Chapter Fourteen: The Flying Club
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“Sir, you are blocking my way!”
As most Jepengese usually did, the middle-aged man gave a polite little bow, though his eyes continued sizing up the young smoker before him.
The young man appeared to be only a little over twenty. His sharply chiseled face gleamed with the luster of polished jade, while his eyes shone black and bright in the night, as though they could see straight into a person’s heart—or draw one’s spirit into their depths.
Over the years, the middle-aged man had met countless important figures. He had seen eyes that were ruthless and gentle, keen and muddled, yet he had never encountered a gaze like this one, black as a bottomless abyss. For that reason, an unusual moment of confusion seized him as he spoke.
The man shifted his gaze slightly and studied the young stranger. A cigarette was pinched between the young man’s right fingers, while his left hand wore a black glove. Beside him stood a black suitcase, set with a red heart-shaped emblem.
It was him!
The middle-aged man’s breathing grew involuntarily heavier.
The young man was studying him as well. He wore a black suit and a short crew cut, dressed much like an ordinary Jepengese office worker. His eyes appeared somewhat dull, yet now and then, as his pupils shifted, a glint of shrewdness flashed through them.
The young man straightened. With an apparently casual flick of his right hand, he sent the half-smoked cigarette arcing through the air. It flew several yards and landed precisely in the ashtray section at the center of a trash bin. Like the bit of a power drill, it spun rapidly against the metal casing. The glowing tobacco shrank at astonishing speed, the burning ember went out in an instant, and then, with a soft click, the cigarette dropped neatly inside.
The man’s brows twitched.
What kind of technique was that?
The young man removed the black glove from his left hand and waved it three times. In exceedingly fluent Jepengese, he said, “That is a fine car. Is it a Wuling? It reminds me of the Song Wuling Chun by the Hermit of Yian: ‘Though things remain, the people have changed; all affairs have come to nothing. Before I can speak, tears have already begun to fall.’”
The middle-aged man smiled and shook his head. “No, no. It is a Wuling, not a Wuling Chun. But since you mention Wuling, I actually prefer what Master Five Willows wrote: ‘During the Taiyuan era of the Jin, the people of Wuling made their living by fishing.’”
He paused, then enunciated each word:
“The people there told him that this place was not to be spoken of to outsiders.”
All the signals matched.
The young man smiled. An unusual radiance flickered in his dark, luminous eyes. The mysterious air that had surrounded him suddenly became warm and approachable. He extended both hands and clasped the right hand of Nakayama Jieping.
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“At last, I’ve found my own people!”
The middle-aged man gripped the young man’s hands tightly in his broad palms. His lips trembled, and it was a long while before he could speak.
But his excitement lasted less than half a minute. He soon regained his composure, then became somewhat puzzled.
“How is it that you’re the only one—”
As he spoke, he looked around and suddenly realized that within a few yards of him stood six young men dressed almost exactly like Lei Dong. They were all smiling at him.
The middle-aged man was startled. Their appearance had been utterly silent and had attracted no one’s attention. It was as though they had been standing there all along, yet he had neither heard nor seen anything unusual. How had they managed it?
After all, he was renowned for his sharp eyes and ears, as well as his alertness and cunning.
He froze for a moment, then quickly recovered and opened the car door. This was hardly the time to dwell on such matters. Besides, with skills like these, future operations would be all the more successful—whatever those operations might be. Was that not so?
* * *
“Li Yongzheng, special intelligence officer of the Intelligence Department of the General Staff, stationed in Jepeng. Rank: lieutenant colonel.”
As he turned the steering wheel smoothly and drove out of the airport, Li Yongzheng pressed the music button. Soft Jepengese traditional music filled the car as he began introducing himself.
From the back seat, Huang Xiwen said, “Captain of the Fourth Squad of the Furious Dragon Brigade, directly attached to General Staff Headquarters, Huang Xiwen. You’ve worked hard, Comrade Li Yongzheng!”
Beside him, Lei Dong, seated in the passenger seat, lightly patted Li Yongzheng on the shoulder.
“Lei Dong.”
A single acknowledgment of his hard work, the words “Comrade Li Yongzheng,” and that brief smile caused Li Yongzheng, who had only just regained his composure, to tremble violently in the shoulders. Tears glimmered in his eyes, but he quickly forced down his excitement. His voice nevertheless carried a barely perceptible tremor.
“It was no hardship, no hardship at all. Twenty years… After all this time, to hear the understanding of my comrades and to take part in this operation—everything has been worth it!”
Li Yongzheng’s right hand swept fiercely through the air, as though venting the frustration he had endured for so many years.
“Twenty years…”
All the team members fell silent.
Judging from Li Yongzheng’s age, he could not have been more than forty-five. In other words, he had spent nearly half his life in enemy territory. What kind of twenty years had those been? He had been surrounded by strangers and enemies, both open and hidden. He had been forced to suppress his true emotions at all times while continually gathering intelligence of immense value for his country.
Sensing the oppressive atmosphere in the car, Li Yongzheng grew embarrassed and changed the subject.
“My current alias is Nakayama Jieping. I am a secret agent with the Domestic Affairs Division of the Intelligence Agency under the Jepeng Empire’s Ministry of Defense…”
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Lei Dong broke into a cold sweat.
Was this man a double agent?
He glanced sideways and saw a bitter smile cross Li Yongzheng’s face.
“My public identity is the eighth-generation leader of Jepeng’s largest criminal organization, the Flood Dragon Society. I am also the driver and personal bodyguard of Fujiyama Ken, president of Flood Dragon Corporation…”
“Oh, damn!”
Wuyun was a naturally gregarious man who had never bothered concealing his emotions. He immediately blurted out, “You’re… unbelievably badass, aren’t you?”
The bitter smile vanished from Li Yongzheng’s face almost at once. He said calmly, “It is not as complicated as it sounds. What is more complicated is that even my identity as Nakayama Jieping was fabricated. Twenty years ago, when I was first sent to Jepeng, I happened to arrive just after the East Bay earthquake. A Jepengese man named Nakayama Jieping and his entire family had died. I abandoned the identity I had originally fabricated and assumed his identity instead. That was when I officially began operating.
“Later, I joined the Flood Dragon Society. I worked my way up from the streets, following the bosses and underbosses as they seized territory and conducted business. Step by step, I became the chairman’s driver and bodyguard. Ten years ago, the Ministry of Defense somehow took an interest in me. They coerced and bribed me into joining them, assigning me to monitor the Flood Dragon Society’s activities. What they did not know was that I had been waiting for that opportunity for a very long time…”
The members of the Furious Dragon Brigade listened with blank disbelief written across their faces.
That life story was enough to fill an entire book—and it would certainly be more entertaining than any bestseller.
Lei Dong, however, quickly realized something and hesitantly asked, “The chairman of the Flood Dragon Society, Fujiyama Ken? Wasn’t he…”
Li Yongzheng nodded.
“Yes. Five years ago, Fujiyama Ken was implicated in a shooting and sentenced to five years in prison. So I temporarily opened a flying club, serving as its president and head instructor. Thanks to the Ministry of Defense and the Flood Dragon Society, business has been quite good!”
As several people stared at him in disbelief, Li Yongzheng chuckled a few times. With a magician’s flourish, he pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Lei Dong in the passenger seat.
“I hope I can count on all of you for your support!”
Everyone looked at Li Yongzheng, whose calm expression carried a hint of teasing, then at the card in Lei Dong’s hand. When they saw the words “Nakayama Flying Club” printed on it, they exchanged glances, and their eyes lit up simultaneously.
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