The Scavenger on Vacation

Three days after the case closed, Shen Yan resumed the boring routine of clocking in for work.

As he walked into the Special Operations Squad offices, the patrol officers in the corridor nodded and greeted him. Some called out, "Morning, Captain," while others asked, "Captain Shen, are you feeling better?" He answered each of them at an unhurried pace. He pushed open the office door and found a new asparagus fern on the windowsill, bright green, its soil still damp. A freshly brewed cup of tea sat steaming on his desk.

He sat down in his chair and stretched out his legs. He hadn't slept through a single night in half a month. Every day, he had either been investigating the case or making arrangements, while his clone had been busy as well. Now that the case was closed and he could finally relax, even his bones ached.

Fang Yuan stood beside the desk, a document in his hand.

"Captain, this is the duty roster for the week. Old Chen asked you to look it over first."

Shen Yan took it, flipped through two pages, and handed it back. "Do it the way Old Chen arranged it. He has more experience than I do."

Fang Yuan nodded and turned to leave.

"Fang Yuan." Shen Yan stopped him. "Nothing much happened these past few days, did it?"

"Nothing major." Fang Yuan thought for a moment. "Yamada and the others have been asking every day when you'd be back. They said they wanted to treat you to a meal, to thank you for saving their lives when they were chasing Lone Wolf last time."

Shen Yan didn't answer. He picked up his teacup and took a sip. That had been months ago, but Yamada and the others still remembered it.

Fang Yuan stood there for a while. Seeing that Shen Yan had no intention of asking anything else, he turned and left.

The moment the door closed, Shen Yan leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. In his space, two thousand rifles, forty heavy machine guns, three thousand grenades, four hundred land mines, and a hundred grenade launchers were neatly stacked. Gold bars and antiques were piled on the other side, and the gold bars still bore the Bank of Japan's stamp. He couldn't leave these things sitting there forever; he had to deal with them quickly. The weapons had to go to people who could use them, the gold bars had to be exchanged for dollars or melted down into small gold bars, and the antiques-he would keep those. Perhaps he might have another chance to transmigrate back in the future.

He picked up the telephone on his desk and dialed a number. It rang three times before the call connected. No one spoke on the other end.

"Seven tonight, the usual place," Shen Yan said.

There was silence on the other end for two seconds, and then the call disconnected.

He put down the phone, picked up his teacup, and slowly finished his tea.

That afternoon, Yamada stood outside Shen Yan's office and knocked three times.

"Come in." Shen Yan didn't look up from the document he was reading.

Yamada entered and stood at attention. A piece of his left ear was missing. The scar was dark red, a different color from the tanned skin beside it, and rather striking.

"Captain, Matsumoto and the other two have been discharged from the hospital and returned to the squad. Are you free this Friday evening? A few of us would like to treat you to a meal."

Shen Yan looked up and glanced at him.

"There's no need for a meal. The squad has its rules."

Yamada stood there for a moment, then lowered his head. "Captain, we used to... have our reservations about you. When we were chasing the Scavenger, you could have run off on your own, but you stood in front of us instead. We've all kept that in mind."

Shen Yan put down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

"On the battlefield, every life matters," he said. "You'll have chances to lead your own teams someday, and the first thing you need to understand is the difference between 'Charge!' and 'Follow me!'"

Yamada was silent for a while. Then he stood at attention, saluted, and left.

Shen Yan watched the closed door, the corner of his mouth twitching. He felt nothing for the Japanese, nor did he need their gratitude. But Yamada and the others were the eyes Kuroiwa Masao had planted around him-if even those eyes thought he was "worth following," Kuroiwa Masao would trust him more. That was turning them to his own advantage.

He picked up his pen and went back to the document.

Evening, in the French Concession.

By the time Shen Yan arrived, Qian Bin was already waiting. Two cups of tea sat on the table, one of them half empty. When he saw Shen Yan enter, Qian Bin stood up and closed the door.

"What happened?" Qian Bin asked.

"Nothing." Shen Yan sat down and picked up his teacup. "The investigation into the ambush has been called off. I came to let you know so you can all rest easy."

Qian Bin froze for a moment, then smiled. "The leadership asked me to pass on their thanks. You handled this brilliantly. We learned the general course of events through other channels, and the number two leader said your abilities reach from heaven to earth."

Shen Yan waved a hand. "We can talk about thanks another time. I came to you on serious business today."

He took a slip of paper from his pocket and pushed it across the table. An address and a time were written on it.

"Three days from now, at ten at night, on the north bank of Suzhou Creek, at the abandoned cotton mill warehouse. There's a shipment to hand over. Bring people, as many as you can, and bring large carts."

Qian Bin looked at the slip, then raised his head. "What is it?"

"Weapons."

Shen Yan stood up, finished the tea in his cup, and set it down.

He walked to the door and stopped, without looking back.

"Fang Yuan has been doing well lately."

The door closed. Qian Bin sat at the table and looked at the slip, committing the address and time to memory. Then he struck a match and watched the paper curl in the flames, turn black, and crumble into ash.

Three days later, at ten at night, on the north bank of Suzhou Creek.

The abandoned cotton mill warehouse was pitch-black. Half the roof had collapsed, and the windows in the walls had no glass. Wind poured through them, howling. Shen Yan stood inside the warehouse while Fang Yuan kept watch at the entrance.

At ten to ten, the sound of carts came from a distance. There were three large carts, driven by men dressed as farmers with white towels tied around their heads. Once the carts stopped, several people jumped down, led by Qian Bin.

Shen Yan went to meet them. Without a word, he led them into the depths of the warehouse. In a corner was a pile of things covered with an oilcloth. He pulled it back.

Qian Bin shone his flashlight on them, the beam moving over the items inch by inch. Two hundred Type 38 Rifles. Ten Type 92 Heavy Machine Guns. Five hundred grenades. Fifty boxes of ammunition. They were neatly stacked beneath the oilcloth, without a speck of rust.

Qian Bin crouched down, touched a rifle, and worked the bolt. The crisp metallic clack echoed through the empty warehouse. He stood up and looked at Shen Yan.

"All of these are for us?"

"Take them," Shen Yan said.

Qian Bin took a deep breath and said nothing. He turned and waved to the cart drivers. Several men gathered around and carefully carried the boxes, none of them speaking. Flashlight beams swung back and forth in the darkness, shining on the gleaming yellow cartridges and making their eyes swim.

Fang Yuan kept watch at the entrance, his hands in his pockets, his fingertips gripping an unlit cigarette. His gaze passed over the boxes and settled on Shen Yan for a few seconds. His lips moved, but in the end he asked nothing.

Qian Bin took a box down from a cart, walked over to Shen Yan, and lowered his voice.

"This is the payment for the goods. I know it's nowhere near enough, but it's everything we can put together. We'll make up the rest as soon as possible."

The box was opened, revealing ten small gold bars gleaming at the bottom.

Shen Yan glanced at them, then closed the box and pushed it back.

"I'm not short of money. If you really feel bad about it, do me a favor instead."

Shen Yan turned and went back into the warehouse. In a corner where no one could see him, he took a heavy wooden chest out of his space, then turned and set it down in front of Qian Bin.

"There are some gold bars in here that can't see the light of day. Find me a craftsman to melt them down again. You can keep half; consider it my contribution to resisting Japan. Have Fang Yuan deliver the other half to my home later."

Qian Bin opened the lid in puzzlement. The gold bars packed inside nearly blinded him. Several large characters were stamped plainly on each bar.

"Yokohama Specie Bank... the Shinshu Maru?! The things aboard that ship were..."

Qian Bin stared numbly at the weapons already loaded onto the carts.

"The Hongkou arsenal was you too... Are you a man or a ghost?!"

"If you can't hold a conversation, go home early!"

Shen Yan rolled his eyes at him.

Qian Bin stood there in a daze for a long while, staring fixedly at Shen Yan. He only came to his senses when one of the people with him told him the weapons had all been loaded.

Then he gave a bitter smile.

No wonder Shen Yan wasn't interested in his ten gold bars. The valuables lost aboard the Shinshu Maru were enough to let a man live in comfort for three lifetimes.

"Um... the leadership asked when you might be free. They'd like to meet you. The Military Statistics Bureau has made the same request."

Shen Yan shook his head. "I won't meet them for now. If there's anything, go to Fang Yuan. He'll pass it on. Don't contact me otherwise."

Qian Bin nodded, walked up to Shen Yan, and held out his hand. Shen Yan shook it. Qian Bin's hand was rough, with thick knuckles, and his grip was firm.

"Mr. Shen, words cannot express my gratitude for your great kindness."

Shen Yan withdrew his hand. "Don't say that. Get going. The roads won't be safe if it gets too late."

Qian Bin nodded, turned, and climbed onto the first cart. The driver flicked his whip, and the mule set off. The cart creaked out of the warehouse and disappeared into the night. The second and third followed.

Fang Yuan stood beside Shen Yan and watched the carts disappear into the darkness. His lips moved; he seemed about to say something, but swallowed it back.

Shen Yan turned and walked out.

"Let's go home."

The car stopped at the mouth of the lane. Shen Yan got out and walked in. The lane was as it had always been, its flagstones uneven and pitted, moss growing along the base of the walls. Big Yellow rushed out of the courtyard, came to his feet, sniffed him, and began wagging his tail.

Shen Yan crouched down and stroked his head.

"Recognize me now?"

Big Yellow licked his hand, his tail wagging even faster.

Shen Yan stood up and pushed open the courtyard gate. The light in the main room was still on, and Old Chen sat at the table drinking tea. When he saw Shen Yan enter, he looked up at him without a word, then got up and went to the kitchen to bring out his meal.

Nian'an was already asleep. Big Yellow lay in his bed with his head on his front paws, watching Shen Yan through half-closed eyes.

Shen Yan sat down at the table and picked up his bowl of rice. The red-braised pork was still warm; Old Chen had reheated it once. He picked up a piece, put it in his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed.

"Did Fang Yuan drive you home?" Old Chen asked.

"Mm."

Old Chen nodded and asked no more. He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and set it down.

"Get to bed early. You have work tomorrow."

Shen Yan murmured an acknowledgment, finished the rice in his bowl, and stood up to go to his room. At the doorway, he stopped and looked back. Old Chen's door was already closed, and his light was out. Shen Yan was alone in the main room, and the tea on the table was still steaming.

He turned and went into his room.

Outside the window, the moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting cold light over the courtyard. Big Yellow rolled over and whimpered twice in his sleep. On a distant street, a night patrol officer walked past, his flashlight beam flashing across the window.

Shen Yan lay in bed with his eyes closed.

His clone wouldn't refresh for another eleven days. He would take it easy in the meantime.

A few barks came from outside the window, then all fell quiet again.

He closed his eyes. When Nian'an got out of school tomorrow, he should bring her a skewer of candied hawthorns.