Yu Ruoyin.
He was thinner than Lu Shen had seen in the archival photos from his past life, with higher cheekbones and deeper-set eyes, as if he hadn't slept well in days.
Wearing a white bathrobe provided by the hotel, slippers on his feet, he exuded a peculiar aura caught between exhaustion and excitement... a state unique to defectors, where adrenaline and fear waged a constant battle within, keeping his nerves perpetually on edge.
The sound of the door opening startled him.
Yu Ruoyin whipped his head around, eyes instantly filled with alertness.
But when he saw the visitor's attire... gray work clothes, a flat cap, non-prescription glasses... his vigilance eased slightly, replaced by confusion.
"Who are you?" he asked in English, his voice hoarse, tinged with obvious tension.
Lu Shen did not answer.
In the same motion of closing the door, he accomplished three things: locked the door with a backward twist, stepped forward half a pace to block any escape, and quickly scanned the entire room—no one on the bed, the bathroom door open with no one inside, the wardrobe closed.
Yu Ruoyin was alone in the room.
"Who exactly are—"
Yu Ruoyin's second sentence was cut short.
The moment he opened his mouth, Lu Shen sprang into action, crossing the four-meter distance in three strides, his left hand precisely clamping down on Yu Ruoyin's jaw, thumb and forefinger pinching the muscles on either side of the jawbone, exerting just enough force to silence him without causing a fracture.
Simultaneously, his right hand pressed down on Yu Ruoyin's shoulder, pinning him back into the sofa.
The entire sequence of movements, from initiation to completion, was as swift as lightning.
Yu Ruoyin's eyes widened to their limits, pupils contracting sharply, his hands instinctively grasping Lu Shen's wrist in an attempt to break free.
Lu Shen leaned in, staring intently at Yu Ruoyin.
He spoke in Mandarin, with perfect pronunciation.
"Yu Ruoyin, Deputy Director of the North American Intelligence Directorate."
Yu Ruoyin's body convulsed as if electrocuted, his eyes finally filled with fear.
"I'll ask, you nod or shake your head," Lu Shen's voice was so soft that it could only be heard at their close proximity, "Where is the list?"
Yu Ruoyin's breathing was rapid to the extreme, nostrils flaring violently, beads of sweat on his forehead merging within seconds.
His eyes darted quickly to the lower right.
Under the coffee table.
Lu Shen followed his gaze... beneath the coffee table's bottom panel, a flat manila envelope was taped.
He didn't retrieve it immediately.
"Is there a backup?"
Yu Ruoyin shook his head frantically.
"Has any part already been handed over to the Americans?"
He continued shaking his head.
"Your meeting plan with Howard, details. What time, what place, what code. Nod if you're willing to talk."
Yu Ruoyin closed his eyes.
Two seconds later, he nodded.
Lu Shen released his grip on Yu Ruoyin's jaw with his left hand, but the pressure from his right hand did not lessen in the slightest.
Yu Ruoyin, like a balloon with its valve opened, spoke in a trembling voice: "The eighteenth... eight o'clock in the evening... the lobby of the Peninsula Hotel... he'll carry a blue-covered Time magazine... I'll use my left hand to hold a cup as a confirmation signal..."
Lu Shen listened, engraving every word into his memory.
"Within the Ministry of State Security, besides you, is there anyone else providing information to the CIA?"
Yu Ruoyin's lips quivered slightly.
"No... no one else... just me..."
He was lying.
But Lu Shen didn't press further.
Not because he didn't want to, but because time didn't allow it.
Nearly two minutes had passed since he entered the room, and every additional second exponentially increased the risk.
Lu Shen tore the manila envelope from beneath the coffee table, opening it single-handedly.
Inside was a thin stack of typed papers, A4 size, about fifteen pages.
A complete roster of Dragon Nation's intelligence assets in North America.
Lu Shen folded the list, placing it securely in the inner pocket of his work clothes, his fingertips pressing against the pocket's opening.
Then he looked at Yu Ruoyin for the last time.
Yu Ruoyin was also looking at him.
In the defector's eyes at that moment was everything... fear, despair, pleading, and a faint glimmer of hope... everything except regret.
This made Lu Shen's last shred of hesitation vanish completely.
"The one killing you is from State Security!"
As soon as the words were spoken, amidst Yu Ruoyin's extreme terror, Lu Shen clamped his left hand on the back of Yu Ruoyin's head, right hand on his jaw, and executed a swift, decisive twist.
The sound of the cervical vertebrae snapping was soft, like a dry twig breaking.
Yu Ruoyin's body went limp, eyes still open, pupils rapidly dilating.
Lu Shen released his grip, straightening up.
He retrieved a miniature camera from his canvas bag... a Minolta 16 series, standard espionage equipment for the Ministry of State Security in the 1980s, which he had bought at a second-hand camera shop in Mong Kok for three hundred Hong Kong dollars... and took pictures of Yu Ruoyin's face, the documents on the coffee table, and the entire room.
Then came the cleanup.
Lu Shen used rubber gloves to wipe down the door handle, lock cylinder, edges of the coffee table, and sofa armrests—every surface he had touched.
He gently smoothed over the footprints on the carpet with the sleeve of Yu Ruoyin's bathrobe, restoring the fibers to match the surrounding area.
Finally, Lu Shen stood at the door, taking three seconds to survey the entire room.
The body on the sofa maintained a natural sitting posture, as if asleep, cigarette butts in the ashtray still emitting the last wisps of smoke.
Lu Shen opened the door, peeked to confirm the hallway was clear, then slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Retracing his steps.
Fire escape.
Seventh floor, sixth floor, fifth floor.
His pace matched exactly as when he came.
First floor, staff passage, side door.
As the sunlight hit his face, he took a deep breath.
The sea breeze, laden with salty moisture, filled his lungs, and the surface of Victoria Harbour shimmered with blinding silver under the midday sun.
11:09 a.m.
From entering the staff passage to exiting, a total of twenty-eight minutes.
Lu Shen returned to the restroom at Ocean Terminal, taking four minutes to reverse his disguise, donning his navy blue suit again, tying his tie properly, and retrieving his briefcase from the locker.
In the mirror, the refined and courteous economic counselor was back.
At 1:55 p.m., Lu Shen walked through the doors of the US Consulate General in Hong Kong.
At 1:58 p.m., he knocked on the door of the archives room.
Morrison poked his head out from behind a pile of documents, his face breaking into a relieved smile: "Lu! You finally made it! I've been pushing for these files for three weeks..."
"Sorry, Morrison, got held up at the bank this morning." Lu Shen placed the manila envelope on the table, a weary smile on his face, "Come on, let's go through the list."
Over the next forty-five minutes, he and Morrison meticulously checked seventeen economic intelligence archive files, signed three handover lists, drank a cup of Morrison's incredibly awful English tea, and listened to Morrison complain for ten minutes about the new intern misclassifying last month's trade data.
Every minute had witnesses, every action was recorded.
At 3:45 p.m., Lu Shen returned to the safe house in Central, writing down his return time in the logbook.
Tom peeked over from the next room: "Busy day? How's the situation at the bank?"
"False alarm, those three transactions were internal adjustments at Sumitomo's Tokyo headquarters, not money laundering." Lu Shen placed his briefcase on the table, rubbing his temples, "Morrison did nag my ear off, though."
"Ha, as expected." Tom chuckled, retreating back to the next room.
Lu Shen sat down, turned on the monitor, and the green cursor resumed its dance on the black screen.
His expression was as unremarkable as every gray partition in the safe house.
But in the inner pocket of his suit, the thin stack of typed papers pressed against his chest, the temperature of the pages merging with his body heat.
Lu Shen's gaze fell on the Sumitomo Bank data sheet on the screen, the cursor blinking like a silent heart.
He began typing, writing the results of today's bank audit into the weekly report, phrasing it blandly, data meticulously detailed, indistinguishable from every weekly report he had written over the past two years.
Outside, the afternoon sun over Victoria Harbour was inching westward.
The distant, lingering whistle of the Star Ferry drifted through the blinds, like an echo from another era.