The Darkest Hour

by Roberta Kagan

  Wen-Ying listened in silence. All this time, she’d been avoiding him, never considering how he, too, was a living, breathing person with his own pains. Never giving a thought to what he had to endure. And now, when her world had fallen to its darkest time, he’d reached out a hand and caught her, keeping her afloat.

  He wrapped his arms tightly around her. His warm breath blowing next to the skin of her neck. “I can only continue and do what I do if I can think of something in this world I want to save. And that is you.”

  “Takeda.”

  “Zheng-Xiong”

  “What?”

  “Zheng-Xiong. My first name, Masao. In kanji, it’s Zheng-Xiong. My parents chose it because it’s both a Chinese name and a Japanese name. I know you despise the Japanese part of me. I want you to call me by my name in Chinese.”

  Masao. Idiot. It broke her heart to hear him say that. “I don’t despise you,” she whispered.

  “Tell me again?”

  Her face burning, she said, “I don’t despise you. Zheng-Xiong.”

  He smiled and pulled her hand to his lips.

  Enough, she thought to herself. She had insisted on seeing the world through racial lines long enough. She had pushed him away long enough and denied her own feelings for him long enough. Zheng-Xiong. Masao. What did it matter? So what if he had Japanese blood running through him? It wasn’t something he could control. What mattered was that he had a heart, and he was by her side.

  “We’ll go on,” he told her. “What Fan Yong-Hao started, we’ll finish. We’ll keep striking out until the Japanese army crumbles. Fan’s spirit in Heaven will look out for us. Do you believe me?”

  “I believe you,” she said, caressing her cheek against his shoulder.

  “Evil can’t win against good. We will win. Heaven will be on our side.” He looked up and squeezed her hand. “Can you think of the day when there’s no more war? We’ll be able to leave all these travesties behind. And then, you and I…”

  Not hearing anything more from him, she pulled a little away and gazed at his face. “You and I what?”

  He dropped his mouth, then blurted, “You and I can open a ramen noodle house.”

  A ramen house? Wen-Ying laughed through her tears. In that moment, she even felt joy. She just realized, she hadn’t laughed in a very long time.

  He wiped her tears off her cheek. “From now on, when we’re alone, I want you to call me by my Chinese name. Will you do that?”

  “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll do that, Zheng-Xiong.”

  Chapter 7

  In the hidden back room behind Dr. Wu’s clinic, Wen Ying stood beside the empty bed where Fan Yong-Hao took his last breath. Today was the first time she had returned since he passed away.

  Fan Da Ge, rest in peace, she said silently to him. We won’t let you down. We’ll continue fighting the Japanese. We’ll win our country back for sure.

  “Wen-Ying.” Yao Kang stepped in. “You’re here.”

  Wen-Ying didn’t answer. She kept her stare at the empty bed.

  Yao Kang sighed and came next to her. “Fan Da Ge left us so soon. We’re all inconsolable.”

  Wen-Ying touched the top of the blanket. She wanted to bring him back. She didn’t know all the pain of losing Fan would flood back like a giant wave when she entered the clinic again. She almost wished she never had to revisit this place.

  Not that she had a choice. Today’s meeting was called by Dai Li himself. Dai Li rarely appeared in person unless the situation was critical. “Do you know why we were summoned here today?” she asked.

  “No,” Yao Kang said. “My guess is, maybe Dai Li wants to discuss who will take over as the leader of Tian Di Hui.”

  Take over as the leader? Wen-Ying frowned. She didn’t want to think about anyone replacing Fan. Anyway, how could they even be talking about this already? Fan’s body had barely been laid to rest. He was still their First Helm.

  Yao Kang raised his knuckle over his mouth and cleared his throat. “I know no one can take Fan Da Ge’s place in everyone’s heart,” he muttered.

  An alert went off in Wen-Ying’s head. Why was Yao Kang speaking in such an odd, low voice?

  “I would never presume to think I can do anything as well as Fan Da Ge,” Yao Kang continued. “But I also know that he would not want our group of brothers and sisters to flounder. He would want us to unite in spirit, and he would want to protect us from harm while we continue our work.”

  Keeping her expression unchanged, Wen-Ying stood still.

  “It’s a burden, but I am the White Paper Fan. I’m willing to do Fan Da Ge’s work in his stead.” Yao stared at her. A glint of hunger sparked in his eyes. Hunger that made her think of a lurking tiger within feet of its prey.

  “The subject of our next leader is bound to come up. At that time, you will support me, won’t you?” His eyes bore into her.

  Was this what Yao Kang cared about right now? Such a shame. Fan had always treated him like a real brother. She dropped her gaze and straightened the corner of the blanket. “It’s too early to talk about this, don’t you think?”

  “You’re right.” Yao Kang loosened his expression and dropped his shoulders. “To tell you the truth, I don’t want to think about such things yet either. The problem is, Dai Li’s on his way. I don’t think he’ll allow the resistance in Shanghai to operate without a helm. He doesn’t know Tian Di Hui’s inner dynamics the way we do. If he advocates the wrong person, our missions will be at risk. Our lives will be at risk. So we have no choice but to think about this now, even if we’re still mourning Fan Da Ge.”

  Wen-Ying walked away from him and the bed to the center of the room. What Yao Kang said made sense. It was the dark tone beneath his words that troubled her. She raised her eyes again and took a good look at his face. The thirst for power. The desire to be the one at the top. He could barely hide it.

  Fan never looked like that. For Fan, power was only something he wielded, not something he wanted.

  Yao Kang came beside her. “You’re someone who cares greatly about the big picture too. When the time arrives, you’ll know to support me, won’t you? For the good of Tian Di Hui?”

  Would she support him? She couldn’t even get used to the idea Fan was dead. Why would she have thought about who should take his place?

  But Fan was dead now. And they would need a new leader. Could Yao Kang step up to the job?

  The thought gave her doubt. Yao Kang wanted it too much. The phoniness in his voice when he talked about his concern for Tian Di Hui’s future made her wary. She didn’t like the way he was trying to coax her into supporting him either.

  She couldn’t deny his contributions to their efforts though. He, too, had risked his life many times when executing their missions. No one could argue his loyalty to their cause.

  Not wanting to commit one way or another, she bowed her head. “We should wait to hear what the Tian Di Hui elders have to say first. My support is inconsequential.”

  “You’re too modest,” Yao said. “In Shanghai, you’re the Golden Phoenix. Your words carry weight. Anyway, we all care about each other like brothers and sisters. At this time, we have to support each other. I’m counting on you.”

  Not wanting to face him, Wen-Ying kept her stare on the floor. Luckily, Lian jie interrupted them. “What are you two still doing here? Come into the meeting room. General Dai will be here soon.”

  “Yes, Lian jie.” Yao gave Wen-Ying a side glance, then put his hands into his pockets and headed to the meeting room next door. Wen-Ying let out a deep breath and followed him.

  In the meeting room, Huang Jia-Ming, Fan’s other trusted hand, was already waiting, as were Zhang Yu-Lan and Takeda. When Wen-Ying walked in, Takeda’s eyes lit up. Discreetly, he held her gaze.

  Zheng-Xiong, Wen-Ying thought and smiled to herself. A tender warmth rose up her heart.

  “Wen-Ying.” Yu-Lan grabbed her hand. Unlike Yao Kang, Yu-Lan’s voice still quivered with sa
dness. Wen-Ying turned toward Huang. She was about to ask him how he was holding up when she noticed he and Yao Kang had locked eyes. Their demeanors not exactly friendly.

  Before she could read the situation, Dr. Wu brought Dai Li into the room. A man with round cheeks and average height followed behind them. Wen-Ying gave the man a quick once over. The only thing distinct about him was how indistinct he appeared. With his passive eyes, unkempt hair, and forgettable face, he looked like any other middle-age laborer or tradesman on the streets.

  That, of course, made him a perfect recruit for Dai Li, provided he could be trusted. A perfect agent was one who could pass through the crowd and draw no attention to himself.

  With a conciliatory grin, Yao Kang stepped up. “General Dai.”

  Dai Li held up his hand to stop him. Dr. Wu withdrew from the room and closed the door. Naturally, Dai Li took the spot at the head of the table.

  Wen-Ying turned her head and looked away. That spot belonged to Fan. She didn’t like seeing someone else there, much less someone like Dai Li.

  Yao Kang didn’t seem bothered. He came to the side of the table. The rest of them followed. Dai Li acknowledged each of them with a cold, emotionless glance. The indistinct-looking man he brought with him stood humbly behind him.

  When Dai Li’s glance landed on her, Wen-Ying stood still and stared right back. She wasn’t afraid of the man. She didn’t work for him. She took directions from him out of respect for the Tian Di Hui elders with whom he had ties, and also because they needed his wide network and resources to fight the Japanese. But she wasn’t his agent or his running dog. With a cold-blooded animal like Dai Li, she wanted to make her position clear.

  Make it clear not just to him, but also to herself. Unlike him, she still had a conscience. Whatever she might have to do to achieve their end, and however much she had to make deals with the likes of Dai Li, she would not lose sight of the things that were most important.

  At the head of the table, Dai Li began to speak. “Fan Yong-Hao passed away at his prime. I feel the deep loss too.” He paused to let the words sink in. “Nonetheless, we must continue what we need to do. There is no time to mourn, as a new situation has come up.” He shifted his eyes at Takeda.

  Takeda took the cue. “On the evening of the Autumn Festival, Kwantung Army Lieutenant General Yoshiro Kazuki will be a special guest of Wang Jing-Wei’s minister of trade and commerce, Liu Kun. Liu invited Kazuki to dinner at his home to celebrate.”

  Wen-Ying winced. Liu Kun. Shen Yi’s husband. The traitors who now lived in the former Yuan villa.

  Kazuki. The crueler-than-beast murderer under whom thousands were raped and massacred in Nanking.

  They invited that Japanese demon into her old home.

  “Tang Wei, secretary of propaganda for Wang’s administration, will be there too,” Takeda said.

  Tang Wei! Wen-Ying clenched her fist. How could he? Her brother went to secondary school with him and worked with him. He saw Tang as one of his closest friends, until Tang turned and became a collaborator.

  Inhuman. All of them.

  “I’ll be joining them that night as Kazuki’s official translator,” Takeda continued. “And unofficially, to observe and monitor Liu Kun.” He tensed and lowered his voice. “This will be our chance to assassinate Kazuki.”

  Assassinate Kazuki? Wen-Ying raised her clenched fist.

  “And to punish the traitors,” Dai Li added. “We’ll get rid of all of them.”

  Wen-Ying held her breath. She despised Liu Kun, Shen Yi, and Tang Wei. But get rid of them? Shen Yi, who she knew since birth? Tang Wei, who she once looked up to as much as she did her own older brother? Could she?

  Her heart pounded.

  Yes. She could.

  Her breaths calmed. Slowly, her chest and shoulders eased.

  Liu Kun and Shen Yi betrayed their own people. Getting rid of them would be a deliverance of justice on behalf of Heaven.

  And Tang Wei? A bitter smile came to her face. She wanted him dead more than anyone else. If he hadn’t joined Wang Jing-Wei’s regime and become a puppet for the Japanese, Mei Mei would still be here today.

  They all deserved to die.

  Let them all go to hell.

  “On that night, when they’re full with food and drunk with alcohol, we will trap them in the dining room,” Dai Li said. “And then, we’ll burn down the house.”

  Burn down the house?

  The words knocked Wen-Ying over like a blast of wind. Her old house. The last standing monument that could still remind her every day that her family once proudly held its place in this city. This country.

  Her body shivered, though no one noticed. Dai Li waved his hand for the man he brought with him to come forward. “Bao Gong, say your greeting to everyone.”

  Bao Gong?

  Bao Gong was what people called the legendary Song Dynasty magistrate Bao Qing Tian. Bao was his surname. Gong was how one generally addressed an old man who was a respected elder. The legendary Bao Gong’s fame arose from his exceptional skills in administrating justice.

  The man who Dai Li called stepped up to the table. “Pleased to receive your advice,” he said. His humble tone and deliberate manners contrasted sharply with his rough exterior.

  “Bao Gong has been Liu Kun’s head cook for fifteen years. Everyone calls him Bao Gong. He makes phenomenal steam buns.” Dai Li’s face cracked a rare smile. “Liu Kun takes a lot of pride in having him in his kitchen.”

  So that was it. A play on words. Bao also meant buns, so Bao Gong could literally mean “Elder Bun.” Those who knew this man must have given him this nickname as a compliment to equate his bun-making skills to the historical Bao Gong’s excellent skills as a judge.

  Haung’s stomach growled. Yu-Lan stifled a chuckle and the atmosphere in the room eased.

  “Bao Gong has been working for me for four years,” Dai Li continued. “Because of him, we know Liu Kun’s every move.”

  Wen-Ying peered at the cook. This man was a mole? Everywhere, people were starving. Someone like him should be deeply loyal to Liu Kun. He should be thankful for having a job with a still prosperous household. Why was he risking his own fortune?

  Dai Li. This omnipotent mastermind. Bao Gong didn’t look coerced. What did Dai Li do to convince the cook to switch to their side?

  “Boa Gong will make the fire look accidental like it came from the kitchen,” Dai Li said. “Your group will be in charge to trap the targets and set the house on fire.”

  “What about the maids and houseboys? And the kitchen staff?” Wen-Ying asked. The house wasn’t merely a structure. When she lived in that big mansion, her family had a house full of servants. Together, they all gave the mansion a living, beating heart. The stories of their lives formed its spirit and soul.

  “To the extent he can,” Dai Li said, “Bao Gong will hustle the servants and staff out of the house to spare their lives. However, we will not hold our plan for them. Hopefully, they’ll come out of this alive.”

  Wen-Ying wrenched her fingers. So not only the house would be destroyed. There could be casualties. Her glorious old home would soon be a living cemetery where demons and innocents would be burned alive.

  She shuddered at the thought.

  Fan Yong-Hao always regretted missions that risked innocent lives, even though he couldn’t avoid them. No one was ever as troubled about hurting the innocents as Fan. Maybe the others were too preoccupied with the failure or success of each mission to pay attention to anything else. But she could always see the guilt eating Fan up inside. Each time innocent people died at his hand, an invisible weight bore him down. Heaven had spared her from having to join them to carry out their missions and feel such torment. But they all took a vow to be brothers and sisters. Why was she allowed to escape the guilt?

  Dai Li glanced at her, as though he had read her thoughts. He reminded everyone, “To take out Kazuki, sacrificing a few lives will be unavoidable.”

  “You said to trap th
em and set a fire,” Huang said. “How will we get our people in there to do that?”

  “Zhang Yu-Lan,” Dai Li directed the question at the only other woman in the room.

  Yu-Lan straightened her back. “The Lius and my family are well acquainted. Earlier in the week, when Shen Yi came to my house to play mahjong with the ladies, she was boasting about General Kazuki coming to her home for dinner on the night of the Autumn Festival. I paid her a visit yesterday. I suggested she hire the entertainment troupe who performed at my grandfather’s sixtieth grand birthday banquet.” She looked nervously at everyone at the table. “The troupe members aren’t only performers. They’re our secret agents. Performing is their way of infiltrating the collaborators’ homes to gather information about the houses they live in, who they associate with, and anything else we might want to know. Sending them to the homes of Wang Jing-Wei’s high officials is something I’ve been doing for the past year.”

  “You never told us this.” Wen-Ying raised her brows. Yao Kang and Huang Jia-Ming, too, widened their eyes.

  “Fan Da Ge thought the fewer people knew, the better.” Yu-Lan ducked her head.

  Dai Li spoke again. “The performance will be in three acts. First, a duet by two Peking opera singers. Then, a solo guqin concert, followed by a mask changer. There will be supporting musicians, as well as make-up artists. We need you to gather Tian Di Hui members to fill the roles of prop movers, runners, and assistants that night.”

  “You mean we’ll be imposters,” said Huang.

  “Yes. Some Tian Di Hui members will enter Liu Kun’s home as part of the troupe. Others will enter as temporary kitchen help. This will get you all past the security guards. Kerosene will be delivered to the house throughout the week before that night as part of ordinary kitchen supplies. Bao Gong will see to it the fuel is properly received. During the performances, you will subdue the guards surrounding the house, spread the kerosene, and set the house ablaze. You will set fire to all the doorways except for your own predetermined escape route so that no one in the dining room can escape.”