“You assured me that the Military Intelligence Bureau’s men would not dare to come here.”
The Japanese officer’s words twisted in Chen Moqun’s heart as he obediently bowed. Of course the Bureau’s men wouldn’t dare come under Wang Shi’an’s command; he was too careful, too ambitious, and not aggressive enough. But Lin Nansheng?
Chen Moqun swallowed sour laughter and shoved down pain as he turned to his command; he had to do his job, every distasteful part of it.
Lin Nansheng had become exactly what Chen Moqun had hoped he would: a loyal dog, a man willing to do anything necessary to root out corruption. Bad luck and a set-up meant that Chen Moqun represented the very thing he’d trained Lin Nansheng to loathe, and he was filled with the bittersweet knowledge of his success.
“Form a perimeter,” he snapped, the Japanese words ugly on his tongue. “Search for the assassins.”
He didn’t want to root Lin Nansheng out himself. Still, when the reports that nobody suspicious could be seen outside back back, Chen Moqun steeled himself and led the Japanese soldiers upstairs.
If Lin Nansheng had to die for Chen Moqun’s continued survival, so be it.
And yet, when he found a room with a rope leading out the window and Hu Daoyi told him nobody outside had caught a spy—
Chen Moqun knew all of Lin Nansheng’s tricks. He’d taught the youth most of them, and seen him use the rest.
When they opened the cupboard door and saw nothing, Chen Moqun collapsed against the couch. Disappointment, he told himself, because that was what everyone around him needed to see.
Chen Moqun was all too aware, as he pushed himself upright and ordered the search to continue elsewhere, that the emotion he felt was more appropriately named relief.