Chapter 1403 - Jia Le Captured
There were ones that threatened and cajoled:
"Old Zhao! There are a lot of people in the Council who are dissatisfied with you and opposed to you over this Hangzhou Station incident. Given the current situation, to reverse the dissatisfaction of most Elders toward you, you need to make greater achievements in a certain area of work. Specifically, the consensus is that on the principled question of the Elders' sexual well-being, and on the important work of satisfying certain Elders' particular tastes, Comrade Zhao Yingong's contributions to the Council are still far from sufficient. Of course, we brothers express sympathy and understanding for your predicament; procuring high-quality female servants is also long-term, meticulous work. But Old Zhao, you'd better hurry—otherwise, even if you get through this time, we won't be able to protect you next time. By the way, my requirements aren't that high: Chen Yuanyuan and Li Xiangjun must be reserved for me. Don't hog the other few of the Eight Beauties of Qinhuai either—they've long since been reserved. Remember! Remember!"
"You dregs who think with your lower halves!" Zhao Yingong didn't even have the strength to retort. But these private letters could not go unread, because within them were more or less hints of the political winds in Lingao.
He read every letter carefully. In recent days, his exchanges of private letters and official correspondence with Lingao's various ministries and commissions, and the various overseas stations, had been numerous: private letters for acquaintances, official letters for strangers, the content sprawling—discussing projects, trading work experience, debating plans... He sent them out everywhere, not to see results, but to read attitudes from the replies.
Overall, the official replies were entirely normal. The various projects already in progress showed no sign of being rejected or suspended by the ministries and commissions. As for official correspondence with the overseas stations elsewhere, he had received normal replies. Jeju and Kaohsiung had even sent inquiry letters regarding the gender, age, and occupational-skill composition of refugees currently in Hangzhou.
Yet Zhao Yingong understood somewhat that the calmer the sky, the more imminent the storm. From the various private letters, he could discern some inklings—this time, he probably could not escape easily. It was quite possible he would be summoned back to Lingao for a hearing.
He lit a cigar and paced out of his study. He had made all the preparations that needed making. All projects that had not been formally approved and itemized by the Planning Institute and had not yet formally started were shut down; those that had already achieved some results also had their expansion plans halted. He tallied his accomplishments against the resources the Planning Institute had given him and felt that his cost-effectiveness over his years of running Hangzhou was actually quite high. The Japan trade, raw silk procurement, publishing and printing, refugee resettlement... Which one of these had not exceeded its quotas? Take the Japan trade alone: although the Japan Station and Elder Ping had rendered great assistance, if he had not organized the supply of goods and shipping here, what would the Japan Station have had to sell?
Then there were the raw silk and sundries supplied to Kaohsiung, and the various goods to be delivered under the trade agreement with the Dutch—at present over seventy percent of these were organized and supplied by the Hangzhou Station. Of course, the credit also belonged to the mountain and sea routes, but as the organizer and leader, surely his achievements could not just be casually dismissed?
"It's hard to be a man; it's even harder to be a man who gets things done." Zhao Yingong, cigar in hand, was rather inclined toward self-pity. When it came down to it, he was merely resented for having assumed a regional viceroyship and living in grand style... No—he should say: his transfers of benefits to the soy-sauce Elders had been insufficient. He really was a fool; he had been so preoccupied with racking up achievements that he had forgotten that to the soy-sauce Elders, these achievements were irrelevant. They would only appreciate you if there were tangible, personal benefits for them! He suddenly "saw the light."
In Shandong and Jeju, even under harsh conditions, they had been continually selecting female-servant candidates from among the refugees and shipping them back to Lingao with priority. By comparison, he had foolishly buried himself in educating refugee children and orphans—he really was stupid to the core! Not only had he received not a bit of praise, but he was even suspected of harboring ambitions to "establish a personal faction"...
Just as he was engaged in this creative divergent thinking, Zhao Tong suddenly arrived and whispered a few words in his ear. Zhao Yingong's eyes immediately widened: "Really?!"
The news Zhao Tong brought was exhilarating: the Office of Sticky Poles had captured Jia Le.
"That's right. The little girl's father fell ill, and they sent someone out to buy medicine. One of our employees recognized her at the Runshi Hall pharmacy."
Jia Le had been very careful. Not only had she herself not gone out, but she had not allowed her family members to go out either—Hao Yuan had warned her that the enemy very likely had sketches of her entire family's faces; once they appeared on the streets, they could easily be recognized.
But she had still underestimated the efficiency of the Office of Sticky Poles. The person sent out was not one of Jia Le's family members but a neighbor. When the Office of Sticky Poles had investigated Nanxiawa, they had placed all those who were close to the Jia family on a list for photographing and surveillance.
When the surveillants noticed her appearing at the Runshi Hall pharmacy for several consecutive days to buy medicine, even though no one in her family was sick, Zhao Tong immediately dispatched a team to tail her. They discovered that she met someone in a private residence, exchanging medicine and money.
Zhao Tong was secretly startled, because this method was no different from the clandestine tradecraft that he had been taught by the Elders during his training in Lingao. Apart from Foreign Intelligence Bureau personnel, no one in the Great Ming yet knew these techniques.
If not for the Office of Sticky Poles running its own operation, relying merely on the government yamen or the city's "vermin and foxes," it would have been absolutely impossible to catch this fleeting opportunity.
He immediately arranged for surveillance around this dead drop, finally tracking the messenger who came to pick up items, which in turn led to the discovery of Jia Le's hiding place.
But subsequent investigation revealed that Hao Yuan was not there. The place held only Jia Le and her family.
Time was of the essence. To find Hao Yuan's whereabouts as quickly as possible, the Office of Sticky Poles did not hesitate to raid the residence that night, capturing Jia Le and her entire family.
Although they had not captured Hao Yuan, catching Jia Le was still a major breakthrough.
"Where is she now?"
"In the manor's secret prison..."
"Good. Take me there immediately." Zhao Yingong stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray. "Please ask Chief Qian to come as well!"
Jia Le's head was groggy, as if she had passed through a long tunnel; time had never moved so slowly. Suddenly a basin of cold water was splashed over her face. She gave a start and tried to leap up, but heard chains clanking—her hands and feet were restrained and could not move.
She forced her eyes open and discovered that her wrists and ankles were shackled to a sturdy armchair. She tried to struggle; the chains rattled, but the chair did not budge—it seemed to be fixed to the floor. A man stood beside her, wearing a strange buttoned jacket, a drab grayish color with many pockets, his belt hung with all sorts of objects. The man was short, stocky, and muscular, his hair cropped to a buzz cut, and he stared at her expressionlessly.
This was an astonishingly bright little room. In each of the four corners were square glass boxes that emitted brilliant light, and large mirrors were embedded in the walls, making the entire room as bright as day.
There was not a single window in the room; one could not tell day from night. Although it was summer, in the corner sat an ominously glowing brazier.
Jia Le drew in a sharp breath. Her previously foggy mind suddenly cleared, and she remembered the surprise attack in the night, the sudden assault—before she could even struggle, a wet cloth with a strange, foul odor had been pressed over her face, and then she had lost consciousness.
She had been captured. Terror, accompanied by a wave of nausea, surged up from her stomach, making her retch several times.
The stocky man glanced at her with contempt, as if he knew all her secrets.
There was no need to guess: her captor must be Zhao Yingong, and this place was most likely his lair, Wanbi Mountain Manor.
Since the plan had failed, she and Hao Yuan had separated. Arranged by his subordinates, she and her family had been hiding in a private residence in the city. Following his instructions, she and her family had kept a very low profile, never going out. All letters and items were transmitted through couriers.
She hadn't expected to be caught so quickly!
At the thought of what fate awaited her in Zhao Yingong's hands, her body began to tremble uncontrollably.
She had not failed to consider what she would face if captured. Uncle Hao had personally warned her: once she joined this cause, she was risking not just her life; once she fell into enemy hands, she would face torture worse than death.
At the time, she had confidently declared that she would never betray Uncle Hao. But now that the test was right before her, her body trembled involuntarily.
The man pulled a fire iron, glowing red-hot, from the brazier and inspected it carefully, then gave her a meaningful look. His gaze was lewd and obscene, as if he had already stripped her naked. Jia Le's stomach immediately clenched into a knot. She watched as he carefully, slowly inserted the fire iron into a bucket of cold water. The surface hissed and bubbled with white steam.
"So this is Jia Le?" Zhao Yingong straightened up from the peephole, frowning as he asked Zhao Tong.
"Yes. The photograph matches, and she's admitted it herself."
"She's so small!" Zhao Yingong had never met Jia Le, but looking through the peephole, her frame was small and thin. By old time-space standards, she would be eleven or twelve years old at most.
"Sir, shall we begin interrogation immediately?"
"Mm, it's a bit..." Although Zhao Yingong had developed quite the consciousness of a ruling class, the thought of using torture on such a young "prisoner" made him feel somewhat like a zombie.
"Let my people question her." Qian Shuixie observed for a moment, then said.
"Uh, Old Qian, I'm not trying to be saintly here, but, uh, shouldn't we still approach this with the attitude of 'curing the sickness to save the patient'..."
Qian Shuixie laughed. "I hear you routinely paddle the female workers and maidservants in your manor—and now suddenly you're feeling protective of the fairer sex?" He patted Zhao Yingong on the shoulder. "Don't worry. Our Special Investigation Team has specialized rapid-interrogation courses. There won't be any blood and gore." He pointed at his chest. "Winning hearts is paramount. She's just a little girl; she won't have particularly strong convictions."