Discharged from the Hospital, the Little Girl's Impressive Creation

Fang Yuan came to pick Shen Yan up on the day he was discharged from the hospital.

Under normal circumstances, Shen Yan still shouldn't have been putting weight on his leg. The doctor had repeatedly instructed him to rest at home for a few days and avoid exerting himself for the time being.

But a doctor's instructions had always been like the advice of an elder at home: the reasoning was easy enough to understand, but following every word to the letter would only make things difficult. Shen Yan didn't linger. Leaning on his crutch, he walked slowly to the hospital entrance, where the glaring sunlight struck his face and made him squint.

He drew a deep breath. The air carried a mixture of coal smoke, the fishy smell of the Huangpu River, and the aroma of pan-fried buns drifting from a roadside stall. It was the most vivid and genuine sense of everyday life in these turbulent times.

It had been a whole month.

"Captain, the car's over there." Fang Yuan raised a hand to point it out and reached over to steady him.

Shen Yan stopped and silently watched the pedestrians coming and going. Since the Hongkou bombing, countless Japanese military police had appeared on Shanghai's streets, with a guard every three steps and a sentry every five. Their gleaming bayonets radiated a biting chill, and the atmosphere throughout the city was several times more tense than it had been a month ago.

But ordinary people still had to carry on with their lives. A cigarette hawker called out in a low voice, not daring to draw too much attention. Rickshaw pullers hurried along, pumping their pedals. A few children played shuttlecock at the entrance to an alley, but before they had been at it long, their parents dragged them home by the ears, terrified they might get into trouble at such a dangerous time.

"Let's go," Shen Yan said mildly, looking away.

Fang Yuan supported him toward the car. As they passed a newsstand, Shen Yan stopped and bought a copy of that day's New Shen Bao.

A conspicuous headline dominated the front page: "Hongkou arsenal bombing solved, principal culprit of the Lone Wolf organization shot dead." Beside it was a photograph of several Japanese and puppet officials in suits standing before a row of bodies covered with white sheets. The dead men's faces were completely concealed, making their features impossible to see.

A line of smaller print beneath the headline proclaimed in lofty terms: "The Special Higher Police and military police took joint action in the early hours of yesterday, killing seven members of the Lone Wolf organization and seizing a quantity of American-made weapons."

Expressionless, Shen Yan folded the newspaper and tucked it into his pocket. His face showed no sign of emotion.

"Captain," Fang Yuan said in a low voice, sounding somewhat hesitant, "is what the paper says... true?"

Shen Yan turned to look at him. "Do you believe it?" he asked evenly.

Fang Yuan was silent for a moment, then shook his head gently. He already understood that this was nothing but a trick the Japanese were playing to fool themselves.

"Then why ask?" Shen Yan looked away and said no more.

Fang Yuan fell silent and carefully helped him into the car.

The Special Operations Squad's office was just as it had always been. The whitewashed walls were somewhat mottled, an old filing cabinet stood against one wall, and two desks were neatly arranged. The asparagus fern on the windowsill had long since withered, leaving only an empty flowerpot that gave the room a desolate air.

The moment Fang Yuan helped Shen Yan into the room, everyone inside rose to their feet in unison.

The fifteen new recruits and the nine remaining members of Li Kui's squad all stood straight, their eyes turning to him in unison, full of respect. Old Chen sat in a corner with a cup of hot tea in his hand. When he saw Shen Yan enter, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. He offered no pleasantries, merely nodding in silence.

Yamada stood at the front of the group, his ear still wrapped in gauze and one cheek still slightly swollen. Even so, he stood straight and looked full of vigor.

"Captain!" Yamada was the first to speak, his voice loud and full of heartfelt respect.

Shen Yan nodded slightly and swept his gaze over the room. "Everyone, sit down."

They did as he said, and the room fell completely silent.

"Thank you all for your hard work during this time." Shen Yan's voice wasn't loud, but it was steady and firm. "While I was away from the squad, Uncle Chen led you well. I've also heard that you've trained hard and never brought shame on the Special Operations Squad."

The new recruits straightened even further at his words, looking somewhat moved.

"Yamada." Shen Yan looked at him. "Has your injury healed?"

"Yes!" Yamada patted his chest, his voice ringing with conviction. "I'm ready to follow your orders and carry out a mission at any time, Captain!"

"What about Matsumoto and the other two?" Shen Yan asked casually.

"They're still recuperating in the hospital," Yamada answered at once. "Miyamoto can be discharged next week. Takahashi and Matsumoto were hurt more badly and need another half month to recover."

Shen Yan nodded and turned to Old Chen. "Uncle Chen, bring me the duty roster for this period. I'd like to take a look."

Old Chen took the document from a drawer and handed it over. Shen Yan quickly looked through it, then passed it back. "Starting tomorrow, I'll stay at the office and oversee the overall situation. Sorry to trouble you, but I'll still need you to lead the team on field assignments."

Old Chen took a sip of hot tea. Without saying much, he gave a solemn nod.

That afternoon, Shen Yan was alone in the office. He read the New Shen Bao carefully from beginning to end.

The report on the arsenal bombing occupied two full pages. The front page made much of the successful investigation, while the second was filled with fabricated details, lavishly praising the Special Higher Police for their "meticulous work." It falsely claimed that Lone Wolf members had resisted desperately during the predawn raid and that, after a fierce battle, seven had been killed and a large quantity of American-made firearms and explosives seized.

The entire report did not mention a single full name, referring to the dead only vaguely as "foreign nationals." Anyone with a discerning eye could see that it was a farce meant to fool the public.

Shen Yan put down the newspaper, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes in thought.

He recalled the look Kagesa Sadaaki had given him at the case meeting. That old fox had never been a fool. He hadn't agreed to the plan to frame the Jews because he truly believed they were Lone Wolf. With the military order to solve the case in seven days hanging over him, he had simply needed a way out, an explanation for the army and navy, and a way to keep his position.

But Kagesa Sadaaki had taken notice of him: a low-ranking Chinese policeman on crutches who had stepped forward and saved the empire from its predicament when a roomful of high-ranking Japanese officials had been at a loss. That was never a good thing. With such an important figure watching him, all that awaited him were endless probes and tests. The slightest mistake would spell utter ruin.

But within the danger, there was also a glimmer of hope.

Shen Yan opened his eyes and silently considered his situation. During the operation at the arsenal, he had carried away twenty heavy machine guns, fifty grenade launchers, over a thousand grenades, and more than ten thousand rounds of ammunition. Gold bars and antiques intercepted from the Shinshu Maru were still piled up in his space. All those supplies would provide a solid foundation for fighting the Japanese in the future.

As for the Jews who had become scapegoats, Shen Yan looked up at the ceiling without a ripple of emotion. The Japanese understood perfectly well that these people were merely sacrifices seized at random. In turbulent times, the strong preyed on the weak. Back then, the Sassoon Family had made an enormous fortune dumping opium in China, causing countless Chinese families to be destroyed and countless people to be displaced. Their blood debts were too numerous to list.

Now their fellow Jews had ended up adrift in Shanghai, with no country to rely on and neither power nor influence. They had conveniently become pieces the Japanese could use to quell anger and offer a perfunctory explanation, paying back a little of their predecessors' sins.

As a Chinese man operating undercover behind enemy lines, his heart was set on dealing with the Japanese invaders and protecting his compatriots. He had neither the time nor the need to spare a thought for these people. In occupied Shanghai, any needless pity for those unconnected to him would only become a weakness that would bring about his own downfall. He couldn't afford even the slightest bit of it.

Toward evening, Old Chen pushed open the door and came in carrying an insulated food container, a gentle smile on his face.

"Nian'an asked me to bring this to you. She said she made the red-braised pork herself to help you build up your strength." Old Chen set the container on the desk, his voice full of affection. "It was the little girl's first time cooking. I watched from the side, afraid she'd be so clumsy she'd set the kitchen on fire. I couldn't relax unless I kept an eye on her the whole time."

Shen Yan paused in surprise and reached out to open the lid.

The pieces of pork were unevenly cut, several were slightly scorched, and the sauce had reduced a little too far. It looked more than a full grade below Old Chen's cooking, but its appearance spoke of clumsy earnestness.

He picked up a piece with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth. It was a little salty, but the meat had been stewed until it was extremely tender, melting in his mouth and rich with the flavor of the sauce. He could taste the care that had gone into cooking it.

"How is it?" Old Chen asked with a smile.

"A little salty," Shen Yan said truthfully, though he didn't stop, picking up another piece.

Old Chen laughed. "I tried to stop her when she was putting in the salt, but I couldn't. That girl is stubborn. She stood at the stove without moving, stewing it for nearly two hours. I told her it was about done, but she insisted on cooking it until it was tender because she was afraid you wouldn't be able to chew it. Try the meat-it falls apart as soon as you pick it up with your chopsticks."

Shen Yan picked up another piece, one that had been charred black at the edge. He chewed it slowly a couple of times and said no more, but a faint warmth appeared in his eyes.

Old Chen sat down across from him and watched him eat. "Nian'an's been doing well lately," he said slowly. "She's attending a private school and has learned quite a few characters. Every day after school, she keeps asking when her godfather will be back. I told her it would be soon, so she's been counting the days on her fingers. Yesterday she counted up to twenty-seven, and today she was saying it should be twenty-eight."

A gentle smile touched Shen Yan's lips as he slowly finished the meat in his bowl. That crude but heartfelt warmth was a rare comfort in these turbulent times.

Watching him, Old Chen took the opportunity to bring something up. "That boy Fang Yuan has promise. He's quick-witted and nimble. While you were away, he handled all the squad's odd jobs properly and helped me a great deal."

"Make him an assistant instructor." Shen Yan put down his chopsticks, his tone firm. "Take him under your wing for a while and train him well. In time, let him take charge on his own."

Old Chen assented and stood. Carrying the empty food container, he went to the door, opened it, and left. His footsteps in the corridor gradually receded until they could no longer be heard.

Shen Yan sat in his chair, quietly picturing Nian'an crouched by the stove as she stewed the meat. Her short little legs couldn't reach the floor, so she had probably needed to stand on a stool. She must have hesitated for a long time over the salt, only to be unable to resist adding an extra pinch, then stayed by the pot for two hours, all so he could have a bite of tender meat.

Old Chen had spoken of his worries, but his voice had been full of affection for the little girl. Such simple warmth was especially precious in these turbulent times.

As night deepened, Shen Yan didn't go home. He planned to make do on the office sofa for the night, remaining at the squad's headquarters for a couple of days before going back to spend some proper time with the little girl once his injury had improved further.

Outside the window, the night was dark and everything was silent. A policeman on night patrol passed by with a flashlight, its beam flashing across the window before it was swallowed by the boundless darkness again.

Shen Yan focused and silently summoned the system. A pale blue panel instantly unfolded before his eyes, its clear text coming into view: [Current Good and Evil Points: 10800].

He carefully browsed the skill section of the shop. Upgraded Optical Camouflage, Advanced Combat Mastery, Sniping Mastery... all kinds of practical skills were available, but he wasn't in a hurry to redeem them. Good steel had to be used for the blade. He would save these points for the most crucial moment.

On the surface, the Hongkou arsenal bombing had been settled. The arsenal had been destroyed, the headquarters had collapsed, and the Japanese had lost face, yet they had hurriedly closed the case by rounding up scapegoats. Kagesa Sadaaki had returned to Tokyo to report on his duties, and Kuroiwa Masao had kept his position for the time being. Everything seemed to have returned to calm.

But Shen Yan understood better than anyone that this was only an appearance. The real undercurrents had only just begun to stir, and the road ahead would only become more perilous.