Chapter Eighteen: Continuing the Investigation

As usual, every night when he slept, Ning Zhiheng would enter his consciousness space—it had already become a kind of instinct. Each time he recited Buddhist scriptures beneath the bodhi tree, he would enter a state of deep meditation and forgetfulness, akin to the brain entering a profound rest.

In this state, his mind was filled with an extraordinary sense of joy and tranquility. Ordinary people, after falling asleep, would experience light sleep or dreams, and only enter deep sleep for a short period—usually just one to two hours. Some, especially those suffering from neurasthenia, could hardly ever reach deep sleep at all; spending the entire night in light sleep, or even sleepless, waking at the slightest stir.

In his past life, Ning Zhiheng himself had suffered from severe neurasthenia. There were nights when he could only sleep two or three hours at most. Naturally, this was the result of his work environment and experiences. Especially during the time when his wife left him with their child, he was nearly sleepless for entire nights, drifting through each day in a haze, his spirit in tatters.

But ever since he entered his consciousness space, from the day he first recited Buddhist scriptures beneath the bodhi tree, everything changed dramatically. The profound peace and serenity of spirit, the meditative state of his consciousness, brought the greatest possible restoration and nourishment to both his mind and body.

In that state, he felt no passage of time. No matter how exhausting the day's training or how tired his body was, as long as he entered the consciousness space to recite the scriptures at night, by the time he left it in the morning, he would be in peak condition—spirit vigorous, muscles strong.

Sitting cross-legged beneath the bodhi tree, tranquil and serene chanting echoed softly in his ears. He responded with his own recitation, immersing himself in the depths of stillness and emptiness.

Lost in this state, he didn’t know how much time passed before he finally halted the chanting and emerged from the tranquil clarity of meditation.

He looked up at the lush green leaves of the bodhi tree, frowning slightly, a trace of worry rising in his heart.

Since this bodhi tree had entered his consciousness space, one fruit and one leaf had already been consumed. The fruit had enabled his miraculous transmigration. The green leaf had greatly enhanced his physical constitution.

Clearly, each consumption brought him enormous benefit. There were six green leaves left on the tree, but while they were being consumed, none grew back. This state of only depleting and never replenishing left him troubled. After much consideration, he reasoned that since the bodhi tree bore both fruit and leaves, there must be a way for it to grow more.

What he needed now was to find the method to make the bodhi tree sprout new leaves and fruit—a source of energy necessary for its growth.

All at once, inspiration struck. The bodhi tree was a supreme Buddhist treasure, and every time he entered the consciousness space, he heard the mystical chanting emanating from its branches. It was clear that all of this was inextricably linked with Buddhism.

In his previous life, during his last years, setbacks in his career and marriage had led him to gradually explore Buddhist culture. He even possessed a few old editions of Zen scriptures among his collections.

With his understanding of Buddhist culture, he realized that the chants he heard daily were seldom the same—Buddhist scriptures were as vast as the sea. The sutras recited by the bodhi tree were random; often, he had no idea which scripture he was reciting.

He had once tried chanting some remembered passages of the Avatamsaka Sutra from his past life, but it was fruitless—he could not enter the state of tranquil emptiness. In other words, only passively following the scripture recited by the bodhi tree was effective.

Perhaps he should collect some Buddhist artifacts or relics to see if they might have any effect—maybe they could bring unexpected surprises.

With this idea, Ning Zhiheng became increasingly convinced. Nanjing, also known as Jinling, was the ancient capital of six dynasties and a renowned Buddhist holy place in history. Even after a thousand years of wind and rain, there were still dozens of Buddhist temples preserved around Nanjing. Moreover, many Buddhist items were still kept among the common people, so collecting them shouldn't be too difficult.

Early the next morning, Ning Zhiheng rose, washed, and headed out. Today, he wore not his military uniform but rather a student’s plain attire, looking every bit the young scholar.

His mission today was to follow the route map provided by Huang Taoguang, searching along the path that Yukida Kōju took to and from work, carefully looking for the house with fresh flowers on the windowsill that he recalled in his mind.

Arriving at the house on Beihua Street where Yukida Kōju lived, he found the gate still tightly shut. The surrounding neighbors walked by at a distance, fearful of getting involved.

Only the half-open gate of a house across the street revealed a young man in ordinary clothes pouring out wash water at the entrance. His gaze swept over, seemingly casual but clearly watchful.

Ning Zhiheng instantly recognized him as the intelligence officer who, four days ago during Yukida Kōju’s arrest, had been responsible for surveillance and reporting to Huang Taoguang.

It seemed the intelligence division hadn’t entirely given up; surveillance staff were still posted. Ning Zhiheng ignored the man’s probing glance and did not linger, instead beginning his sweep along the predetermined route.

The young man, somewhat suspicious, remembered seeing Ning Zhiheng briefly four days ago—now in different clothes—so Ning Zhiheng seemed vaguely familiar. But any hint of suspicion could not be overlooked; he prepared to follow.

Just then, a low voice came from behind: “No need to follow, that’s one of our own from the action team. He was the one who personally arrested Fu Cheng that day. Looks like the operations division hasn’t given up, either!”

Upon hearing this, the young man showed no reaction, poured the wash water by the door, and slowly returned to his courtyard as if nothing had happened.

Ning Zhiheng walked slowly, scanning carefully, observing every house and detail on both sides of the street.

Jinling was a bustling metropolis; the roads were lined with dwellings and shops, two-story buildings everywhere. Many upstairs rooms had potted flowers on their windowsills, several resembling the house in his memory.

After all, his mental image was fleeting and incomplete, lacking details of the surroundings, making it difficult to identify the exact house. However, Ning Zhiheng was patient. The distance was not far, and he was confident that he would find something.

He proceeded methodically, marking his paper as he went, unwittingly arriving at Yukida Kōju’s workplace.

Along the way, he carefully noted seven houses that resembled the one in his memory, three of which had fresh flowers on their windowsills.

He walked the route three more times, adding two more houses to his list. In total, nine houses matched the windowsill and architectural style in his recollection.

His remaining task was to narrow these down, with the three houses sporting flowers on the windowsills as priority targets.

This was a meticulous and time-consuming job, too much for one person in a short time. He decided to delegate the initial screening to Liu Datong, who was much better suited for such tasks.

Time was of the essence. It was already the fourth day since Fu Cheng’s arrest. If his accomplices sensed something amiss, they would abandon the communication point, making it useless even if found.

This was the last lead, the final hope in the case—he had to give his utmost effort.

Near midday, he arrived at the police substation near Beihua Street. Nanjing was vast, with over twenty sub-bureaus under the main police headquarters, each overseeing a different district.

At that moment, Liu Datong was about to go home for lunch. As he stepped out of the station, he saw Ning Zhiheng approaching.

Ning Zhiheng waved, and Liu Datong quickly followed. The two entered a secluded restaurant nearby and selected a private room. Ning Zhiheng casually ordered a few dishes while Liu Datong poured tea with practiced enthusiasm. “What can I do for you? Just say the word—I’ll handle it properly for you.”

Ning Zhiheng took out the marked map from his pocket, placed it on the table, and pushed it toward Liu Datong. “I’m working on a case involving the capture of a Japanese spy. I’ve managed to obtain some leads. But I’m not familiar with the districts and streets of Nanjing. Here’s what I need: there are nine houses marked on this map. I want you to investigate each one thoroughly—find out who owns them, their family situation, background, and pay special attention to any house with potted roses. Make sure to get detailed information. Most importantly, you must be discreet—absolutely no alarming the suspects. Can you do that?”

Liu Datong took the map, studied it intently, and replied, “Don’t worry. All these houses are within our jurisdiction. If you wanted to find a lost cat or dog, I could get it for you—quietly, without anyone knowing.”

“Good. Remember, the sooner you finish, the better. The longer it takes, the greater the chance this spy escapes.”

Ning Zhiheng was very satisfied. In this district, Liu Datong was the local authority. They could access the files of every household from the station and knew the area inside out. Using him to investigate residents’ identities was far more efficient than relying on the intelligence or operations teams of the Bureau of Military Affairs.

Indeed, this was why every historical intelligence organization needed to expand and recruit local forces as auxiliary groups to strengthen their control.

“How soon can you complete the investigation?” Ning Zhiheng pressed, still uneasy. After all, it had been some time since Yukida Kōju was captured; his accomplices might have already abandoned the site. Once they learned of his arrest, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t divulge the location.

The safest course was to withdraw and lie low at once. The capture of Yukida Kōju had caused quite a commotion. Even though Huang Taoguang believed the accomplices did not know Fu Cheng’s undercover identity and communicated only through dead drops, that was still just a judgment—not a certainty.

So time was critical. Acting with maximum speed, leaving the Japanese spy network no time to react, was crucial.

Liu Datong, aware of the urgency, calculated quickly. “I’ll do my best to investigate at once. Give me the afternoon—tonight, I’ll bring the results to your residence.”

To finish so quickly—he truly was capable. Ning Zhiheng had expected completion by the next day at best; he hadn’t imagined Liu Datong would need only an afternoon. A single day could greatly increase their odds of success.

“You’re sure?” Ning Zhiheng asked again.

“I’m sure. But to get it done so quickly, I’ll need to mobilize a few of my men. It won’t just be me who knows. I’ve been at the station for years and have a few reliable people under me. With all of them involved, it’ll be done before nightfall.”

“Are your men trustworthy? And remember, keep it quiet—no commotion, no alarming the suspects,” Ning Zhiheng cautioned, worried about the caliber of Liu Datong’s subordinates. Anyone connected with the police station wasn’t likely to be an upstanding civilian; if his men were a mixed bag, the task could easily be botched.

“Don’t worry. I have a few trusted colleagues at the station, and some brothers I grew up with on the streets. I wouldn’t have made it to squad leader without their help. They’re reliable, and know how to keep their mouths shut—they won’t jeopardize your business,” Liu Datong swore, patting his chest in assurance.

Ning Zhiheng nodded. Having useful hands under Liu Datong was an advantage; it meant he could indirectly control a small group and begin forming his own power base.

“That’s best,” Ning Zhiheng said, then tossed a stack of banknotes onto the table. “Here’s two hundred yuan in legal tender—your operating fund. Use it as you see fit. I just want the results.”

Liu Datong was taken aback. It wasn’t that he’d never received money before, but as a police squad leader, his monthly salary was only twenty yuan. Even taking bribes, he rarely saw such a sum.

At that time, legal tender had just begun circulating and was at its strongest. Two hundred yuan was several months’ pay.

“What are you doing? Working for you is my duty! With your support, my future will be bright—I should be the one thanking you, not taking your money!” he said, waving the cash away.

Ning Zhiheng smiled, pushing the money back. “It’s only right to pay for services rendered. Though you’ll be working with me in the future, I won’t have you running errands for nothing. I believe in clear rewards and punishments. Besides, your brothers will need their share—no one works for free these days. I don’t exploit people. Don’t worry, this is just a small sum; as long as you’re diligent, there will be more for you.”

He was, after all, quite flush with funds—most of it had been handed over to his mentor He Feng, but he had kept some for his own use.

Hearing this, Liu Datong felt deeply grateful. He hadn’t expected his patron—so young and low-key—to be such a generous and open-handed master. It seemed his luck had turned and he’d found himself a powerful backer.

Delighted by this windfall, Liu Datong felt a surge of pride. With money, he would have face among his brothers—he could already imagine the scene, the banknotes fanned out before them, and the respect that would follow.