Shiliupu Wharf.
The few streetlights on the wharf blurred into dim yellow halos in the fog, illuminating only a few feet of ground underfoot.
Engines hummed, drawing closer from the distance as several heavy trucks turned off East Jinling Road.
Their main headlights were off, with only two small lights casting a hazy glow over the road ahead.
A Japanese-made Isuzu heavy truck led the way, followed by others of the same model. Thick military tarpaulins covered their beds, bulging with what were clearly full loads.
Inside the lead truck's cab, Chen Fan sat in the passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the fog ahead.
Beside him, Yamada held the steering wheel steady, keeping the truck at walking speed, neither fast nor slow.
All the way from Hongkou to Shiliupu, the three trucks had traveled in single file, as quiet as three birds with their wings folded.
"We're almost there," Chen Fan said in a low voice.
Yamada nodded. He had already spotted the crooked utility pole at the wharf entrance, with a strip of ragged red cloth wrapped around it.
As commander of the Anti-Smuggling Squadron at Military Police Headquarters, he knew a fair amount about the rules of Shanghai's underworld. Red cloth markers like this generally meant the stretch of road was safe, with no hidden lookouts around.
The convoy slowly pulled to a stop before a warehouse deep inside the wharf. Its doors stood open, the interior pitch-black, with no one having turned on the lights yet.
The three heavy trucks cut their engines. Chen Fan pushed open the door and jumped down, tugged at his overcoat collar, and scanned his surroundings.
At this hour, the warehouse was silent. Apart from their three trucks, there was not a soul in sight.
Chen Fan sent someone to flip the main switch and turn on the warehouse lights.
Before long, several bulbs hanging beneath the warehouse's vaulted roof lit up one after another.
Chen Fan said to Brother Bao, who had jumped down from the truck bed behind him, "Brother Bao, send someone to ask Second Master Cao to bring his men over."
Following Chen Fan's instructions, Brother Bao called over a nimble member of his crew and gave him a few instructions. The man nodded repeatedly, then ducked into the fog, his footsteps so light they were almost inaudible.
Chen Fan walked over to the cab and knocked twice on the door, his tone carrying a measure of respect. "Mr. Yamada, thank you for your hard work."
"Chen-san," Yamada said. His Chinese was quite good; despite his heavy accent, basic communication was no problem. "You don't have much time. Unload the goods as quickly as possible!"
"Hai," Chen Fan replied in Japanese. "Please rest assured, Mr. Yamada. I've already made the arrangements. Your schedule won't be affected!"
Yamada nodded without asking anything else. He simply took a white soft pack of Sakura Brand cigarettes from inside his coat, pulled one out, put it between his lips, and lit it!
These cigarettes would later become Soft Peace, with a distinct milky fragrance in the smoke...
Yamada took a drag and slowly exhaled, the smoke gathering into a white cloud in the cold air!
"Chen-san," Yamada said in Japanese, "it's rare to see someone from China bold enough to take our goods!"
"You're quite something!"
Chen Fan smiled. "Mr. Yamada, I have to eat too!"
"Chinese or Japanese, everyone has to eat!"
"When you're hungry, those merchants only care whether you have money in your hand. They won't care whether you're spending yen or fabi!"
Yamada paused, then suddenly laughed. "Chen-san, you have a very clear-eyed view of life..."
Chen Fan shrugged. "Mr. Yamada, once you've gone hungry, you'll know. Put two little yellow croakers in front of you, and you won't be able to tell which belongs to a Chinese person and which belongs to a Japanese person!"
"All you'll know is that those two little yellow croakers can fill your stomach..."
Yamada nodded repeatedly. "Hahaha, interesting, interesting."
As the two spoke, a sudden patter of footsteps came through the fog, drawing closer.
Then Cao Bin's face, with its thick eyebrows and large eyes, emerged from the fog. Twenty or thirty men followed him, their steps light and hurried, yet making little noise.
Chen Fan noticed that each man held a small bamboo tally about two inches long between his lips.
The bamboo sticks had been painted red and sharpened at one end, and everyone held one in his mouth.
This was a rule handed down by the older generation in Shanghai's smuggling trade. Holding a tally in your mouth while working meant that even if you wanted to speak, you could only make muffled "mmph" sounds.
Of course, this thing worked not only on people, but also on vicious dogs that barked indiscriminately!
Anyone who had raised dogs in the countryside knew that dogs loved chasing people. Tie a stick around a dog's neck, and it would hit the dog as it ran, making it impossible to run fast!
But if it wanted to run fast, it had to bite down on the stick, which kept it from barking!
The same applied to these smuggling jobs. When moving goods at night, the greatest fear was someone shouting and drawing the night patrol police or plainclothes officers over.
A little bamboo tally worked better than any gesture for silence.
Cao Bin walked up to Chen Fan, glanced at Yamada, then at the three tarpaulin-covered trucks. He asked nothing, only saying to Chen Fan, "The goods are here, and my men are ready. How do we move them?"
"Second Brother, just as we agreed before. Ten handcarts, a hundred bolts of cloth on each. Three trips to move it all!"
After hearing this, Cao Bin nodded, turned around, and made several gestures to the men behind him.
The men understood one another well. At Cao Bin's signals, they spread out and lined up behind the heavy trucks.
With the tallies in their mouths, none of them spoke. Only an occasional muffled breath broke the silence.
The unloading went quickly. The laborers Cao Bin had brought were all experienced hands who had spent half their lives working on the wharf. They knew how to carry and stack every kind of cargo, handling it with practiced ease...
Yamada stood at the warehouse entrance watching the entire time. He watched closely, his gaze sweeping over the laborers and occasionally lingering on someone's face.
But he found nothing unusual. From start to finish, not one of the laborers gave Yamada a second glance. They kept their heads down as they moved the goods, their movements as mechanical as clockwork.
The men worked deftly. In about the time it took to eat a meal, a thousand bolts of cloth were neatly stacked on the handcarts arranged in two rows!
Cao Bin then turned and waved to his men. The twenty-odd men dispersed into the fog like an ebbing tide, their footsteps soon disappearing into the depths of the wharf.
The warehouse grew much quieter. Yamada said approvingly, "Chen-san, you're very professional!"
"You flatter me, Mr. Yamada. These are just the basics, hardly professional!" Chen Fan said humbly. "I hope you'll continue to look after me in the future, Mr. Yamada!"
Yamada patted Chen Fan on the shoulder. "Chen-san, you're quite something."
"Seeing how well you've organized everything, I know you must have made thorough preparations for this deal."
"We soldiers of the Empire of Japan are particularly fond of people who are meticulous in their work."
"Because people like that generally aren't likely to cause us trouble."
"If you want to keep doing business with us, that's no problem."
"But there's one more thing I need to remind you of."
"Doing business is like being a person. You have to show others."
"With your current setup, one deal is no problem. But if you want this to last, think it over yourself. What will you do to convince us of your capabilities?"