The Spy’s Scattered Blossoms

Translation

INTELLIGENCE AND SENSUAL OPERATIONS

THE SPY’S SCATTERED BLOSSOMS

By Fujimi Iku
Illustrations by Minomura Akira

Entangled in the clinging trap of white flesh, he willingly stepped into a moment of rapture without regret. Country and mission alike became sacrifices laid before a woman’s body.

BURNING PASSION

Zhang Daocheng had been watching Hu Minghua gaze through the window. Coming quietly from behind, he put his arms around her shoulders.

They were white, rounded shoulders, their skin so smooth that a drop of water might strike them and roll away. The fine down at the nape of her neck stirred an aching desire in him.

His hands slipped beneath her arms. His fingertips slowly explored the swelling curves of her breasts.

“What is it, Mr. Zhang?”

Minghua intertwined her pale fingers with his and leaned back against his chest.

Her body possessed a natural, harmonious proportion, soft white skin, and a languid beauty. Hu Minghua had everything needed to steal a man’s heart. Zhang Daocheng, a young merchant, was one of the men she had dragged helplessly in the wake of her charms.

“Minghua, I beg you. Stay here tonight. There is no one in this house except you, me, and a maid who came from the countryside two days ago. I can no longer bear to be without you.”

“I cannot possibly spend the night.”

“What shall I give you? A ruby? One arrived from San Francisco yesterday. Or would you prefer a diamond?”

Deliberately speaking over his entreaties, Minghua pointed through the window.

“What beautiful scenery. Look at all those white sails over the water. They look like birds’ wings.”

“Do not lean against the frame. You will get paint on yourself. It was repainted today.”

“The Kowloon Peninsula on the opposite shore looks as though it were fading into a dream.”

“Seen from here, it is difficult to believe that opium, prostitution, gambling, and murder are repeated every day in those districts. It looks so peaceful.”

From Zhang’s Western-style mansion on the slope of Victoria Peak, the harbor and the streets of Kowloon could be surveyed below. Twilight was gathering quietly, and neon lights had begun to appear across the city.

“I must go home now.”

Minghua was the leading dancer at the New Paris Dance Hall. Her tall, fully developed figure and unusually cosmopolitan beauty brought a swarm of admirers after her.

“I already have more jewels than I need.”

“Then what do you want?”

“The fountain pen in your breast pocket.”

“You still have not abandoned that idea? No. I cannot give you this. Ask me for anything else.”

Zhang groaned. Seeing his anguish, Minghua slipped her arms around his neck and brought her brilliant red lips close to his face.

“Unless I give it to him, I will never be free of that man.”

“You mean the American you are always talking about?”

“Yes. Brad Ford, the opium boss of Kowloon Walled City. He is a terrifying man. No matter how far I run, he follows me. He has thirty hired killers. He says that if I can obtain that fountain pen, he will finally let me go.”

Zhang said nothing.

“Give Ford that shabby old pen, and you and I can live alone together. We will go somewhere peaceful, where no one will hunt us.”

“You say that only because you do not understand what the pen is worth.”

“If you truly love me, grant me this one wish.”

Minghua pressed her face against his chest and urged him back toward the bed. The strength left his body, and he sat down without resistance. The fragrance of her hair filled his breath while he struggled against an overwhelming temptation.

She pushed him onto his back and fastened her red lips upon his.

“Zhang, I love you. I would die for you.”

She writhed against him, baring her breasts and pressing their warmth fiercely to his body. Unable to endure it, Zhang encircled her broad, soft back and crushed her to him.

“You belong entirely to me now. I will never give you to anyone. You must break completely with that American who has been using you as his tool.”

“Of course I will.”

They embraced again. Then a faint sound came from outside the room. Minghua sprang from the bed with astonishing speed and flung open the door. A young woman was fleeing down the corridor.

“Stop!”

Minghua seized the girl by the hair and dragged her into the room.

“It is only Xiufang,” Zhang said. “I hired her two days ago.”

“She is suspicious. She was standing outside the door listening to us.”

“She has only just come from a village in Hunan. She has not learned proper manners. Xiufang, apologize.”

“Yes, sir. I am very sorry. But I was not listening. I was only walking through the corridor.”

“Silence! Then why did you run? Who are you really?”

“I truly was sent here two days ago by an employment broker near Wong Tai Sin.”

The dark-skinned maid waved her hands in alarm. She appeared so filthy that grime seemed to cling even around her neck.

“You may fool Mr. Zhang, but you cannot fool me. I shall make you confess.”

Minghua caught Xiufang by the throat and squeezed.

“I cannot breathe!”

When Minghua released her and examined her fingers, they were stained with something resembling black mud.

“Look at this. Her skin is dark because she has smeared something over herself. She has deliberately made herself filthy. She is a suspicious woman.”

“No. That soot came from burning rubbish in the garden.”

“Who sent you to spy on this house? Confess!”

Minghua twisted Xiufang’s wrists behind her and tied them together with a strip of cloth. She continued winding it around the woman’s arms and body until it bit tightly into her flesh.

“Please forgive me. You have bound my chest so tightly that I cannot breathe.”

Whatever resistance Xiufang offered was overwhelmed by Minghua’s fury. Minghua shoved her about as though she were a helpless object.

“Zhang, lend me your belt.”

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“Use it as a whip and beat her.”

The leather belt hissed through the air and struck Xiufang’s thighs and hips.

“Aah!”

“Does it hurt? Then speak. For what purpose did you enter this house?”

“I only wanted to earn money.”

“You intended to tell someone outside about us and collect a reward.”

“No, nothing like that.”

Minghua caught the maid by the hair and dragged her across the floor. Her clothes came apart, exposing pale skin beneath the grime, and she writhed in pain.

“Look, Zhang. Have you ever seen a peasant woman with legs this white?”

“Master, forgive me.”

Minghua planted her foot on Xiufang’s breast and ground it down.

“Minghua, that is enough,” Zhang said. “There may indeed be something suspicious about her, but I shall investigate it later. Stop this cruelty.”

“She is stubborn. She will never speak unless she is made to suffer.”

Minghua wiped the sweat from her forehead and brought the belt down once more. Xiufang was then thrown into the maid’s room with her hands still tied behind her.

A little after eleven that night, Minghua left Zhang’s house. She drove her own car down the hill toward the city. The fountain pen was no longer in Zhang’s pocket.

“Minghua, I have given you something more precious to me than life. Please remain here until morning.”

“No. I must meet Ford and end our relationship as soon as possible. Be patient just a little longer.”

She brushed away his lingering hands, started the engine, and drove off. Her tail lights vanished into the darkness.

“Minghua.”

Only minutes later, she was shot dead inside her car.

The next morning, a bell rang insistently at Zhang’s front door. He awoke and found two Hong Kong police officers waiting outside.

“Hu Minghua has been murdered.”

“What? Minghua?”

“She was found seated behind the wheel of her car. One bullet entered through her back and reached the heart. The estimated time of death is around eleven-thirty last night. Can you think of anything that might assist us?”

“Where was she found?”

“On the road below this hill, between two wooded areas. Am I correct that she remained at your house until late last night?”

“Yes. She left shortly after eleven. I watched until her tail lights disappeared.”

An officer who had been examining the garden approached.

“There can be no doubt that the victim visited this house. Green paint found on her right elbow matches the paint on this window frame. It is fresh.”

“Paint on her arm? There was no paint there when she left.”

“Forgive me, but what was the nature of your relationship with Hu Minghua?”

Zhang gave a bloodless smile.

“You believe I am the most suspicious person. Ask the manager of the dance hall. He will tell you that I had pursued Minghua more persistently than any other man, and that I had become impatient because she would not surrender to me.”

The two officers watched his conduct carefully. After several further questions, they withdrew.

Zhang’s thoughts raced. Had Brad Ford killed Minghua? Had some other person been pursuing the fountain pen? Her handbag and money had been left untouched. Only the pen was missing.

“Xiufang!”

As he called her name, he remembered that she had been thrown into her room while still bound.

He opened the door. Xiufang lay asleep with her arms tied behind her and her ankles fastened together, her back curved like a shrimp. Exhausted by the previous night’s torment, she had fallen into a heavy sleep.

Zhang released the ropes. She rubbed her eyes and slowly rose. Her sluggish movements made anger surge through him.

“Swine!”

He slapped her face and kicked her in the chest.

“Wake yourself properly and boil some water. My throat is dry.”

“Yes, master.”

Xiufang hurried to the kitchen. Zhang was furious with her, but he understood that his true rage was directed at himself. The reality struck him that Minghua no longer existed. He had betrayed his homeland and lost the woman he loved.

THE MUSIC BOX OF DEATH

The door opened. Xiufang entered carrying tea on a tray. Zhang swallowed a cup in a single draught and put it down with a grimace.

Xiufang remained standing before the door, watching him.

“What is wrong with you? Prepare breakfast.”

“Master, listen carefully. Last night, after Minghua left you, she drove to the foot of the hill and stopped her car. She then walked back up the hill and entered the garden of this house again.”

“That is impossible.”

“She returned to steal the classified documents from you and then take your life. She entered the garden, aimed a pistol through the window, and rested her elbow on the freshly painted frame in order to steady her shot.”

“You lie! Minghua would never have done such a thing.”

Even as he shouted, Zhang remembered what the police had said about the green paint on her right elbow.

“At the instant she was about to pull the trigger, another pistol was pressed against her back. She was forced to raise her hands, walk down the hill, and return to her car. When she sat in the driver’s seat, the pistol behind her fired. Hu Minghua died, and one Taiwanese female spy disappeared.”

“Minghua was a spy. So that was the truth.”

“The tale about an opium boss controlling her was a lie. The organization behind her was far more dangerous than an opium syndicate. Blinded by passion, you failed to see it.”

“Who are you?”

“I am the woman who recovered the important fountain pen from Minghua. In other words, I am the person who saved your life once.”

“But you were tied up in the maid’s room.”

“Our training includes escaping from ropes around the body and then binding oneself again so that no one will know.”

“Then you are…”

“Captain Wu Bailan, directly attached to the Beijing Secret Intelligence Department.”

Zhang groaned.

“We recognize your achievements in using your position as a merchant to investigate enemy movements and obtain classified information. But you succumbed to a woman’s temptation and allowed that information to be taken back from you. That was a clear abandonment of duty. It cannot be forgiven.”

“Captain Wu.”

“Comrade traitor, I must suppress my grief and execute you.”

Her pistol flashed. Zhang threw up his hands and collapsed onto the floor.

“Captain Wu. My final report.”

“What is it?”

“The papers you are holding are false.”

“What did you say?”

“I placed false intelligence in the fountain pen and allowed Minghua to carry it away.”

“Then where are the genuine documents?”

“In the music box on that shelf.”

“Why did you not tell me sooner? I have done something terrible. Never mind that now. Tell me where the papers are.”

Wu Bailan rushed to the shelf and opened the lid of the music box, which was fashioned as a jewel case. Schumann’s ‘Träumerei’ began to play softly.

“I cannot see them. Are they farther inside?”

“At the very back, caught between the mechanism.”

As he spoke, Zhang pulled open a desk drawer and seized the pistol concealed within.

A gunshot sounded behind Wu Bailan.

She groaned and turned with a terrible expression.

“Minghua. This was revenge for Minghua.”

Having uttered those words, Zhang died. Blood spread slowly from the wound in Bailan’s heart.

The room sank into the silence of death. Only ‘Träumerei’ continued to play, sweetly and gently.