Chapter 2489: Burning the Building (Part 2)

Reaching this point, Liang Cunhou rested for a moment before continuing: "My only fear is that the lords in the current court, as when dealing with the Eastern Barbarians, will be opinionated and self-willed. If this book is presented but not taken seriously, and they never recognize the true face of the Bald Thieves, rashly moving troops and engaging in battles for greed of merit, repeating Governor Wang's disaster... if that happens, even an army of a hundred thousand will only waste soldiers and horses, throwing away military funds in vain. But how can this court withstand such losses anymore? The Bald Thieves value practical affairs above all, and the longer I read their books, the more I agree. Currently, the gentlemen of the Donglin and the leaders of the Fushe all fold their hands in empty talk, banding together to attack dissidents. They are incompetent in managing the army and have no way to govern the people. They cannot organize weapons or gather money and grain, nor are they willing to part with even a little wealth to share the country's worries. Inside, there are roving bandits; outside, there are Eastern Barbarians and Bald Thieves. If this goes on for long, I'm afraid, I'm afraid..." He couldn't go on.

After a moment of silence, he suddenly said loudly: "Ten years. At most ten years, and the world will inevitably collapse. By then, the mountains and rivers will run out of tears, and the Divine Land will sink. Rites and music will be lost; robes and insignias will be destroyed. What will these mediocre people do then? Fold their hands and talk about mind and nature in peacetime, then die once to repay the King when danger comes? Or will good birds choose trees to roost in, and good ministers choose masters to serve? What benefit is this to the world? What benefit to the living people? Can the clang-clang sound of those iron-wheeled trains, the woo-woo sound of those fire-wheel ships, and the boom-boom of those Baldy guns and cannons not wake up the numerous lords in the court, not rouse the sages and gentlemen leisurely roaming in forests and springs? Can't they open their eyes to look at this land of Fujian and Guangdong! Look at this vast world! Look at this change not met in a thousand years! This world has changed!"

When he finished, Liang Cunhou supported himself with both hands on the edge of the table, head held high, eyes tightly closed, warm tears filling his eyes. His chest heaved violently, and he could not calm down for a long time.

Qiaoyan listened quietly. When Liang Cunhou had calmed down slightly, he said in a deep voice: "Young Master Liang, you absolutely must not blame or hurt yourself. Keep your useful body to wait for the right time. I won't come again for a while. I'm afraid your residence is under much scrutiny. When entering the residence, I saw tea houses or food stalls at all four gates—all opened not long ago. The people coming and going are mostly suspicious. Furthermore, the Bald people have thousand-li telescopes. If they hide in civilian houses to spy, it is truly hard to detect. The matters Second Brother Yun recounted are all in the letter. Please burn it after reading, Young Master. Everyone in the residence must be careful now; do not lightly entrust heavy responsibilities to anyone unless they are reliable and intimate. In a moment, Young Master, send someone to see me out. This place is dangerous; I cannot stay long. Young Master, take care."

He retreated to the door, opened it, and said loudly: "Young Master, sit peacefully; this lowly one takes his leave." With that, he turned and left.

Liang Cunhou forced a smile: "Go. Tell Uncle and Aunt I will visit another day to pay my respects."

After Qiaoyan left, Liang Cunhou sat on the grand tutor chair, gently stroking his neck, and said slowly to himself: "The Six-Yang Prime Head—I wonder who will come to take it? I wonder what the market price is?"

Yang Cao stood before the full-length mirror by the door of the open office area, carefully adjusting the straps of her carrying harness before inserting her pistol into the holster. She wore a fake hair bun from Hangzhou on her head. Her upper body wore a light gray button-front narrow-sleeved jacket, with a stone-blue sleeveless long vest reaching her knees over it. Her lower body wore a pleated skirt. Inside the vest, a string secured three points simultaneously. Outside, a knotted tie with a slipknot fastened it. As long as the knot was pulled open, the three fixing points would release simultaneously, allowing the entire vest to open immediately for a quick draw. The vest's waist was modified to be relatively loose to conceal hidden weapons. The gray tone allowed her to blend into the crowd. The outfit made Yang Cao in the mirror look bloated and mediocre.

She raised her hands slightly, did a backward arm stretch, then gently twisted her waist left and right to loosen up, and did two bending touches to the ground. Only when she confirmed everything was impeccable did she smile with satisfaction at herself in the mirror. For her, this was a rare expression. The clerks and intelligence officers in the office area looked up at her curiously from time to time, but she turned a blind eye to all surrounding gazes.

Xu Tong leaned against the door frame, watching her back. Holding back for a while, he finally couldn't help saying: "You don't need to go to the front line. As an intelligence bureaucrat, your post is here, remember? Director Zhao said that in an ideal state, an intelligence agency has two-thirds of its officers at headquarters organizing and analyzing data, and only one-third outside recruiting agents or handling cases. And you are our brain." He gently tapped his own head with his right index finger.

Yang Cao said without looking back: "Ideal state? Are we that? Relying on those scouts who can't even recognize all the names, recruited by rustic intelligence officers who only received short training? If possible, I would send every usable person out for field duty." She paused: "I need contact with the front line to maintain my edge."

Xu Tong said: "But in case there is danger..."

Yang Cao interrupted him: "What danger? This is Guangzhou. Will someone put a gun to your head here? You stay behind in the bureau—that's an order." She turned around, bumped Xu Tong away from the door frame with her shoulder, and quickly disappeared out the door.

Yang Cao's carriage creaked toward the Liang residence. This was a two-wheeled cart disguised as belonging to the Qiewei Logistics carriage agency. The cart looked ordinary and old on the outside—the kind introduced by Qiewei some time ago, mostly used to transport heavy goods. It was a common vehicle on the streets. To increase concealment, the horse pulling the cart and the Qiewei Logistics number plate in front would be changed at any time.

Contrary to its appearance, the carriage structure had been modified. The running gear was sturdier, space utilization was higher, and two bottom compartments had been made near the wheel axle for storage. The carriage compartment possessed certain protective capabilities. Inside the bottom lay an eight-power binocular, a lantern and matches, a small amount of clothing, a Guangzhou map, a ruler, pens, notebooks, a water bottle, and dry rations. Sometimes a camera would be carried, but as controlled equipment, the application procedure was very cumbersome. Usually, the carriage served as a support vehicle and could serve as a temporary observation point when necessary.

The carriage turned into a side road not far from the main gate of the Liang residence, then stopped before a two-entry courtyard. After getting off, Yang Cao walked quickly through the main gate into the wing room of the west side courtyard. Because the side of the house facing the main gate of the Liang residence had no windows, they could only remove a few wall bricks at a higher position to form two small observation ports. The ports were camouflaged on the outside. A wooden observation platform was built inside the room, with tables and chairs atop it. Two high-power monoculars were fixed on the table, lenses extending out of the observation ports. Two surveillance officers were working, making records from time to time. Another was drinking water and resting. Beside him, a kerosene lamp, pocket watch, notebooks, pencils, maps, rulers, and water cups were placed in disarray.

Because this courtyard had been vacant for many years, the room was empty. The internal damage was much worse than the building's exterior suggested. There were traces of seepage everywhere, and the window paper was damaged. It was not an ideal indoor observation point, but in this traditional residential area for the wealthy, rooms available for rent with a good field of view were limited. They obviously had no better choice.

To facilitate surveillance, the Bureau of Political Security had arranged for a "middle-class family" to come forward and mortgage this courtyard for residence, using it as cover for secret surveillance. Since it was work, funds were saved where possible. Houses not used by cover personnel naturally wouldn't be repaired or furnished. Everything was done simply with whatever was available.

Outdoor observation points disguised as food stalls and tea stalls were set up at the other two gates of the Liang residence. This place served as a temporary command post for Liang residence surveillance. The three surveillance points would communicate from time to time, exchanging intelligence and making decisions on whether to launch tracking or report special situations.

The resting scout stood up when Yang Cao entered. She nodded slightly to him and walked straight up to the observation platform with large strides. The working scout yielded the observation position. Yang Cao brought her eyes close to the telescope, observing the scene while asking: "Any movement at the Liang residence these past two days?"

The observer said from behind: "None. There were only two visits by Liang family relatives in the past two days. Investigation requests have been submitted. Coral was asked to check the purpose of the visits. The rest of the time was very quiet, with no abnormal behavior or suspicious personnel."

Yang Cao made an "Mm" sound, left the telescope, picked up the surveillance log beside the table, and browsed quickly. The log recorded at least once every hour in chronological order—date, case code, scout's name, time of record, and all activities of the surveillance target. She circled the record of "relatives visiting," meaning specialized confirmation was needed—not only through the insider but also through someone arranged to pry for news from the relatives' side. But Yang Cao obviously didn't find what she wanted. It was too normal—normal to a slightly strange degree.

While flipping through the surveillance log seriously, Yang Cao asked: "What about today?"

The scout said: "There was an unloading at the East Gate this morning. It was produce from the Liang residence's farm. Many people entered and exited—all low-level laborers, tenant farmers, and so forth. Identification was very difficult. We left only one person on duty at each of the other two gates; all others supported the East Gate to observe and identify personnel."

Yang Cao said: "Any discoveries?"

The scout said: "Yes. There is one person who seems relatively suspicious. Very tall, always wearing a bamboo hat so his face couldn't be seen clearly. He wore servant clothes. The clothes were very new, with no wear or patches on the back, shoulders, or knees—unlike someone who works frequently. His neck is relatively thick, shoulders very wide, and muscles on both sides of the neck push up the clothes. His build is well-proportioned. This person never participated in physical labor like unloading carts or driving carts."

Yang Cao said: "Mm, characteristics of a martial artist."

The scout said: "Yes. Not the lean thinness consumed by long-term physical labor. That build looks like it was raised on good wine and meat, although he has been trying hard to shrink his body."

Yang Cao nodded. Martial arts practitioners needed a lot of protein and had to eat plenty of meat and eggs—something ordinary families couldn't afford. Hence the saying "Poor in literature, rich in martial arts." And to avoid crushing their frames and developing stiff strength, traditional martial artists rarely did heavy work like moving, carrying, or lifting. In their words, doing so would ruin them. This was very different from ordinary heavy manual laborers.

(End of Chapter)