Chapter Seventy-Six: Codename Shadow

Rushing into the main hall with the rest of the team, several members immediately moved to bind Lu Ming. They tore open the collar of his undershirt, and sure enough, hidden inside was a packet of white potassium cyanide powder. A cloth was stuffed into his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue and taking his own life. Only then did Ning Zhiheng notice that Lu Ming's back was soaked in blood, and he quickly called for his men to bandage the wounds as best as they could.

As for the remaining two members of the Investigation Bureau, their protests were ignored; they too were bound without hesitation.

Ning Zhiheng promptly sent someone to notify Shi Hong and Wang Shusheng that the mission was accomplished and to regroup immediately.

The group hurried back to the Military Intelligence Division. Ning Zhiheng ordered Shao Wenguang to escort Ma Hong and the others to the Interrogation Department and hand them over to Intelligence for questioning.

Worried about Lu Ming’s condition, Ning Zhiheng had him rushed to the emergency infirmary. By that time, Lu Ming was barely clinging to life; two gunshot wounds were covered with white gauze, but blood from the most severe wound on his back continued to seep through. His breathing was labored and shallow, barely holding on.

The army doctor examined Lu Ming, checking his injuries for a moment before turning to Ning Zhiheng. “Captain Ning, there’s nothing more we can do for this man unless he’s sent to the Army General Hospital. But judging by his condition, he won’t survive the transfer. If you have any questions, you must ask them now. He doesn’t have much time left.”

Hearing this, Ning Zhiheng’s heart sank. He nodded helplessly, knowing he’d done all he could, but in the end, it was futile. In fact, seeing the resolve in Lu Ming’s eyes, perhaps this outcome was a kind of deliverance for him.

He gave a small gesture to the doctor, who understood immediately. It was time for a final conversation with the dying man, and he should leave them alone. Such scenes were not uncommon in the Military Intelligence Division; the doctor had encountered them many times before. He stepped out, closed the door tightly behind him, and withdrew to a distance, as required by confidentiality regulations.

Ning Zhiheng approached the bedside, leaned down, and whispered in Lu Ming’s ear, “You heard the doctor. Your time is short. I won't interrogate you now. If there’s anything unfinished in your heart, tell me, and I’ll do my best for you.”

Seeing Lu Ming nod faintly, Ning Zhiheng removed the cloth from his mouth. Lu Ming let out a long, relieved breath, glanced up at Ning Zhiheng, and after a long silence, his voice hoarse and low, said, “I’ve known this day would come; I just didn’t realize it would be so soon. I have nothing to say. Don’t waste your energy.”

Ning Zhiheng lowered his voice, speaking gently, “You don’t have to worry. I won’t ask you anything. I just want to talk.”

“To talk with me?” Lu Ming coughed weakly. “Our positions are different...our beliefs are different. The hatred between us is too deep. What is there to say?”

Yet, Lu Ming couldn’t help but sense something different in this young officer’s gaze—a trace of sadness. Why was he sad? Was he mourning the imminent death of a Red Party underground member? Impossible! They were strangers, and enemies at that.

“Say anything you wish, whatever is on your mind,” Ning Zhiheng replied in a calm, even tone, his eyes filled with sorrow. “No one should leave this world completely alone. Let me keep you company for these last moments.”

Hearing this, a bitter smile flickered across Lu Ming’s face. He hadn’t expected anyone would be willing to speak with him during his final moments, let alone a young officer of the Nationalist Army.

“Do you have faith?” Lu Ming suddenly asked.

“I do,” Ning Zhiheng replied, nodding. “Of course I do.”

“Your Three Principles of the People?” Lu Ming asked.

“No…” Ning Zhiheng hesitated a moment, then, looking at Lu Ming’s ever-paler face, finally said, “Communism.”

At these words, Lu Ming’s eyes, though dim, widened in disbelief as he stared at Ning Zhiheng. After a long scrutiny, he managed a bitter chuckle. “Look at me now. I’ll say it again: don’t waste your effort.”

Ning Zhiheng knew Lu Ming would never believe him, nor did he expect him to. He simply felt a deep sadness and only wished to accompany this steadfast Red through his final journey.

“I told you, I won’t ask you anything. Do you have any last wishes? You may tell me.”

Lu Ming felt his breath growing heavier, his chest weighted as if by a great stone. His tired eyes could barely open; even moving a finger was beyond his strength. He knew his time was nearly up. Slowly, he closed his eyes and said, “If you must know my last wish… I want that traitor Zhang Pei dead, because he betrayed our faith.”

“I promise you,” Ning Zhiheng answered, without the slightest hesitation, his voice resolute, “once you are gone, I will personally send him on his way, and avenge you.”

This Zhang Pei must be a traitor to the underground. His existence was a grave threat, and even without Lu Ming’s request, Ning Zhiheng knew he had to eliminate him.

“Why would you do that?” This time, Lu Ming was genuinely shocked. He did not truly expect a Nationalist officer to avenge him. But in Ning Zhiheng’s tone, he sensed sincerity—could it be true? Could this man truly believe in communism? Was he a comrade? Yet Lu Ming could not accept such a notion based on a few words.

“I know you don’t believe me. But rest assured, Zhang Pei is a threat to the underground and must be dealt with swiftly,” Ning Zhiheng said.

“If you’re lying, it means nothing to me. If you’re telling the truth, I am fortunate to have a communist warrior by my side at the end.” Lu Ming’s voice had grown fainter, his breath weaker.

Just then, Ning Zhiheng saw Lu Ming’s eyes open wide one last time, a faint flush coloring his face—the final rally before death. “Is there anything else you wish to say?” Ning Zhiheng asked quickly.

“I remember when I joined the Party… I swore my oath beneath the Party flag…” Lu Ming’s eyes seemed to see some distant scene, his face alight with the joy of memory. His expression grew solemn, and he recited, word by word, “Guard secrets strictly, obey discipline, sacrifice self, wage class struggle, strive for revolution, never…betray…the Party.”

Ning Zhiheng’s eyes glistened with tears, sorrow surging in his heart. He gripped Lu Ming’s hand tightly with his left, and laid his right palm gently on Lu Ming’s forehead. Leaning close to his ear, he softly recited the oath with him, “Guard secrets strictly, obey discipline, sacrifice self, wage class struggle, strive for revolution, never…betray…the Party.”

As they spoke the final words, “never betray the Party,” Lu Ming’s eyes widened, gazing gratefully at the young face before him, as if searching it one last time. At last his hands fell limp, and he closed his eyes in peace.

At that moment, Ning Zhiheng’s consciousness drifted into the spiritual space beneath the Bodhi tree, where melancholy still gripped his heart. He reached out to touch a cluster of light before him.

Lu Ming’s memories unfurled like a lantern show:

First, a scene of young Lu Ming in the fields, guiding a plow, with a dark, lean man—his father—pulling ahead. Father and son walked and talked as they worked.

Second, a young soldier in an old uniform, rifle in hand, charging forward as the bugle sounded. Comrades fell around him, gunfire and explosions ringing in his ears, but he pressed on, undaunted.

Third, beneath the bright red Party flag, under the emblem of sickle and hammer, the young soldier solemnly raised his right hand, repeating the oath, word by word, after a slim officer with a clear, resonant voice.

Fourth, a gentle-faced woman, her chest soaked in blood, dying in Lu Ming’s arms. She managed a faint smile before closing her eyes forever, and Lu Ming screamed her name—Huilan—in utter anguish.

Fifth, in a dimly lit room, Lu Ming sat across from a middle-aged man, who spoke gravely, “Old Lu, I have bad news. Boran has fallen. We've lost another comrade. The Party has decided you will take over his work and continue with his codename—‘Shadow.’ My codename is ‘Farmer,’ and I will be your sole contact.”

Five scenes flashed by, and then the cluster of light began to dissipate. Ning Zhiheng grew anxious—the information was too little. He tried in vain to glean more, but the light scattered into countless stars, merging with the Bodhi tree.

Disappointed, Ning Zhiheng ran his hand along the trunk. The sacred chant of the space echoed as always, the starlight flickered, but nothing else happened. With no other choice, his consciousness withdrew from the spiritual realm.

In reality, Lu Ming now lay peacefully, having passed away. Suppressing his sorrow, Ning Zhiheng withdrew his hand from Lu Ming’s forehead, composed himself, straightened his uniform, and with a steady face, stepped out the door.