Chapter Twenty-Seven: Capturing the Mole

Ning Zhiheng gestured for silence, signaling Zhao Jiang to take Huang Hui aside so he could question him personally.

At this point, Huang Hui was completely paralyzed with fear, yet he remained silent, refusing to reveal anything.

Seeing his stubbornness, Ning Zhiheng wasted no words. He drew his pistol and pressed it against Huang Hui’s head. “I don’t have the patience to waste time with you. I’ll count to ten. If you still refuse to talk, I’ll shoot.”

He began counting, “One, two, three…”

Huang Hui kept his head bowed and said nothing, but his trembling hands and pale lips betrayed his terror.

“Eight, nine…” When Ning Zhiheng reached nine, he released the safety on his Browning pistol with a crisp click. That sharp sound finally broke Huang Hui’s composure.

“I—I’ll talk!” he stammered.

He no longer hid anything and quickly explained the truth.

Huang Hui was a local, orphaned at a young age with only a small house to his name. Life had been hard. Four years earlier, a man had bought the house next door and become his neighbor—a man named Huang Xiansheng.

Huang Xiansheng, in his thirties, was a soldier. Seeing the teenage Huang Hui struggling to survive, he often helped him. Later, because they shared a surname, Huang Xiansheng recognized Huang Hui as his nephew, and they addressed each other as uncle and nephew.

With Huang Xiansheng’s help, Huang Hui’s life improved. He learned to make pastries and found work at Shunxin Pastry Shop, for which he was deeply grateful.

When he saw the sketch, he immediately recognized the man in the picture as his uncle, Huang Xiansheng.

Huang Xiansheng loved sweets, so Huang Hui often brought pastries home for him, but Huang Xiansheng rarely bought them at the shop himself. This was why no one at the other pastry shops Ning Zhiheng had questioned could identify him.

Despite Inspector Cui’s warning that shielding a suspect meant facing the same punishment, Huang Hui suppressed his fear and refused to betray Huang Xiansheng.

“What unit does Huang Xiansheng serve in?” Ning Zhiheng asked.

“The Second Battalion of the Eleventh Division—as an operations staff officer.”

“His rank?”

“Major.”

“Any family?”

“No, he’s always been single.”

“His address?”

“No. 32, Zhangma Lane.”

“Is he usually home at noon?”

“He normally comes home for lunch unless work keeps him at the unit, but he always returns at night.”

Under Ning Zhiheng’s persistent questioning, Huang Hui finally gave up resisting and confessed everything in detail.

Ning Zhiheng had Huang Hui’s statement recorded. Then he called over the shopkeeper.

“Is there a telephone here?” he asked.

The shopkeeper, nervous and anxious, quickly replied, “Yes, yes, we had one installed for our regular customers to place orders.”

Most small shops couldn’t afford a telephone line, but Shunxin Pastry Shop did good business and could bear the expense.

“Good. From this moment, the shop is closed. No one is allowed to leave, and there’s to be no contact with the outside. The phone can only receive calls, not make them. Don’t worry—you’ll be allowed home soon,” Ning Zhiheng instructed.

The shopkeeper dared not object and agreed repeatedly, though inwardly he was distressed, not knowing when these stern officers would release them.

Ning Zhiheng then called Wang Shucheng, who was still at the police station searching records, instructing him to find Huang Xiansheng’s household registration file.

With the address provided by Huang Hui, the search was quick. Although Huang Xiansheng’s military records would be with the army, anyone who owned property in Nanjing would also have a local registration.

Ning Zhiheng told Wang Shucheng to bring the file and the team to Shunxin Pastry Shop. He also sent someone to fetch Liu Molin from Beihua Street.

Soon, Wang Shucheng arrived with his team and the file. After a short wait, Liu Molin was brought in as well.

Liu Molin looked resigned, surprised that the matter had come back to involve him. The operations team offered no explanation, simply escorting him over with a firm attitude that left him speechless.

Only when he saw Ning Zhiheng did he relax. He’d always gotten along well with Ning Zhiheng, who was known for his gentle and courteous manner.

Seeing Liu Molin’s nervousness, Ning Zhiheng quickly reassured him, “Mr. Liu, I’m truly sorry to trouble you. This concerns Wang Yunfeng’s case. We simply need you to identify someone from a distance—there’s no risk to you.”

He then glared at one of the team members, adding, “My men were a bit rough—I should have explained better. Sorry to have startled you.”

Ning Zhiheng was always polite, careful not to offend with his words—a trait in his dealings with others. He’d formed a good impression of Liu Molin, and their interactions had been pleasant.

Reassured by Ning Zhiheng’s amiability, Liu Molin repeatedly said it was no trouble.

Ning Zhiheng handed the file to Liu Molin. Studying the photo on the registration card, Liu Molin scrutinized it for a long time before saying, “The photo looks similar, but I can’t be sure without seeing him in person.”

The registration file was basic, just a small black-and-white headshot—hardly enough for a definitive identification. Height, mannerisms, and movements were also crucial for confirmation.

For more detailed information, they would have to check the army's files. Although the Military Intelligence Office had the authority to request personnel files for serving officers, it required formal procedures.

Ning Zhiheng didn’t want to bother with that yet; he first needed to confirm whether Huang Xiansheng was the tenant at 402 Beihua Street. Without concrete evidence, it was hard to escalate the matter.

Once Liu Molin confirmed the identification, they could proceed with reporting, arrest, and interrogation without issue.

He left several team members behind to guard the shop staff. One must be cautious with the details—no leaks could be allowed.

The rest set off for Huang Xiansheng’s residence. Upon reaching Zhangma Lane, Wang Shucheng took a group to block the rear exits, while Ning Zhiheng stationed six men in ambush within the alley.

He decided to apprehend Huang Xiansheng in the alley, having learned from the previous failed attempt to arrest Liutian Xingzhu. He dared not let Huang Xiansheng enter his house—the situation inside was unknown, and there could be secret passages or other complications.

Ning Zhiheng himself took several others into a restaurant at the entrance to Zhangma Lane—a path Huang Xiansheng used daily.

After careful consideration, he decided not to spread out his men; most of his team were ex-military, their bearing unmistakably so. Unlike intelligence officers trained for covert operations, his men would stand out if dispersed along the street.

Especially against a spy whose senses were keener than ordinary people’s—such men could easily be alerted.

Checking the time, Ning Zhiheng judged that, according to Huang Hui, Huang Xiansheng should be returning soon.

Sure enough, before long, a man in uniform approached the alley. He was of medium build, solidly built, and strongly resembled the sketch.

Everyone’s attention focused on him. From a second-floor window overlooking the street, Liu Molin, sitting beside Ning Zhiheng, stared intently, nerves taut.

“Is that him?” Ning Zhiheng asked.

“Yes, it’s him—I’d recognize him even if he changed clothes!” Liu Molin replied.

Excellent! With Liu Molin’s confirmation, Ning Zhiheng’s doubts vanished.

He went downstairs and signaled the team members waiting in the restaurant’s main hall. They rose and moved toward the entrance.

At that moment, as Huang Xiansheng stepped into the alley, he sensed something was off. His spy training had honed his instincts; he could feel someone watching, an intuition that, for such a cautious man, was warning enough.

Intuition is a person’s subconscious rapid recognition of something unusual—a keen judgment. The last time, Ning Zhiheng had also experienced a sudden premonition of danger, just such an intuition.

The difference was that, enhanced by the mysterious power of the Bodhi Tree, Ning Zhiheng’s ability far exceeded normal human perception—almost beyond scientific explanation.

But some people are naturally sensitive, and Huang Xiansheng was one of them.

Ning Zhiheng’s arrangements had been extremely careful: avoiding exposure on the street, hiding in the restaurant, avoiding any direct contact with Huang Xiansheng. Yet, things still went awry.

Huang Xiansheng’s expression remained unchanged, but his pace slowed. His heightened alertness noted that, at this hour, there were usually people in the alley, coming and going for lunch.

But today, the alley was empty. Was it coincidence, or had someone blocked access?

Fortunately, he always carried a sidearm. He slowly reached for his waist. But the motion didn’t escape the notice of the ambushers.

The team, all well-trained soldiers, sensed trouble as soon as Huang Xiansheng slowed. When he reached for his gun, they acted at once.

Before he could touch the grip, a powerful blow struck him from behind, knocking him to the ground despite his physical strength.

Still, he had been prepared; as he fell forward, he rolled, drawing his pistol.

The other team members acted decisively—a straight punch landed on his chest, a shoulder feint followed by a sweeping kick nearly caught him at close range.

His wrist was struck hard, and the gun was knocked from his grip—there was no hope of retrieving it, for another figure leapt at him from above. He barely dodged a vital strike, but his shoulder was hit again, the impact nearly bringing him to his knees.

A flurry of attacks left him reeling. The team members were agile and skilled, and together, even someone as proficient as him could not fend them off.

Yet he wasn’t out of tricks. With a flick of his left hand, a dagger appeared as if from nowhere.