Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Thorough Search

As Huang Xiansheng fell to the ground, the other team members rushed forward. Those stationed at the entrance of the alley had their view partially blocked by Ning Zhiheng’s back. From their perspective, they saw Ning Zhiheng and Huang Xiansheng’s figures cross—Ning single-handedly deflecting the incoming knife, lunging forward with a powerful body check, and simultaneously striking his opponent’s ribs with his elbow. Then, capturing his opponent’s wrist, he twisted violently, sending Huang Xiansheng crashing to the ground with a loud cry, his wrist broken, utterly subdued.

The entire sequence was smooth and decisive, executed with stunning skill. The team couldn’t help but secretly admire their young captain—his marksmanship was renowned, but his close-quarters combat was equally formidable. In terms of practical ability, he had more than earned their respect.

The six team members inside the alley who had confronted Huang Xiansheng at a distance didn’t see exactly how Ning Zhiheng was stabbed, as the view was blocked by the knife-wielding assailant. All they saw was Huang Xiansheng lunge at the captain with his dagger, and within moments, be thrown to the ground and completely subdued.

Only the agent directly facing Huang Xiansheng witnessed the stabbing clearly. From his angle, he saw Huang’s two rapid thrusts, both sinking deep into Ning Zhiheng’s body. In that instant, his heart leapt into his throat. How could the captain be assassinated right under their noses? It was a fatal oversight!

Yet, everything changed in a flash. Ning Zhiheng seemed utterly unfazed by the stabbing, as if that sharp blade were made of paper. Without hesitation, he subdued his opponent with a crisp throw.

The scene left the agent staring in astonishment. With his experience in close combat, he could find no explanation for what he had just witnessed. His gaze, filled with suspicion and disbelief, rested on Ning Zhiheng, noting his calm demeanor and complete lack of injury. If not for the tear in Ning’s shirt, he would have doubted his own eyes.

The others quickly restrained Huang Xiansheng, seizing his jaw, forcing his mouth open, stuffing in a wad of cloth, and stripping off his outer garment. This was to prevent him from resisting and committing suicide.

There were many ways for a suspect to end his own life—the hardest to prevent was poison hidden in the teeth. After arrest, the agent would bite down on a false tooth, releasing lethal poison and dying instantly. Though rare, as most would fear accidentally biting into it themselves, precautions could never be too thorough. The cloth gag was mainly to prevent the suspect from biting his tongue to avoid interrogation.

Another common method was to smear cyanide on the collar—just biting the collar and licking it would be fatal. It was the most effective way to end one’s own life.

All of this had transpired in just over ten seconds. Yet, in that short span, Ning Zhiheng had faced a brush with death few could imagine.

Seeing that Huang Xiansheng was securely restrained, Ning hurried forward to the injured agent. “Zhou Hao, how badly are you hurt?”

“The wound is deep, but it didn’t hit any organs,” Zhou Hao replied, pale-faced, his bleeding abdomen being hastily bandaged by another team member.

“We can’t delay. Get him to the hospital at once,” Ning commanded, then turned to the others. “The rest of you—search Huang Xiansheng’s residence thoroughly. Go over every inch—leave nothing overlooked!”

The team was warmed by the captain’s immediate concern for the wounded. They felt that Captain Ning was not only capable but also humane, which further endeared him to them.

Ning Zhiheng’s outstanding performance that day greatly enhanced their trust in him. Unconsciously, his authority was now firmly established. With the success of the operation, morale soared, and everyone responded eagerly to his orders.

Ning turned to the agent who had fought hand-to-hand with the short blade. “Sun Jiacheng, well done! That was the most impressive duel I’ve ever seen. I’ll see to it that today’s events count as a merit for you!”

Sun Jiacheng straightened with pride and replied gratefully, “Thank you for your guidance, Captain!”

Ning Zhiheng nodded and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “We should spar sometime—you handle that dagger beautifully.”

“Captain, you flatter me. It’s just a rustic skill, hardly worth mentioning,” Sun Jiacheng replied modestly.

Had it been anyone else, Sun Jiacheng might have been more self-assured, proud of his abilities. But Ning Zhiheng’s performance had left him in awe, making him respectful and deferential.

Ning spoke from the heart. Today’s events made him realize his own shortcomings in actual combat, particularly his lack of experience facing true experts. Sun Jiacheng’s remarkable skills made him the perfect sparring partner, especially his deadly proficiency with the short blade—a skill Ning was determined to learn for his own survival.

The search of Huang Xiansheng’s residence was painstaking, taking nearly two hours as Ning and his team scoured every corner. It was clear that Huang was a highly cautious and competent agent—even at home he left little to chance.

Although the search was exhaustive, little of value was found. First, there was a radio—an ordinary one, but that meant nothing, as many households owned one. Still, possession of a radio meant access to coded broadcasts, and the ability to receive headquarters orders—a staple method in the espionage world. Moles would tune in at scheduled times and frequencies, decode the numeric messages with a codebook, and act accordingly. There were no clandestine meetings or physical handovers—just one-way radio broadcasts, leaving no trace for outsiders to follow.

The only risk was transmitting intelligence back to headquarters, which involved a source of radio emissions. If the intelligence unit detected it, exposure was possible.

Ning reasoned that, with a radio, the crime’s tool was present—what remained was to find the codebook. That was a headache. Any pre-selected book could serve as a codebook, and the study’s shelves were crammed with volumes. Ning pressed his hand to his forehead in frustration. Why would a Japanese spy read so many Chinese books?

“Move the entire bookshelf back to headquarters. Remember the exact position of each book—don’t change a thing,” Ning ordered.

Next, they examined the clothing. Aside from the standard military uniform, there were several garments quite out of character for an officer—two coarse laborer’s outfits, for instance.

As a major, Huang Xiansheng was well paid, far above an ordinary civilian. These costumes were clearly for disguise during his operations. If they fit him, it would confirm they were his.

The team searched every possible hiding place but found nothing more.

“Zhiheng, this was found in the drawer,” Wang Shucheng reported, handing over a stack of banknotes.

Ning counted them—just two hundred in legal tender.

“That’s it? He’s a staff officer in the central army, a major. His monthly salary is a hundred and twenty. Yet all we find is two hundred? Do you buy that?” Ning waved the cash.

“Did you find any bankbooks?” he continued.

In those times, most people didn’t trust banks, given social turmoil and a chaotic financial sector. Ordinary folk had little to save; the wealthy preferred to bury boxes of silver in their cellars rather than deposit them.

Only last year, with the introduction of legal tender and the ban on silver coins, did things improve slightly. Still, many trusted only bullion, secretly hoarding gold bars and silver dollars rather than exchanging them for paper money.

History would later prove them right. Those who exchanged for legal tender or banked their savings lost everything when the fragile financial system collapsed.

“We searched everywhere—no bankbooks,” Wang Shucheng replied.

“He’s single, no family to support, so he should have considerable savings. Besides, as a Japanese spy, funds wouldn’t be a problem—there should be substantial operation money. Where did it all go?” Ning paced the room, feeling something had been overlooked.

“Bring in more men—have Hong and his team join us. Since Huang Xiansheng is caught, there’s no need to keep staking out number 402. We’ll dig up every inch of this place if we have to! If we find a large sum, the case is closed,” Wang Shucheng said, unwilling to give up.

If they found a hidden stash, Huang Xiansheng would be done for—if not a spy, then a corrupt official. Either way, the operation would be an undeniable success.

In truth, Wang wasn’t completely certain that Huang was a Japanese agent. The initial clues were vague—a man renting a place far from home, coming and going furtively. The only link to a spy case was the rental’s location on Beihua Street, along Fu Cheng’s route to work. If not for Wei Liangbi’s caution and his principle of rather erring on the side of suspicion, others might have ignored it.

But Ning Zhiheng knew for certain that Huang was a spy, though he couldn’t explain why to Wang.

He smirked, “No need for all that. Even without finding dirty money, we can convict him. Once someone enters our Intelligence Bureau, guilt or innocence is what we say it is.”

Wang Shucheng stared at him wide-eyed. Damn, I’m still green—now that’s what you call ruthless!