Agent: Intercepting Yu Manli at the start!

Chapter 60: Traces Don't Lie!

Time quietly slipped towards noon.

Zhou Xiao picked up the phone and dialed the telecommunications monitoring room: "Have Lan Yanzhi send all the monitoring records and translated telegrams from this morning to my office immediately."

"Understood!" came the crisp reply from the telecommunications section chief through the receiver.

Before long, Lan Yanzhi, carrying a stack of newly organized telegrams, stepped lightly into the office of the head of the intelligence department.

Knock, knock, knock—three crisp, short knocks on the door.

No one answered.

"Director Zhou, this is Lan Yanzhi." She raised her voice slightly and called out again from outside the door.

It was still so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Shall I come in?" Before the words were even finished, she had already pushed the door open—the room was empty, not a soul in sight. She frowned slightly and muttered to herself, "Where is everyone?"

She walked straight to the desk, gently placed the documents on it, and turned to leave, but suddenly stopped. A fragment of Zhou Xiao and Feng Manna's hushed conversation at the end of the corridor flashed through her mind; the phrase "core contingency plan for currency war" pierced her eardrums like a thorn. Curiosity surged forth, overwhelming all hesitation—she had to get her hands on that document.

She closed the door behind her, quickly turned back, and her fingertips had already opened the first drawer.

empty.

He glanced at the few ordinary official documents scattered on the table and quickly checked them—nothing.

My gaze swept toward the elm wood bookshelf against the wall, and I tiptoed to pull open the top shelf—still no sign of it.

Her movements became increasingly swift, but her eyes frequently darted toward the door, her ears strained, catching every unusual sound in the corridor.

Search! Turn every corner upside down!

After searching around, she found nothing. Finally, her gaze settled on the dark green safe in the corner.

Opening it takes time, but even more so, courage. She bit her lower lip, took a deep breath, and stepped forward, pressing her ear against the cool metal casing. Her fingers slowly turned the keypad—holding her breath and concentrating, she relied on her hearing to discern the subtle rhythm of the internal reeds.

Click...tap...

The ticking of the second hand seemed amplified tenfold. Beads of sweat slid down her forehead and dripped onto her collar.

Just a few steps away in a men's restroom stall, Zhou Xiao leaned against the gray brick wall, a nearly extinguished cigarette between his fingers. Wisps of smoke rose as he squinted at his watch, flicked off the ash, and looked relaxed, as if waiting for a long-planned play to begin.

These few short minutes were a window of opportunity he had carefully timed and created himself. His objective was as clear as a knife: to ensure that Lan Yanzhi could successfully retrieve the intelligence report on the currency war and hand it over to the Military Intelligence Bureau intact.

He knew her capabilities—and he also knew that if she couldn't even seize this opportunity, all his previous judgments would have to be scrapped and started over.

"That's about it." He stubbed out his cigarette, tossed it into the wastebasket, rinsed off the ash from his fingertips, and stepped out the door toward his office.

Inside the room, Lan Yanzhi's fingertips trembled slightly as she followed the keypad.

Click—a very light spring snapping open, as crisp as a sudden heartbeat stopping.

The cabinet door opened with a click.

She pulled out the bulging document bag inside and shook it open—as the pages fluttered, the bold words "Aoki Takeshige: Special Operations Outline for Currency Warfare" immediately caught her eye.

Her pupils contracted sharply, her breath hitched, and her fingertips turned cold: So that's how it is... If it were really implemented, the supply lines to the front lines would be tangled into a dead end, and the people in the occupied areas would be plunged into a desperate situation where food prices soared and banknotes became worthless.

But there was no time to read it carefully right now. She didn't have any camera equipment with her, nor could she copy it down, so she could only rely on her brain—scanning quickly, memorizing, and categorizing, engraving the key points, timelines, and fund flows deep into her memory.

Suddenly, footsteps approached from afar in the corridor. Leather shoes clattered on the terrazzo floor, steady, rhythmic, and getting closer.

She immediately closed the document bag, put it back in its original place, and calmly tightened the safe door with both hands.

Turning around again, she was already sitting upright in the rattan chair to the side, relaxed, as if she were just waiting for a moment.

The moment the door was pushed open, she even gave a faint smile.

Zhou Xiao pushed the door open and entered, his gaze sweeping over her before landing on the stack of documents on the table: "Yan Zhi is here? I just went to the restroom, sorry to have kept you waiting."

She stood up and said casually, "I've left all the wiretapping records here."

"Thank you for your hard work." He nodded, casually flipping through the top few pages. "I'll look at it right away."

"Then I won't bother you any longer." She nodded in farewell, turned and left, her back view calm and composed.

The door closed gently.

Zhou Xiao strolled to the window, his gaze slowly sweeping across the entire room: the drawer was a finger's width ajar, there was a faint fingerprint on the second shelf of the bookshelf, and an almost invisible fiber appeared on the edge of the table—a slight smile appeared on his lips.

The traces don't lie.

She has thoroughly "visited" this room.

He understands trace evidence and, more importantly, he understands human nature. This entire "theft" was meticulously documented on his drawings.

So-called leaks are nothing more than carefully designed intelligence delivery—the most ingenious transmissions never need messengers.

He knew Lan Yanzhi too well: give her time, and she would definitely take action; give her a chance, and she would never leave empty-handed.

As it turned out, she did not disappoint him.

At that moment, she was clutching the "hard-won" intelligence and rushing towards the contact point, completely unaware that the safe door was the first screw he had loosened for her.

Zhou Xiao walked to the safe, reached out and opened the door, quietly watching the document bag that had been taken and then quietly put back in its place.

He opened the brown paper bag and pulled out the top-secret intelligence document about the currency war.

I struck a match and brought it close to the corner of the paper—the orange flame shot up with a "whoosh," and black ash swirled with blue smoke as it rose into the air.

This was originally a mission specifically to deliver intelligence about Lan Yanzhi. Now that the mission is complete, no survivors should be left, and no trace should be left behind.

Keeping it? That would be like handing a knife to the enemy.

There was a hidden spy at the Military Intelligence Bureau's Shanghai station.

When Song Mian, the leader of the action team, stepped into the inner room with the sign "Yifeng Grocery Store" hanging on it, he met his superior, Wan Zhichao.

Shanghai's underground network is as dense as a spider web, with overt and covert lines crisscrossing each other: there are more than one action team, contact points are scattered everywhere, and even teahouses, pawnshops, and tailor shops may be rendezvous and sentries—all to prevent the Japanese Special Higher Police from taking everything down at once.

Besides Mingtai's team, Song Mian also had a capable force at his disposal.

Lan Yanzhi was under his command, directly under Wan Zhichao's control; as for Mingtai's group? She had no idea they existed.

"Station Chief Wan, Lan Yanzhi just sent an urgent telegram—the Special Higher Police are plotting a currency war, and here are all the details."

Song Mian handed over the neatly folded intelligence report, the edges of which still carried a trace of dampness.

Everything was proceeding according to Zhou Xiao's plan, steadily falling into the hands of the military commander.

After scanning the text, Wan Zhichao slammed his knuckles on the edge of the table, his voice heavy as if pressing down on a block of iron: "How ruthless! They want to use money to cripple us, to destroy our lifeline?" He paused, his gaze sharp as a knife, "The printing plates must be smuggled out of the city before the Japanese! Not an hour can be wasted!"

"Understood!" Song Mian straightened his back. "I'll personally escort the truck this time."

Wan Zhichao nodded: "The faster the better, the more frequent the better."

He lowered his voice: "We just received intelligence—three of our brothers have fallen into the hands of Special Operations Headquarters. They know where the printing plates are hidden... If they can't withstand the torture, their secrets might be exposed."

"If this is lost, the entire financial dam will collapse!"

"I'll go get people, prepare vehicles, and scout the route right away!" Song Mian turned and left.

Printing banknotes outside the city? That's like dancing on a knife's edge.

The city gates were heavily guarded, and the streets and alleys were full of informants. The slightest disturbance could lead to being ambushed by secret agents or even being robbed on the way.

This battle was a test of courage, but even more so of meticulous calculation.

The following day, at the Special Operations Headquarters.

As soon as Zhou Xiao stepped through the iron gate, Feng Manna came up to him, the sleeve of her cheongsam brushing against his arm: "Third Brother, let's go, let's interrogate him."

"Didn't I hand it over to you?" Zhou Xiao paused, "Did you manage to get them to talk?"

Feng Manna smiled slightly, but the smile didn't reach her eyes: "Yesterday I poured chili water on him and put him on bamboo skewers, and this morning I added some more fire—I reckon his bones should be tender by now."

She took two steps forward and lowered her voice: "These three Kuomintang agents are very likely to know the whereabouts of the printing plates. If we crack one down, we can follow the trail and the whole line will be lit."

"Okay, let me get a copy of the file." Zhou Xiao nodded.

Feng Manna smiled and agreed.

Ten minutes later, in the Special Operations Headquarters dungeon.

"ah--!!!"

The mournful screams bounced back and forth against the stone wall, like a dull knife scraping bone, making the listener's scalp tingle and their hair stand on end.

In this place, you go in as a human, and you come out as a ghost; of those who manage to walk out of the prison alive, less than one in ten survives.

In the center of the interrogation room, three iron chain crosses were nailed to the wall.

The three men were shirtless, their skin torn and bleeding, with scabs covering old wounds and new wounds opening up and bleeding again. Even their breathing smelled of blood.

Feng Manna sat cross-legged on the wooden chair, her fingertips slowly tapping the armrest: "To talk, or not to talk?"

The three men's Adam's apples bobbed, but they clenched their teeth tightly and didn't even lift their eyelids.

Two days and two nights of torture had long since drained his strength, but that last bit of resilience still burned like embers deep in his throat.

Zhou Xiao watched them quietly. Although they were complete strangers, he couldn't help but take a few more glances—the way they carried themselves showed they were made of iron.

He slowly walked up to the three men, his voice low but each word piercing their ears: "The torture you endured ranks among the top three in the Special Operations Headquarters. You've got guts."

He suddenly chuckled softly: "But the Military Intelligence Bureau leaders are living the high life, while you're risking your lives on the front lines—is it worth it?"

The three remained silent.

Zhou Xiao turned to look at Feng Manna: "You're really tight-lipped."

"Then don't blame me for being ruthless." Feng Manna stood up, twirled her skirt, and smiled coldly. "Hungry dog, bring it in."

"yes!"

Two wolfhounds were dragged into the house. They had thick necks, protruding fangs, sunken bellies, and eyes that gleamed with the green light of starvation.

Feng Manna tilted her head and smiled, a smile like a poisoned hook: "Have you ever heard of 'dog torture'?"

"Dog torture" involves locking a person and a starving wolfhound in the same iron cage to see who breaks down first and begs for mercy—the scene is absolutely horrifying! A fight between a human and a dog? I haven't seen such a thrilling spectacle in a long time!

Reset to zero!

It broke!

At this moment, Feng Manna had already stepped into the abyss, with no way back.

Those wolfhounds were all tall and thick-legged, with menacing fangs, their eyes were green with hunger, and their mouths were watering.

Let alone a few prisoners who were beaten so badly that they could barely stand, even two strong men who were unarmed might not be able to withstand the attack of two rabid dogs.

Should we really put them in dog cages? No doubt—they'd die, and die a horrible death.

Zhou Xiao glanced sideways at Feng Manna.

The woman before me was chillingly unfamiliar. There was no trace of human warmth in her eyes, only naked violence and pleasure—she was nothing more than an executioner in human skin.

To be honest, Zhou Xiao had wanted to save the three Kuomintang agents. But the time wasn't right, and the opportunity was gone.

If one's identity is exposed while trying to save someone, all previous efforts will be wasted, and the entire plan will be completely ruined.