I Didn't Want To Either, but He Called Me Comrade!

Su Wan thought she might die here today.

The gunshot wound in her left arm burned, blood running down past her elbow. Every step felt like someone was rubbing salt into the wound. But she didn't dare stop, and she couldn't-three comrades had died getting the intelligence she carried out, and it must never fall into enemy hands.

The footsteps of her pursuers drew closer, Japanese shouts ringing out one after another.

She turned into a narrow alley and had barely taken a few steps when she skidded to a halt-

Someone was standing in the alley.

Someone dressed in black leather.

A puppet policeman.

Su Wan's face went deathly pale.

It was over.

Trapped from both sides, with no way out.

She instinctively stepped back, her right hand clamped tight over the cloth bundle in her arms. Her whole body tensed, and a look of resolve flashed in her eyes-if there was no other way, she would fight. The intelligence could be destroyed, but she must never let them take her alive.

Then she saw the puppet policeman raise his head.

He had a very young face, looking no more than twenty or so. His eyes held none of the cruelty or lust she had expected, but rather a... complexity she couldn't quite describe.

As though he were sizing her up, or confirming something.

The next second, he suddenly strode toward her.

Su Wan instinctively kicked at him-she couldn't fight, but she still had the instinct to struggle for her life.

Her kick missed.

He sidestepped it, moving with a speed and precision unlike an ordinary patrolman. Before she could react, one hand covered her mouth, cutting off her startled cry. His other hand caught her arm and gently pressed her against the wall.

"Don't make a sound."

A low voice sounded by her ear, the words coming fast but steady and firm.

"I'm not your enemy. If you want to live, hide in the abandoned house behind me, now."

Su Wan stared at him wide-eyed, her face full of disbelief.

A puppet policeman was saving her?

Was he crazy?

But his gaze was so certain that she couldn't help... wanting to believe him.

Especially that last word-

"Comrade."

Su Wan froze.

Comrade?

He called me comrade?

By the time she came to her senses, he had pushed her into the abandoned house behind him. The wooden door closed softly behind her, shutting out the light.

Su Wan stood in the dim main room, her heart pounding so hard it nearly leaped into her throat.

That puppet policeman... was an undercover comrade?

No, that wasn't right. He wore black leather. If he was a comrade, how could he show himself openly?

But if he wasn't a comrade, why had he saved her?

As thoughts raced through her head, hurried footsteps sounded outside the door.

Then came shouts in Japanese.

Su Wan held her breath and peered through a crack in the door-

A group of Japanese agents in suits had chased her into the alley.

Their leader stood at the entrance, his gaze sweeping the surroundings with a sinister look.

Su Wan's heart rose into her throat.

Then she saw the puppet policeman slowly emerge from deeper in the alley.

He clutched his head, his face twisted in pain, his unsteady steps making him look ready to collapse at any moment. When he saw the agents, his eyes lit up. He stumbled over to them, his voice fawning as he sought their favor:

"Taijun! The woman from the Eighth Route Army ran that way! I tried to catch her just now, but she accidentally hurt me..."

The agent in charge looked at his 1.78-meter frame, lost for words, then snorted coldly.

"Useless!"

He glanced at the blood on Shen Yan's head and on the ground-it had come from a run-in with an ox and had nothing to do with the woman from the Eighth Route Army-and waved his hand.

"After her!"

The group charged toward the alley entrance in a rush.

Su Wan covered her mouth, watching the agents run past the door of the abandoned house and the puppet policeman continue to lie on the ground, whimpering and groaning. Her mind went blank.

He really had... saved her.

And his acting was unbelievably good.

A full quarter of an hour passed before the alley fell completely silent.

Only then did the puppet policeman leisurely get up and brush the dust off his clothes.

He walked over to the door of the abandoned house. Without opening it, he simply said in a low voice:

"Stay hidden for now. Leave after dark."

A small medicine bottle was pushed through the crack in the door.

"This is medicine for your wound. Just drink it. I'm leaving now."

His footsteps gradually faded away.

Su Wan stood where she was, staring at the little red bottle in her hand. Her eyes suddenly began to sting.

She looked down at her wound, which was still bleeding, gritted her teeth, and tipped her head back to drink the medicine.

The next second, her eyes widened.

The gunshot wound on her left arm was closing and scabbing over before her eyes. After a tingling sensation, the pain vanished entirely, as though she had never been wounded.

Su Wan was a steadfast materialist, but the sight before her was completely beyond her understanding.

She stared blankly at her arm, restored to its original state, and it took her a long time to recover.

That young patrolman...

Was he really a comrade?

No, that wasn't right.

Su Wan suddenly remembered what a senior member of the organization had once said: the revolutionary cause had people working in the open and in secret, fighters who stood on the front lines and sharp blades hidden in the shadows.

She didn't know whom that young patrolman worked for, or what organization stood behind him.

But she knew one thing-

In these man-eating troubled times, someone had been willing to risk his life to save a complete stranger, simply because she was a "comrade."

Su Wan gripped the little medicine bottle tightly, the light in her eyes growing ever more resolute.

She murmured softly:

"Even immortals are our comrades... The revolution will surely triumph."

Shen Yan had no idea that Su Wan had already placed him among the "immortals."

He was busy enjoying the show.

At the alley entrance, his immediate superior, Wang Panghai, was being slapped repeatedly by a Japanese agent.

The crisp smack, smack, smack could be heard from half a street away. Wang Panghai's fat face had swollen up like a ball of risen dough, yet he still had to bow and scrape with a smile.

Shen Yan pinched his thigh and recalled every sad thing that had ever happened to him before he barely managed to suppress the smile tugging at his lips.

The agent spotted him at once and waved him over.

Shen Yan immediately put on a fearful, deferential expression and jogged over.

"You, what happened just now?" the agent asked, eyeing him sidelong.

"Reporting to you, Taijun! I tried to stop that woman from the Eighth Route Army, but she injured my head, and I couldn't stop her..." Shen Yan pointed at the blood on his head, his face full of grievance.

The agent looked at him, then at Wang Panghai, and snorted.

"You're all useless! But at least he had the courage to fight the enemy! And you? What can you do besides drink and chase women? Wang-san, you should take a good hard look at yourself!"

Wang Panghai's face was swollen and dark, and he cursed inwardly:

I'm worse than him?! How many years have I been a Chinese traitor? He's only been on the job a few days! And you blame me for visiting brothels? When did you ever refuse when I invited you?! You even fucking made me pay!

But he didn't dare say a single word of it aloud.

He could only keep bowing and scraping, his face wreathed in smiles.

The puppet police chief stepped in to smooth things over, and only then did the agent snort and lead his men away.

Wang Panghai held his numb, fat face, wanting to cry but having no tears-he would probably have to double this month's tribute to the chief.

He turned to take his anger out on Shen Yan, only to find that the boy had long since slipped away without a trace.

"Fuck! I'll make sure to do you in tomorrow!"

Wang Panghai spat hard on the ground, then set off for Yicui House.

Little Yingge was the considerate one. She would only feel sorry for her giegie.

Shen Yan followed the route in his memories toward the original owner's lodgings.

By now, the streets of Shanghai had long lost their former bustle. The gloomy sky hung low like a heavy black cloth. Street vendors had packed up early, and a few scattered general stores had lit their dim yellow oil lamps, their light flickering across the mottled shikumen walls.

Puppet policemen in black leather, Japanese invaders with bayonets at their sides, and ordinary people hurrying along with their heads down passed one another without daring to meet anyone's eyes.

The entire occupied city was steeped in a stifling, oppressive silence.

Shen Yan pulled his worn puppet police uniform closer around himself. The rough fabric chafed his neck, and it was still stained with dust and blood from when he had fallen earlier. He kept his head down and deliberately lightened his steps, avoiding the Japanese patrols on the main roads before turning into a narrow, cramped lane.

Deep in the lane stood the original owner's lodgings-a garret room of less than ten square meters.

The wooden stairs creaked underfoot and swayed badly with every step as he climbed. A thick layer of dust coated the banister, blackening his hand at a touch. Kerosene fumes, mildew, and the faint smell of the neighboring household's cooking mingled in the stairwell, choking enough to make him frown.

He pushed open the wooden door, its paint entirely peeled away, and a chill, damp smell hit him.

The room was pitifully small, with barely enough space for a plank bed, a battered wooden table with a brick propping up one missing leg, and an old wooden chest with no bottom. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and the uneven floor was bare earth, without so much as a single tile. The only small window faced mostly onto the high wall next door, making it hard for light to enter even during the day. Now it was so dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

Shen Yan closed the door behind him, shutting out the clamor of the troubled world outside, and finally let out a breath.

He struck a match in the dark and lit the half-burned candle on the table. Its feeble flame barely illuminated the tiny space-a few yellowed old newspapers were pasted to the wall, their corners curling and softened by damp. Apart from that, the room was bare.

In a chipped porcelain bowl on the table was half a bowl of thin porridge left from the morning, along with a small dish of pickles.

These were all the possessions the original Shen Yan had in Shanghai.

A low-ranking puppet policeman with no one to rely on, he earned a meager wage that barely kept him fed, and his lodgings were little better than a slum.

Shen Yan walked over and sat on the plank bed. The boards were painfully hard, and the thin mattress laid over them was damp and cold, giving off a musty smell.

He raised a hand to the back of his head. The little red bottle had completely healed the wound, leaving no trace of pain.

Looking around this crude, dilapidated little nest that could nevertheless shelter him from the elements for now, Shen Yan felt a jumble of emotions.

In his previous life, he had been a modern wage slave crammed into a rented room, working overtime and competing every day while struggling to pay his mortgage and car loan.

In this life, his soul had crossed into an occupied area of Republican-era China, where he had become a puppet policeman reviled by all.

His only consolation was the system in his mind.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, and the pale blue transparent panel appeared once more:

[Host]: Shen Yan

[Identity]: Shanghai puppet police patrolman (low-ranking)

[Physique]: 6 (restored to the level of an ordinary person)

[Spiritual power]: 9

[Good and Evil Points]: 0

[Current skill]: Heavenly Eye Insight

[Portable Space]: 1 cubic meter (Worker's Little Red Bottle ×2, Brick That Defies Martial Ethics ×1)

[Good and Evil Store]: Not unlocked

Shen Yan stared at the conspicuous "0" on the panel and thought again of the "-26" above Wang Panghai's head.

He reached into the space, pulled out the brick, and weighed it in his hand.

Feeling its cold, hard surface, Shen Yan's eyes flashed coldly.

Wang Panghai.

Good and Evil Points: -26.

And that overbearing face of his, relying on others' power to bully people.

Tonight, he would make that traitorous lackey his first target with the system.

The candle gave a crackle, and a spark landed on the table.

Shen Yan rose, walked to the little window, and lifted the worn curtain to look out at the deepening night.

In the distance, Japanese searchlights cut through the night sky, sweeping back and forth over the concession. Occasional shrill curses and gunshots rang out, reminding him again and again-this was no time of peace, but a troubled age that devoured people without leaving a trace.

Shen Yan slowly tightened his grip on the brick.

Since he was here, he would make the best of it.

He turned and blew out the candle, plunging the room back into darkness.

He slowly lay down to rest and gather his strength for the coming operation.