Awakening of Insects

The torrential rain showed no sign of letting up, nor of weakening. Bean-sized drops battered the windows with a rapid patter, while lightning occasionally split the distant sky and thunder rumbled on.

Another clap of thunder shook the window frame. In the dark study, only a desk lamp cast its dim yellow light. Lu Boda, secretary of Shanghai's underground Party organization, set down a sheet covered in vigorous handwriting and signed "Pei Min," then took a roll of film from the small box, spread it out beneath the lamp, and adjusted the angle.

The film showed Xia Changuo lying dead on the sofa, the pool of blood seeming to spill out through the film itself. The row of corpses laid out in the living room proved that those Japanese agents had been buried alongside Xia Changuo.

He let out a long sigh, shook his head helplessly, set down the film, and lit a cigarette with a kerosene lighter. Then he picked up the sheet filled with information and held it close to the flame. Instantly, the fire climbed from the bottom to the top.

He placed the burning paper in the ashtray on the desk and watched it slowly burn to nothing. Breathing in the acrid smell of scorched paper, he exhaled smoke as his thoughts drifted.

He knew Xia Changuo. Due to the April 12 Incident eleven years ago, the struggles of recent years, and the earlier Battle of Shanghai, the number of people in Shanghai's underground Party organization had risen and fallen—from over a thousand to dozens, then back to several hundred. Even now, the entire Shanghai underground Party organization numbered only a few hundred people. Under such circumstances, how could he not know an old Party member like Xia Changuo?

He had been a battle-tested soldier. For