Chapter 1386 - Undercover
Yet Zhao Tong's inquiries were not entirely fruitless. He learned from Canal Gang personnel that those recently active in Hangzhou—spreading rumors and distributing placards—were mostly members of "brawling societies" from Hangzhou and nearby prefectures and counties.
These "brawling societies" had no conflict of interest with Zhao Yingong. Their participation clearly meant someone had paid to hire them.
Zhao Tong suggested pursuing the investigation through this opening.
"Pity we're not a yamen," he said with some regret. "Otherwise, we could detain a few of their leaders and interrogate them properly. We'd definitely get information about the mastermind."
Secretly kidnapping people and conducting interrogations in a private court was possible, of course. But this was a sensitive time. Every move he made was probably being monitored by someone in the shadows. If word leaked that they were rashly abducting the opposition's members, it would only provide ammunition for their enemies.
Taking a step back, even if the opposition didn't know or didn't care about their members' safety, ordinary foot soldiers might not be able to reveal anything useful anyway.
Still, the brawling societies were definitely a breakthrough point. After much deliberation, Zhao Yingong suddenly thought of Zhuang Haoren.
Zhuang Haoren was now the head of "Wulong Society." The organization's relationship with Phoenix Mountain Villa remained secret. At present, only Zhuang Haoren himself and a handful of naturalized citizen operatives from Hangzhou Station knew that this brawling society was actually funded by Zhao Yingong. Though Zhao Yingong had used Wulong Society on multiple occasions, superficially it appeared to be a transactional relationship—hiring with money—not subordination.
"Go see him," Zhao Yingong ordered. "Have him use his brawling society connections to infiltrate the enemy's operation. Try to identify the mastermind behind all this."
The method was simple: since they couldn't pull information out, they would push someone in. As one of the brawling societies active in Hangzhou, Wulong Society was neither too large nor too small. It possessed its own "territory" and a respectable corps of basic personnel. In several Hangzhou Prefecture brawls, it had demonstrated impressive "combat power."
If the opposition planned further large-scale actions, they would inevitably need to recruit more people—especially "brawling societies" with some degree of organization and fighting capability, which would be their first choice. Wulong Society would very likely fall within their selection range. Zhuang Haoren's current public identity was Wulong Society's leader. The opposition would almost certainly try to bring him into the fold.
Zhao Tong shook his head. "Chief, this is inappropriate."
"Oh? Why?"
"You're asking him to go undercover," Zhao Tong said. "Since ancient times, those who go undercover not only risk their lives—even if they manage to return safely, they're forever marked as heartless, unrighteous men. Their reputations are ruined. People sent undercover must either be held by some leverage forcing their obedience, or must have received kindness as vast as heaven and earth. Zhuang Haoren has neither. If you send him undercover, he'll just go through the motions. He definitely won't work himself to death for this."
Zhao Tong had another layer he left unspoken: Zhuang Haoren wasn't a naturalized citizen, just a peripheral member of Hangzhou Station who hadn't passed the Political Security Bureau's reliability assessment. For simple fighting and killing—for executing straightforward tasks—he was fine. But for matters involving the life and death of Hangzhou Station itself, non-naturalized citizens couldn't be trusted.
Zhao Yingong considered for a moment. "Zhao Tong, do you think the enemy has planted spies here with us?"
This was a question of grave importance. Though Sun Wangcai served as general manager cum security captain for the villa, Zhao Tong was specifically responsible for internal security. He thought for a minute before answering: "Chief, to say 'not a single one'—that would be impossible. But inside the villa's residential quarters, I can guarantee there's not one."
Zhao Yingong nodded. Anyone able to enter the villa's residential area was either a naturalized citizen or an orphan Zhao Yingong had personally taken in. Even Cai Shi and other local servants who had proven useful—their backgrounds had been thoroughly investigated by Hangzhou Station's Security Department—still could not enter the inner residence. When Zhao Yingong wished to see them, he always received them at the outer study.
Attempts to plant spies in the villa and bookshop had been discovered multiple times by Hangzhou Station's Security Department. Some were brazen: directly presenting gifts of handsome servant boys or beautiful maids, or recommending "pure and upright" private secretaries. Others were conducted covertly: attempting to infiltrate through means like "selling oneself into service" or "responding to job recruitment."
"How is Xihua doing at the refugee camp?" Zhao Yingong suddenly asked.
Xihua was one of the six older children above twelve whom Zhao Yingong had first taken in and personally taught. She was fifteen now. Because she handled affairs capably and decisively, she had been assigned to manage general affairs at the "Orphan Hall" of the Cihui charitable organization.
Zhao Tong was startled but reported: "Her work capability is good. She's fair in handling matters. It's just—"
"Just what?"
"A bit proud and arrogant. Can't tolerate any sand in her eye. Her temper is rather fierce—she often makes people uncomfortable."
"Heh, so her popularity isn't good?"
"Yes—" Though Zhao Tong had some inkling of the Chief's meaning, he didn't understand why they were suddenly discussing this girl's personality issues. These matters had all been included in the Ten Man Group report materials he had submitted.
"The Chief wants her to go undercover..."
"Precisely."
Xihua was quite suitable. Though her temper was fierce, she was bold yet cautious, with an organized approach to tasks. Most importantly, Zhao Yingong had saved her from human traffickers—otherwise she would have been sold to a brothel. That counted as receiving great kindness.
"But she works at the refugee camp. How would she go undercover on the enemy's side? Moreover, she's a girl. Even if the opposition trusted her, they'd never let her wander around everywhere gathering intelligence..."
"What our adversary is most concerned about right now should be what I'm doing, what I'm thinking."
"Chief wants Xihua to be a double agent?!" Zhao Tong had received training at the Political Security Bureau training class and had learned quite a few professional "New Terms."
"Exactly." Zhao Yingong nodded. "We want to know what the enemy plans to do. The enemy certainly also wants to know what we're preparing to do. If a good opportunity arises, they definitely won't pass it up."
"Chief is wise."
"Less bootlicking!" Zhao Yingong said seriously. "Go make the arrangements."
A few days later arrived "Visiting Day." Cihui Hall held a "Visiting Day" every month or so, when nominal Benevolent Directors of the charity and local gentry and scholars came to tour the facility.
The first purpose was to let gentry who had donated money see where their contributions went. The second was to dispel suspicion. Many "religious cases" in the late nineteenth century had been stirred up by rumors—because the populace didn't understand church charity work, and because churches, holding the identity of foreign masters, were unwilling to communicate.
Such visits had drawn many people at first, but recently attendance had dwindled—the gentry's novelty had worn off. Moreover, this was the height of summer, with the sun blazing like fire. Only seven or eight people came this time, among them Wu Zhixiang—who was desperately cultivating his relationship with Zhao Yingong these days.
The so-called visit to Cihui Hall actually meant the gentlemen pinched their noses and walked briskly through the refugee camp down the mountain—said to be crowded and smelly, with coal smoke from the riverside drifting in as well. Before they had seen half the sites, several gentlemen already wore expressions of boredom. Cai Shi, experienced in serving the elite and skilled at reading moods, immediately ordered the sedan-chair bearers to bring the litters. One by one, the masters were carried up Phoenix Mountain.
The mountain breeze blew, and they instantly felt cool all over. It was midsummer now, the mountain forest dense. Combined with Zhao Yingong's years of greening improvements, the scenery along the way was quite pleasant.
About one li from the Villa gate stood a patch of woods containing a camphor tree over a hundred years old, its canopy spreading gracefully. Zhao Yingong had ordered a banquet table set up beneath it. Incense to repel mosquitoes burned around the perimeter. As they sat down, maids served iced towels and iced plum syrup.
"I didn't expect Master Zhao to know enjoyment so well! Actually creating a fairy land of happiness for himself!" Wu Zhixiang took an iced towel and refreshed himself with several vigorous wipes, then drank several mouthfuls of the thick, sweetly sour iced plum syrup, feeling saliva spring beneath his tongue and a breeze stir under his arms—his whole body was suddenly cool.
Sitting at the banquet, feeling the gentle wind, looking down at the magnificent view of the Qiantang River below, the gentlemen's minds and spirits expanded.
"I've passed by this Phoenix Mountain before," said Wen Huai, a Fushe member. "I never expected a barren hill could be transformed by Master Zhao into such a sight. No wonder everyone says Master Zhao's learning in practical statecraft is the deepest."
Others followed with compliments, and Zhao Yingong was inevitably polite in return. He immediately ordered wine and dishes served.
Because it was midsummer and appetites were poor, the dishes all featured light flavors. Though numerous, nothing was greasy. Many fresh fruits were also served, among them quite a few southern varieties transported with ice preservation from Lingao—either things they had only heard of but never seen, or fruits that didn't exist in this time and place. Once brought out, they opened everyone's eyes and drew universal praise.
A maid brought a large white porcelain plate piled high with fresh lychees, water droplets still clinging to their skin. Not only was the fruit skin still red, but even the leaves on the stems remained verdantly alive—as though just picked.
"Master Zhao's fresh lychees are truly unique in all Jiangnan." Wen Huai hurriedly peeled one and popped it in his mouth, his fingers already busy peeling another. "Even Brother Zongzi has admired your reputation for some time."
Zhang Dai's lifestyle of pleasure and refinement was famous throughout Jiangnan, but this kind of industrial-age enjoyment—iced fresh fruit—was unobtainable no matter how much money one spent in that era. Fresh lychees, except in the production regions of Guangdong and Sichuan, simply couldn't be eaten regardless of wealth or power. Even dried lychees were rare. Ming and Qing emperors, noble as the Son of Heaven, could only eat fresh lychees that had been dipped in honey and then rushed to Beijing—their flavor already quite different from truly fresh fruit.
But Zhao Yingong had no gas-powered cold storage for making ice. His ice arrived via transport ships from Lingao. Ships departing Lingao heading north to Jiangnan used artificial ice, preserved in large quantities of sawdust, as ballast in their lower holds—both for the Station's own use and for sale. Naturally, transporting iced fresh fruit posed no difficulty.
(End of this chapter)