dmims Chapter 29 He had no choice!
Chapter 29 He had no choice!
Zheng Yaoxian smiled calmly, but his words were firm and resolute: "Boss, you can't control Zhou Xiao."
"Oh?" Boss Dai was not annoyed at all; instead, he laughed so hard he almost fell over. "Afraid I'll poach your guy? Don't worry, I won't steal him—but you'd better use him wisely, don't bury him."
"Sixth Brother knows what he's doing."
Shanghai, known as the "heart of the world's intelligence," sent Zhou Xiao back to infiltrate the city, effectively giving them a crucial grip on the global intelligence pulse—the front lines of the anti-Japanese war were just missing such a mole.
Boss Dai paused for a moment, then suddenly asked, "I heard that those people from the Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics gave you trouble the other day?"
Zhou Xiao nodded: "Mm."
"I already stood up for you." Boss Dai waved his hand. "Director Wei gave Gao Zhanlong a good scolding on the spot, and he didn't dare to raise his head."
"Thank you, Boss Dai."
After chatting for about ten minutes, Boss Dai stood up with a meaningful smile: "Come on, I'll take you to see someone."
Whom to see?
Zhou Xiao was slightly taken aback, but he didn't ask any questions. He simply got up and followed.
The three got into a black sedan and drove away from the mansion, the wheels rolling, heading straight for the Zhazidong Detention Center.
Located in the Gele Mountain Valley of Seoul, it was originally a remote coal mine, named for its abundance of slag and scarcity of coal. Surrounded by mountains on three sides and facing a steep cliff and deep ravine in front, it is surrounded by watchtowers outside high walls, with six guard posts standing guard and a machine gun emplacement perched high above—even if only a platoon were stationed there, it could be defended flawlessly and impregnable by ten thousand men.
The detention center is divided into inner and outer courtyards: the inner courtyard contains the prison cells, a small exercise yard, sixteen male cells, and two female cells; the walls are painted with phrases such as "Youth is gone and never returns, think carefully," "Recognize this time and this place, do not be obsessed," "The maze is boundless, but turning back is the shore," and "Be calm and patient, without resentment or worry," the ink color is desolate.
The outer courtyard was a major site of torture: offices, interrogation rooms, and the director's office were scattered throughout, complete with torture instruments such as tables, shackles, bamboo sticks, chili water, and the tiger bench. Those who could be imprisoned here were all hardened criminals.
The car came to a stop, and the three people got out.
"Boss!" The director rushed out upon hearing the call, his face beaming with smiles.
Boss Dai waved his hand: "You can leave now, there's nothing for you here."
"Yes!" The director quickly glanced at Zhou Xiao and Zheng Yaoxian, bowed and left.
At that very moment, Zhou Xiao heard a crisp notification: "Ding-dong—Zhazidong Detention Center, check-in point activated. Confirm check-in?"
It's a sign-in point?
The advantage of getting something for free is that you might as well take it.
"Check-in".
"Ding-dong—Check-in successful! Reward issued: Divine Hand!"
The system provides a brief description: Divine Hands—The host's palms will transform into the most sensitive sensory organs, with fingertips capable of detecting minute tremors and palm lines able to discern fluctuations in airflow, achieving a tactile precision ten times greater than that of ordinary people. Even the slightest anomaly, such as the depth of a scratch on the back of a copper coin or the difference in the tightness of a sheet of paper fibers, will leave a clear imprint on the fingertips.
The principle is actually very simple: if your fingers are as dull as wood, you will not feel the same engraving mark; but if your fingertips are as sensitive as eyes, you can "see" the direction of the engraving, the wear and tear, and even the direction of the force applied by touch, even with your eyes closed.
This skill is almost an innate advantage for secret agents.
He can pick up details that the eyes can miss with his fingertips; abnormalities that others can only detect with instruments, he can understand with just a touch!
"Great, I picked up a special skill while visiting Zhazidong." Zhou Xiao felt a surge of warmth in his heart, thinking to himself that this trip was definitely worthwhile.
Boss Dai led Zheng Yaoxian and Zhou Xiao through several iron gates and stopped in front of a hidden cell deep inside the Zhaizidong prison. The cell door creaked open, and the three stepped inside. They saw a man tightly bound to a cross-shaped rack, his head drooping, like a puppet with its strings cut.
His entire body was covered in bruises—new wounds pressed against old scabs, blood crusts plastered over the wounds, and his clothes were torn to shreds, clinging to his festering flesh. His chest, ribs, and ankles were all covered in bruises, and even his fingernails were torn in two. His breathing was so faint it was almost nonexistent, with only the very slight, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
Clearly, all the instruments of torture had been used on him, without missing a single one.
Boss Dai's gaze swept over the mangled body on the rack, then slowly moved to Zhou Xiao, his voice low and deep: "Zhou Xiao, do you recognize him?"
Zhou Xiao squinted, scrutinizing the swollen, deformed face—the bridge of the nose was sunken, the left eye was bruised and blocked, and the corner of the mouth was cracked and unhealed, making it impossible to recognize the original appearance. He paused briefly, then shook his head: "Boss, I've never seen this before."
We have indeed never met.
Zheng Yaoxian stood to the side, hands at his sides, his expression as still as water.
Although he was a member of the underground Communist Party, his only contact was Lu Hanqing, and they communicated through a single line. Lu Hanqing had direct access to headquarters, and there were several other groups in Chongqing that he had never contacted or knew. As for whether the person on the rack was one of their own, he dared not say for sure and had no way of confirming it.
"A member of the underground Communist Party in Chongqing." Boss Dai's tone was calm, but every word was like a nail. "He's been locked up here for half a month, interrogated for fifteen days, and his mouth is as hard as stone."
Zhou Xiao asked, "Boss, are you letting me take over the interrogation of him?"
"No," Boss Dai shook his head decisively, "I want you to send him away."
Should we send him away?
This isn't an interrogation, it's a test of your heart!
The so-called "pledge of allegiance" originated from the old rules of the underworld—to join a gang, one must first commit a bloody act, cutting off any escape route and ingraining loyalty into one's bones. Outlaws entering a stronghold had to bring a head as proof; bandits forming sworn brotherhoods had to personally kill an outsider to demonstrate their sincerity. Later, the Military Intelligence Bureau adopted this practice, not out of a sense of camaraderie, but to eliminate potential threats: whoever dared to act would have no way back; whoever hesitated was harboring wishful thinking and could not be spared.
Isn't the Military Intelligence Bureau an intelligence agency? Why is it adopting the tactics of bandits?
But what's happening right now is a blatant test—making you personally kill an underground party member is like signing your name on the Book of Life and Death in front of Boss Dai.
Zheng Yaoxian watched silently, his expression unchanged, but his eyes were even more somber. He had experienced this before and was not surprised at all. Boss Dai was as suspicious as an iron wall and never easily trusted anyone. He had looked at his colleagues with the same cold indifference when he personally dealt with them.
Underground party members who fall into the hands of the Kuomintang's secret police are already unlikely to survive; but if they die at the hands of Zheng Yaoxian, the case becomes a mess—no one can say for sure whether it was a true betrayal or a feigned surrender.
Now, it's Zhou Xiao's turn to add to this mess.
Boss Dai is inherently suspicious and intolerant of even the slightest imperfection. The fact that he went to such lengths to set this up proves that Zhou Xiao has caught his eye. Ordinary agents don't even qualify to be tested; only the truly outstanding deserve this "preferential treatment."
"Send him away?" Zhou Xiao's Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he instantly understood. But his escape route was already sealed off—if he refused now, not only would Boss Dai become suspicious, but even Zheng Yaoxian would probably have to think twice about him; worse still, he himself might be the one tied to the rack the next!
All the previous stagnation, all the pretense, all the grievances swallowed through gritted teeth will all vanish like bubbles.
To accept it is to take a blood-stained wrong path; not to accept it is to face an immediate dead end.
He had no choice but to agree.
This is the daily life of underground Party members: no grand pronouncements, only silent choices; no swords clashing, yet they walk the edge of a precipice every day. They use their faces as masks, smiles as shields, and silence as their battle flag, forging their faith into their very bones amidst the cracks of trust and betrayal.
According to regulations, anyone entering the Zhazidong Detention Center must be disarmed. Zhou Xiao's waist was empty, and he had no gun in his hand.
Boss Dai was the only exception—his right hand was on the holster, his knuckles white.
"Hahaha!" Boss Dai suddenly laughed loudly, unfastened his pistol from his waist, and tossed it neatly to Zhou Xiao. "Catch it! Zhou Xiao, I believe in you. The future of the Military Intelligence Bureau depends on you guys!"
The reason he personally set up this scheme was because Zhou Xiao was too outstanding.
The sharper the knife, the more you need to test whether it has been properly tempered; the brighter the eagle, the more you need to examine which way its wings are pointing.
Zhou Xiao knew perfectly well: 99% of underground party members who fell into the hands of the Military Intelligence Bureau wouldn't survive more than three days. But if they died at his hands... then it would be another muddled case with no evidence and no way to overturn it.
He had no other choice.
Zheng Yaoxian watched all of this quietly, as if looking into an old mirror.
The spot where he stood back then is exactly the same as where Zhou Xiao is now.
It is precisely because he has waded through so many dark rivers that he has gradually climbed to his current height.
Even so, Boss Dai's hawk-like eyes still occasionally sweep over the back of his neck—the suspicion has never truly dissipated.
Of course, Zheng Yaoxian had no idea that the young man who had just taken the gun had the same red heart beating in his chest, just like himself.
Zhou Xiao took the pistol from Boss Dai, and the moment his fingertips touched the barrel, his heart skipped a beat—something was wrong with this thing.
The quantities are incorrect.
The magazine was heavy and full, but the gun itself was unusually light, as if a bone was missing. There was only one explanation: it was full of blanks!
Blank cartridges have no warhead, only the cartridge case, a small amount of propellant, and a primer. They are often used in exercises. When they hit a person at close range, they can burn the skin and break the flesh, but they cannot penetrate vital organs.
Blank cartridges commonly found on the market fall into two categories: closed-end type – the nozzle is completely sealed, with no dummy tip; full-form type – they look very similar to real cartridges, even with a blunt tip, but they weigh only a few grams.
Just a few grams!
Even a veteran agent who has been involved in covert operations for ten years might not be able to detect it even with his eyes closed.
But Zhou Xiao sensed it. At the very moment he signed in at the Zhazidong Detention Center, he drew the "divine hand"—these were the ears that could hear the wind and pinpoint locations, and the hands that could feel the bumps and dents on the tip of an embroidery needle, not to mention the difference of a few grams.
Zheng Yaoxian and Boss Dai stared intently at him, waiting for his next move.
Having already realized that the gun contained blanks and couldn't kill him within ten paces, what was he afraid of?
The gun was fake, but the scheme was real.
This was a scheme orchestrated by Boss Dai himself.
Zhou Xiao didn't even blink. He raised his arm, aimed, and pulled the trigger—clever and decisive, like tearing a piece of waste paper.
boom!
A blinding white flame exploded from the muzzle of the gun, and a scorching blast of air hit the prisoner's chest.
Although the blank cartridge had no warhead, the high-pressure gas shot out directly, blasting a bloody gash across the chest, tearing the flesh apart, turning it charred and reddish-brown.
"Blank rounds?!" Zhou Xiao's gun, still emitting smoke, suddenly froze, his pupils contracting, his voice trembling, "Boss Dai... what... what does this mean? You don't trust me?"
His tone was full of astonishment and resentment at being humiliated, almost choking him to death.