Chapter 344: The Superior

A man sat on the bed, a dark silhouette against the faint light filtering through the bamboo curtains, his gaze fixed on the door.

He wore no topknot, and his clothes were collared—the typical attire of a naturalized citizen. He was not a tall man, but the muscles that bulged on his arms and shoulders spoke of a coiled strength.

Xin Nachun placed the bundle she carried on the table and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed.

“What, the wound still hasn’t healed?”

The man’s accent was strange, a rough, non-standard Mandarin. He was from the mainland. Though he could manage the official dialect, it was a struggle for Xin Nachun, who had grown up in Lingao and never even set foot in the prefectural city of Qiongzhou. The Lingao dialect she spoke, for its part, was hardly Chinese at all.

Fortunately, they could both manage a little of the “New Language.” Xin Nachun was not a naturalized citizen and was not required to learn it, but to “do business” in a place like the East Gate Market, a crossroads of peoples, the local dialect was not enough. And so it was that these two, dedicated to the overthrow of the Senate, conspired in the very Mandarin the Senate so actively promoted.

“This is all thanks to you,” Xin Nachun said, her voice laced with anger. If she hadn’t been following his orders, she wouldn’t have received those fifty lashes for no reason.

It was he who had ordered her to the embankment for the meeting. She had not expected the other party to refuse to recognize her as a “colleague.” The argument had drawn the police. If not for the fact that her profession as a prostitute aroused no suspicion, and that the other party had been lenient, she would be “passing through the hot hall” of an Australian prison right now.

She had, she thought, taken a stroll by the Bridge of Helplessness. A lingering fear still clung to her.

“Got a temper after one little beating? What a woman.” His face was hidden in shadow, but his tone was clearly mocking.

“I suppose it wasn’t your ass they were whipping. Talk is cheap.” As she spoke, the scarred wound on her buttocks began to itch. She couldn’t help but scratch it.

“Don’t you stick your ass up for men to ‘whip’ every day? What’s fifty lashes?” His words were both frivolous and contemptuous. “When I was a yamen runner, if I botched a job, the magistrate would order eighty strokes of the military cane, and you weren’t even allowed to cry out. The Australians tickle your ass a bit and you’re crying like this. If they really caught you and took you to their State Security Bureau, you’d sell me out in a heartbeat—” His voice turned cold, cruel.

A shiver ran down Xin Nachun’s spine. Her “superior,” for all his plain and honest appearance, for all that he was inconspicuous among the naturalized citizens, was a ruthless killer. She had seen him kill two men by the sea, calmly and efficiently, tying rocks to their bodies and casting them into the waves. And it was she who had lured them there.

She never knew why they were killed; her superior did not permit her to know. But from that day on, she had followed him with absolute devotion.

After her release from the “correctional facility” for the relatives of bandits and other “non-nationals,” Xin Nachun had no means of support. She was lazy and idle, a typical village “loafer.” The facility had found her a job, but she found factory work too tiring and farm work too exposing. And when commercial establishments heard she was a “bandit’s relative,” no one would hire her.

Unemployment was not tolerated in Lingao. “Non-nationals” like her had to produce a certificate of employment within thirty days of their release or be classified as “vagrants” and sent to a labor camp for all manner of hard and dirty work. In the end, she decided that becoming a “yellow-ticket” prostitute was her best option. It was easy, and it paid well. So she registered and became “self-employed.”

The East Gate Market had a large population, especially of single men. Xin Nachun was young, attractive, and had a flirtatious air. She quickly became a popular figure among the “yellow tickets.” With no family to support, she lived quite comfortably.

But a life of ease could not erase the hatred in her heart. She was obsessed with the memory of her lover. The other family members who had been killed or executed in the anti-bandit campaign meant little to her. They had always treated her poorly, taking her when they pleased and then casting her aside, never offering a kind word, often beating and scolding her. But she could not forget Zhao Dachong. The desire for revenge smoldered within her.

She had no idea how to achieve it. The Senate’s rule was a “police state,” its legal net strict and unforgiving. A “loafer” like her, used to running wild in the countryside, quickly learned her lesson. It wasn’t long before she was whipped for breaking the law. The whippings in the correctional facility had been common, almost a form of amusement compared to the flogging she received in the punishment bureau. The pain was so intense she was left in a daze, barely remembering how she got off the punishment rack and back to her inn. She had to lie on her stomach for more than ten days before she could even get out of bed.

After that, though her hatred for the Senate deepened, so too did her fear. Revenge became a distant, fading thought.

Until a few months ago, a chance encounter with a client had led her to her “superior.” She was recruited as an “operative.” After she had personally witnessed his Jinyiwei waist plaque, she threw herself into the work without a second thought. It was as if the long years of suppression by the Australians had caused her to rebound with a fierce, reckless abandon, a moth drawn to a flame. Moreover, this superior’s attitude towards her was not so different from the late Zhao Dachong’s.

But Zhao Dachong had been a mere country bandit. Her “superior” was a genuine “Jinyiwei,” an official of the court. His appearance, his demeanor—they were no match for Zhao Dachong’s rough ways. Even when he scolded her, his official dialect was clear and sonorous, far more pleasing to the ear than Zhao Dachong’s local slang. Gradually, the man she had been obsessed with faded from her heart, and her “superior” came to occupy her entire body and mind.

“A whipping is nothing. I’ve suffered worse,” Xin Nachun said, feigning nonchalance. “But that man knew who I was. If he had shouted it out, I would have been doomed.”

“Heh,” the man sneered. “Is your head filled with pig brains? Can’t you think? He wasn’t clean himself. If he had shouted, could he have escaped? He left a Jinyiwei secret sign. Even if he’s not one of us, he’s some kind of agent. Do you think the Australians would let someone who has infiltrated Lingao go lightly?”

“This…”

“You work for me, so you must be smart. Use your head. Don’t just think about seducing men all day.” His tone was thick with contempt. “If something goes wrong, we’ll all be finished.”

“If I don’t seduce men, what will I eat?” Xin Nachun said brazenly. “You can serve the country with your utmost loyalty. I have no interest in such things.”

“Serve the country with utmost loyalty?” The man let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “In this day and age, who still serves the country? I am forced into this as well!” he said, angrily making a chopping motion with his hand. “Coming to this Australian territory, I am neither human nor ghost. If it weren’t for—” He stopped himself cautiously. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

He rose, took a thick stack of circulation coupons from a satchel on the ground, and tossed them onto the bed.

“This is for your wound.”

“So much!” Forgetting the pain in her buttocks, Xin Nachun pounced on the money. The sudden movement pulled at her newly scarred wound. The unbearable itch turned into a sharp, stinging pain. She couldn’t help but cry out.

“Don’t be in such a hurry. There’s more,” the man said with a cold smile. “Are you still in contact with that Shopkeeper Gou?”

“Yes, but his wife is a jealous woman. I can only go when I have the time…” Xin Nachun clutched the stack of bills. A rough count revealed over three hundred circulation coupons. Her mood instantly improved.

“Who asked you about that? Does he still exchange gold and silver privately?”

“Of course. It’s how he makes his living. Otherwise, how could he survive on that little shop and the few coins the Australians give him? He’s fallen for a girl on Heyuan Street and has spent a fortune on her.”

“Is it safe?”

“No problem. The Australians trust him. He’s careful, too. He only deals with people introduced by acquaintances.”

“And what of him? Is he reliable?”

“Just a spineless coward,” Xin Nachun smiled. “But he has plenty of complaints about the Australians now.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Shopkeeper Gou was one of the first to surrender to the Australians here. He used to be a cook at the Gou family village. Not long after the Australians landed, they attacked the village. After they took it, he was the first to stand up and turn against his old masters. But after all these years, the others who surrendered have all done well. Even the captured Gou family retainers are now officers in the Australian army. But him? He’s still just running a small eatery, relying on being an informant to get a small subsidy. If it were you, would you be happy?”

“No wonder,” the man nodded. He took a mulberry paper package from his satchel and tossed it onto the bed. “Take this silver and exchange it for circulation coupons. Give them to me the next time we meet. Give him a little extra when you make the exchange.”

The private circulation of gold and silver was prohibited on Hainan Island, but that did not mean there was no demand for it. A black market for the exchange of precious metals had emerged. Though small, suppressed by the National Police, it persisted.

The “superior’s” activities in Lingao required a great deal of funding. Circulation coupons could not be obtained in the Great Ming. Though some could be exchanged in places like Guangzhou and Leizhou, the quantity was small. Their only option was to import silver and exchange it locally. This was why he had recruited Xin Nachun. The local yellow-ticket prostitutes had freedom of movement and contact with all social classes, making them useful tools for running errands and making connections.

“Why give him a benefit?” Xin Nachun was stunned. “Are you trying to recruit him?” she cried out. “That is absolutely out of the question!”