Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Before dawn, Shen Zhaoxue was released.

The one who let her go was Adjutant Lu.

He was young, but his eyes were old. They looked like eyes that had grown accustomed to seeing people die, and equally accustomed to seeing them beg for life.

“Miss Shen is lucky.” He handed her bag to her. “Officer Zhou said that the reporter entered the scene by mistake, and there is insufficient evidence.”

Shen Zhaoxue took the bag.

“Thank Officer Zhou for me.”

Adjutant Lu smiled. “There’s no need for thanks. Officer Zhou also said: next time, don’t be so reckless with your life.”

Shen Zhaoxue looked up.

“Does he even know the value of a life?”

Adjutant Lu acted as if he hadn’t heard her.

She walked out of the Secret Service Department.

The early morning was foggy. Newsboys on the street were already shouting about the latest extras.

Shen Zhaoxue turned into an alley and opened her bag.

Her camera was there. Her manuscript paper was there. Her fountain pen was there, too.

There was one extra thing: a Marriage Contract.

The red paper was old. The corners had turned white. There was a faint, dark water stain at the fold.

She didn’t need to open it to know what was written inside.

The families of Shen and Zhou, bound in a harmonious union.

Zhou Huaiyan’s name was on the bottom right.

Her name had been written for her by her father.

Her father had drunk half a cup of wine that day, teasing her that her handwriting was too sharp. He feared it would prick her husband so much that he wouldn’t dare come home.

She had been standing under the veranda then.

Zhou Huaiyan was looking at her, too.

That glance had been very light.

So light that she had remembered it for three years.

Shen Zhaoxue stuffed the Marriage Contract back into her bag.

What did he mean by this?

A provocation.

Nostalgia.

Or a warning.

When she returned to the Newspaper Office, Old Qin was waiting for her downstairs.

Old Qin was the editor-in-chief. He was also the contact person for the southern city intelligence line.

He was a heavy smoker and wore an old mandarin jacket year-round. On the surface, he did nothing but nag for drafts; behind the scenes, he risked his life for the cause.

Seeing her return, he only asked, “Alive?”

“For now.”

“Where’s the stuff?”

Shen Zhaoxue retrieved a half-roll of film from her shoe heel.

“I only managed to photograph three pages of the codebook. The fourth page was burned.”

Old Qin took the film. “Who let you out?”

“Zhou Huaiyan.”

Cigarette ash fell onto the back of his hand. He didn’t move.

“Zhaoxue, you know what kind of man he is now.”

“I know. The operations group of the Secret Service Department. Three promotions in six months. He’s captured seven of our people.”

“And yet you came back so cleanly?”

Shen Zhaoxue remained silent for a moment.

She took out the Marriage Contract.

Old Qin’s face darkened.

“He gave this to you?”

“He’s reminding me. What happened three years ago isn’t over yet.”

“Or perhaps he’s telling you that he still holds your weakness in his hands.”

The Marriage Contract lay spread on the table.

Its red was piercingly bright.

She once thought a single piece of paper could bind two people together.

Only later did she learn that paper is the easiest thing to burn.

As are oaths.

Old Qin said, “The higher-ups have decided to suspend all contact between you and Zhou Huaiyan.”

“No.”

“Shen Zhaoxue.”

“The exposure at Fu’an Alley wasn’t right.” She looked up. “Zhou Huaiyan sealed my records and then let me go. He must know something.”

“Do you want to investigate him, or do you just want to see him?”

The words were too blunt.

Shen Zhaoxue’s expression turned cold.

“I want to know how my father died.”

Old Qin looked at her for a long time.

Finally, he said, “Three days from now, there’s a ball at the French Consulate. Zhou Huaiyan will be there.”

Shen Zhaoxue folded the Marriage Contract.

“Then I’m going, too.”

“Zhaoxue, old flames are the least valuable thing in this business.”

She gave a faint smile.

“I know.”

She just didn’t say it.

The characters written under that glass of water-only Zhou Huaiyan would write like that.

*Don’t trust him.*

But her father was already dead.

So who exactly did he want her not to trust?