-up photo. This was the proof they needed.
As he was about to leave, he heard voices from the corner of the warehouse. Two Japanese men, a man in a suit who looked like a manager and a military officer in uniform, were checking a ledger. He couldn't hear them clearly, but he managed to make out a few words: "…next shipment… for 'Black Dragon'… approval from 'Sakura'…"
Sakura. Black Dragon. 'The Barber's' heart was pounding. This was bigger than just arms smuggling. This was an organized conspiracy. He snapped one last photo of the two men from a distance, though it would probably be blurry.
His fifteen minutes were almost up. He slipped back into the ventilation window and out, disappearing into the Shanghai night fog.
Nanjing – Inside the Ministry
While his team was risking their lives in Shanghai, Lee Junshan was fighting a different battle in Nanjing. A bureaucratic war.
He was summoned to the office of Colonel General Yao, the head of the internal supervision department, an old man from a rival political faction who had never hidden his dislike of the units "secret" that operates outside the normal chain of command.
"Major Lee," General Yao greeted, matter-of-factly. "It's been six months since your special unit was formed. Its budget is not small. But until now, I have not seen a single report of substantial progress. Only requests for additional funds and vague reports of 'possible threats.'"
Lee Junshan stood straight, his face expressionless. "With all due respect, General, the nature of our work demands secrecy. Revealing details of ongoing operations could endanger the lives of my agents and tip off our targets."
"Or perhaps there is nothing to report?" General Yao quipped, his sly eyes boring into Lee Junshan. "Perhaps you are simply chasing shadows. I'm beginning to think your unit's budget would be better spent on buying some new cannons for the troops on the front lines."
Lee Junshan knew what was going on. Someone had whispered something into General Yao's ear. Someone from the enemy network who was annoyed by his investigation. They were trying to cut off his funding, to dismantle his unit from within.
"Give me one more month, General," Lee Junshan said calmly. "I guarantee you will get substantial results."
"One month, Major Lee," General Yao said, a faint smile on his lips. "Don't disappoint me."
Lee Junshan left the office with a chill. The walls were closing in. The enemy wasn't just outside; they were in the same corridors as him, wearing the same uniforms, and trying to trip him up with red tape.
That night, he received an encrypted message from the 'Tea Seller' in Shanghai. It was short: Operation successful. Evidence obtained. New name: Sakura. Return to Nanjing.
Lee Junshan read the message over and over again. Sakura. The same code name from the telegram. that he had investigated. So, this arms smuggling operation was directly connected to high-level agents in Nanjing. He now had a thread that connected the Shanghai docks directly to the heart of the government.
He felt a mixture of triumph and dread. He had found the evidence he needed to silence the likes of General Yao. But he also knew that by pulling this thread, he had made the spider at the center of the web aware of his presence.
As he pondered his next move, the telephone on his desk rang, its shrill voice piercing the silence of the night. He picked up the chandelier-style receiver.
"Lee..."
It was General Zhang's voice, hoarse and urgent.
"Junshan, there's something you must see. Come to the safe house on Xuanwu Street. Immediately. Do not use the official car."
Click. The connection was lost.
Lee Junshan hung up the receiver. His heart was pounding. Something big had happened. Something that had forced General Zhang to use their emergency communications channel. Perhaps the same breakthrough he had just had. Or perhaps something far worse.
He knew he had to leave. The fight in the ministry corridors and the whispers at the harbor were about to collide, and he had a feeling that tonight, some shadows would be forced into the light.
___
The Call on Xuanwu Street
The phone went silent, but its ringing still echoed in Lee Junshan's ears, a warning signal in the stillness of the night. A call from General Zhang was never a good sign. It always meant a crisis, a breakthrough, or imminent danger. And the order to come to the safe house on Xuanwu Street, without an official car, was confirmation that the threat level was extremely high.
Lee Junshan moved with calm efficiency. He wasted no time. He burned some of his latest investigative notes in a heavy metal ashtray, turning the classified papers into unreadable ashes. He locked other sensitive documents in a safe hidden behind a bookshelf. Finally, he took a Browning FN Model 1910 pistol from his desk drawer, checked its magazine, and tucked it into the back of his waistband, hidden beneath his jacket.
Before leaving, he paused in front of a large map on the wall. His eyes fell on the three main tacks: blue for Hu Yanzhen, green for He Xiang, and red for himself in Nanjing. The latest reports from Shanghai—the names "Sakura" and "Black Dragon"—had added a new layer to his mental map. He could now draw an imaginary thread from the Shanghai docks to the lumber companies in Manchuria and to the heart of government in Nanjing. The web was nearly complete.
He turned off the lights and stepped out of his office, leaving the fragile warmth for the Nanjing night. The air was damp and cold. Instead of heading for the official parking lot, he exited through a rarely used side door that led to a narrow alley. He did not hail a rickshaw or a rental car on the main street. Instead, he walked for several blocks, blending in with the sparse nighttime pedestrians, before slipping into a rickshaw waiting for him at a prearranged intersection, driven by one of his undercover agents.
The ride through Nanjing at night was tense. Lee Junshan did not look ahead, but constantly scanned the streets behind them through the small mirror he carried. Every car whose lights lingered too long behind them, every figure who lingered too long on a street corner, felt like a threat. He knew that after his team's success in Shanghai, the enemy network would be on high alert. Pulling the thread would let the spider know where to look.
The safe house on Xuanwu Street was located in a crowded old neighborhood, sandwiched between a traditional medicine shop and a pawnshop. From the outside, it was just a two-story, neglected house. No one would suspect that inside, the fate of the Republic was at stake.
After a complicated knocking code, the door was opened by an expressionless guard. Lee Junshan was led upstairs to a dimly lit study. General Zhang was waiting for him, standing by the window, looking out at the wet street. His face looked more tired than usual, and the smoke from his pipe filled the room with a strong scent of tobacco.
"You arrived safely," General Zhang said, without turning around. It was not a question, but a statement of relief.
"Good journey," Lee Junshan replied. "What is it, General? A message from Shanghai?"
"More than that," General Zhang said, finally turning around. In his hand, he held a small metal box. "Here."
He set the box on the table and opened it. Inside were several rolls of microfilm. "Our asset at the Japanese embassy managed to smuggle these out this morning. He nearly lost his life."
Lee Junshan's heart pounded. This was a treasure trove of intelligence. He and General Zhang bent over an old microfilm reader, and Lee Junshan began to carefully turn the reels. The blurry images came into focus, revealing copies of secret telegrams between the Japanese Foreign Ministry in Tokyo and a high-ranking agent in Nanjing.
The agent was known by only one code name: "Sakura."
The same name his agent had heard on the Shanghai docks.
As General Zhang began to translate the decoded telegrams, each word felt like a blow to Lee Junshan.
The first telegram: "Sakura reports: Operations on the western border are a great success. The enemy cavalry unit, the 'Desert Wolves,' are completely crippled. Advisor Oda sends his regards."
Hu Yanzhen. So it wasn't just a failed battle. It was a planned and celebrated operation. And the name "Oda" appeared, confirming the rumors.
The second telegram: "Sakura reports: Penetration in Manchuria via 'Black Dragon' assets is making significant progress. Supplies are running smoothly. Local assets in the military are proving effective in diverting attention."
He Xiang. Black Dragon Lumber Company. The local assets must be the corrupt officers who obstructed He Xiang's investigation.
The last telegram was the most chilling, making Lee Junshan's blood run cold. The third telegram: "Sakura advises: The time is right to activate sleeper cells in several major military academies, starting with Eternal Flame. The goal is long-term destabilization and recruitment of next-generation assets to ensure the Empire's future influence."
Eternal Flame. His alma mater. The place where he, Hu Yanzhen, and He Xiang were forged. The place that was supposed to be the bastion of the Republic's ideology was now a target for infiltration.
"They want to poison the well," Lee Junshan whispered, the horror in his voice clear.
"Worse," General Zhang said grimly. "They probably poisoned it long ago."
Lee Junshan's mind raced, connecting the dots at lightning speed. Eternal Flame Academy. Infiltration. Long-term influence. Suddenly, a name from his past, a face he had almost forgotten, resurfaced with surprising force.
"General," Lee Junshan said, his voice tense. "Oda. The Advisor Oda mentioned in the telegram. Could it be Lieutenant General Oda? His Chinese name is Wu Da."
General Zhang stared at him, his eyes narrowing. "Wu Da? That visiting instructor from Japan?"
"Yes," Lee Junshan continued. "He taught advanced tactics at Eternal Flame a few years ago. He was charismatic, brilliant, and admired by many cadets and staff. He built up a vast network of contacts. I always felt there was something wrong with him, but I never had any proof."
General Zhang's eyes widened. He hurried to a locked filing cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a thin, dusty folder. "Oda… Wu Da…" he muttered as he flipped through the pages. "Oh my God… here it is. An old intelligence report from our consulate in Mukden. Linking him to funding anti-Republican groups. We lost track of him after he was recalled to Tokyo."
The general slammed the folder onto the table. "So the ghost was hiding in plain sight all this time! He never really left. He just planted his seeds in the most fertile place: our own academy!"
A heavy silence fell over the room. Outside, rain began to fall, its drops tapping against the window. Lee Junshan stood in front of the map they had pinned to the wall of the safe house. He took a red string and with a steady hand, he connected Hu Yanzhen's blue dot in the west and He Xiang's green dot in the north. The two strings met at his red dot in Nanjing. Then, he pulled another string from Nanjing and stuck it right at the location of the Eternal Flame Military Academy.
The picture was now complete and terrifying.
Oda was the snake in the field, coordinating operations from border to border. "Sakura" was the ghost in the palace, the puppet master in Nanjing who provided protection, information, and direction. Companies like Mitsui, the Great Wall, and the Black Dragon were their logistical arteries. And the Eternal Flame Academy… was the breeding ground, where they raised the next generation of traitors.
It was all connected. Hu Yanzhen's failure. He Xiang's struggle. The arms smuggling in Shanghai. It was all part of a single, ambitious plan to destroy the Republic from within.
Lee Junshan, who had felt isolated in his silent war for months, now realized the shocking truth. He was not alone. His friends, unbeknownst to him, had been fighting on the front lines of the same secret war. They had seen the true face of the enemy, while he had only chased its shadow.
He clenched his fists. The vow he had made in his office a few hours ago now had new weight and urgency. "I will not let you two get dragged deeper into this mess on your own."
"General," he said, turning from the map, his eyes gleaming with cold determination. "We can no longer let them fight alone. They are our witnesses. They hold the evidence we need."
General Zhang nodded, his face determined. "You are right. They are too valuable and too exposed out there. The trap for Hu Yanzhen and the hunt for He Xiang are proof of that."
He picked up his pipe and pointed at the map. "It is time we unite these three rivers. It is time we call them back."
The decision had been made. In the middle of a wet night in Nanjing, in a safe house surrounded by shadows, the fates of the three friends would once again intertwine.
Lee Junshan's silent war will soon receive reinforcements and the storm that has been gathering on the distant horizon will now be drawn to the heart of the capital. The call back will be sent soon.
____
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*****to be continued chapter 4