Decoded

1

It all began with the research symposium on BLACK.

BLACK, as the name perhaps implies, was the sister of PURPLE, but much more advanced, sophisticated and profound, just as the colour black is deeper than purple. Three years before — Rong Jinzhen would always remember that terrifying day, it was 1 September 1966 (not long before he had gone and rescued Master Rong) — the first traces of BLACK had made themselves known. It was akin to a bird somehow comprehending that lurking within a mass of cloud there is a mountain of snow cutting off access to what lies beyond. From his first engagement with BLACK, Rong Jinzhen had a premonition that his attempt to crack it would bring him perilously close to annihilation.

What happened later was exactly that: the tentacles of BLACK spread continuously throughout PURPLE, expanding, growing, just like rays of darkness engulfing the light, thoroughly consuming it. According to members of Unit 701, the dark days of ten years ago had come again, and nearly everyone put their hopes for a resolution square upon the shoulders of Rong Jinzhen, 701’s star cryptographer. Three years on, and day after day and night after night Jinzhen was still searching for even the smallest ray of light, but none was to be found: the darkness was overwhelming. It was in the midst of this situation that Unit 701 and the General Headquarters jointly organized a research symposium on BLACK — a low-key and yet grand conference.

The conference was held at Headquarters.

Much like many other government divisions, Unit 701’s General Headquarters was located in Beijing. Travelling from A City by train required three days and two nights; there were also flights between A City and the capital, but it was not possible to take these as aeroplanes always made people think of hijackings. Quite honestly, the chances of an aeroplane being hijacked were slim, but if such a plane were to have on board a cryptographer from Unit 701, then the likelihood of a hijacking would increase dramatically, perhaps even a hundredfold. And if that cryptographer was Rong Jinzhen, the man responsible for cracking PURPLE, and who was in the midst of deciphering BLACK, then the chances of an attempted hijacking would increase beyond measure. You could even say that if Rong Jinzhen was aboard, it would be best for all concerned if the flight never took off. This was because if the intelligence agency of X country had managed to get wind that Rong Jinzhen was on board, then their agents would have already infiltrated the aeroplane and be waiting anxiously for it to take off to carry out their insane and brazen actions. This was no joke, but something that had been learnt the hard way. Everyone at Unit 701 knew of the spring of 1958. It was just after Rong Jinzhen had cracked PURPLE: a low-ranking cryptographer from Y country had been abducted in just this manner by agents from X country. Zheng the Gimp was familiar with this case; he had learnt of it almost immediately; he had even had a few dinners with the cryptographer in question. But now, who knows where this person is, who knows whether he is dead or alive? This is perhaps one aspect of the cruelty of the cryptographer’s profession.

In contrast, boarding a train or a car is a much more reliable and safer method of travel — even though unexpected incidents can happen, there are also always counter measures at hand; there are always escape routes. Needless to say then, whilst in a car — unlike on an aeroplane — one needn’t sit and wait to be kidnapped. That said, driving such a long way is rather difficult to endure, and so Rong Jinzhen settled on the only choice left: train. Because of his special status and because he carried top-secret documents, he was able to book a soft sleeper car for the trip; all that was required was for them to ensure upon departure that a station security official had cleared them a berth. Of course, carrying out such an action was an extremely rare occurrence which couldn’t help but make Rong Jinzhen feel a little uneasy.

Accompanying Rong Jinzhen was a man of an incredibly serious demeanour, rather tall, with a dark complexion, a somewhat big mouth and triangular eyes. Adorning his chin was a longish moustache which stubbornly curled up on itself, rather like hog bristles. His stiff mode of conduct made people think of steel wire, and his determined approach suffused everything he did. In many ways, he gave off what seemed to be an aura of death. Saying that this man projected a lethal spirit, a ferocious appearance, is perhaps not saying enough. The fact is that throughout Unit 701, this rather serious man was held in very high respect; he had always possessed a certain power and prestige. But, as people also said, his power was not the same as that of Rong Jinzhen, whose importance lay in his intelligence. However, the man had a very special role to play: whenever a senior member of Unit 701 needed to travel beyond the complex, they would always want him along for the ride. Because of this, everyone called him Vasili, after Lenin’s bodyguard in the 1939 Russian film Lenin in 1918. He was Unit 701’s Vasili.

Most people would say that they had never seen Vasili wearing anything other than his fashionably large windbreaker. His hands would always be stuffed in its pockets. He walked with long strides, full of energy — an awe-inspiring figure, just what you would expect in a bodyguard. Amongst Unit 701’s younger members, there were none who did not harbour a mixture of envy and respect for Vasili. They would often gather together and talk about him enthusiastically — his vigour, his various demonstrations of bravery. Even though his hands were always in his pockets, this only made people speculate fantastically on what lay therein, saying that in his righthand pocket was a German-made B7 pistol, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. In his left, a special permit, handwritten and given to him by the head of the intelligence service — some famous highranking military officer: all he had to do was take it out and wherever he needed to go, he went; not even the prince of heaven would dare to obstruct him.

Others swore that under his left arm he also had another pistol. But to tell the truth, no one had ever seen it. Still, not seeing it doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. After all, who was able to look casually under his arm? Even if one was to see that there was no gun there, the young members of Unit 701 would never concede the issue, saying instead with great gravity that he only carried his pistol when he was on assignment.

Of course, that is quite likely.

Most professional bodyguards carry more than one pistol, as well as an assortment of concealed weapons, just like Rong Jinzhen would sport more than one pencil or pen, and more than one book. Put simply, there is nothing odd about this; it is rather quite as it should be, just like people needing to eat.

Nevertheless, even though Rong Jinzhen had this man of extraordinary capabilities accompanying him, he still did not feel safe or at ease. Upon departure from the complex, he couldn’t help but sense some indescribable foreboding. He felt as though everyone on the train were staring at him, as if he were the Emperor without his clothes. He was sweating profusely; he was nervous, uneasy, terribly out of sorts, and he had no idea as to what he should do, and certainly no clue as to what would make him feel better. Actually, his state of mind was due in large part to the fact that he was overly concerned with his own personal welfare and the importance of his task — [Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

I’ve already said this, but the low-level cryptographer from Y country who was abducted by X country’s agents could not compare to Rong Jinzhen: the difference between the two was like that between heaven and earth. It wasn’t that we were being overly cautious, and it wasn’t that Rong Jinzhen was just frightening himself. The mission they were on involved quite a bit of risk. Even at the beginning, we felt that something was a little strange. After Rong Jinzhen had cracked PURPLE, despite everything being kept quiet about his accomplishment, the levels of secrecy on the part of X country were maintained intact, as if they already knew the cipher had been broken. Of course, they would learn sooner or later that PURPLE had been cracked; things of such magnitude cannot be kept silent for long even if we hadn’t used any of their secret files. But they knew, even though they shouldn’t have. In fact, not only did they know that it was Rong Jinzhen who had broken PURPLE, they were also intimately familiar with much of his work. Realizing the situation, all relevant sections and specialists set about investigating the breach, arriving at certain suspicions and threads in the story. All these threads led to Jan Liseiwicz. This was the initial reason for us to begin to suspect his actual identity, but at that time, they remained only suspicions — there was no concrete proof.

One year later, we received an extraordinary report detailing how Jan Liseiwicz and that notorious anti-communist Georg Weinacht were one and the same. It was then that we understood Lisceiwcz’s truly repulsive nature. We wondered how was it that Liseiwicz had gone from being a scientist to a virulent anti-communist and why he was attacking communism in such a roundabout fashion (even changing his name). That, I guess, is a secret he will carry to his grave. But once the veil was drawn from his true face, his attempts to conspire against us became all too obvious. Perhaps there was no one other than Liseiwicz who truly understood Rong Jinzhen’s formidable talent — after all, he had also worked in cryptography, and had feigned attempts to crack PURPLE. Liseiwicz seemed to guess that Rong Jinzhen would follow the same path towards cryptography, sensing that he would most assuredly become an expert. The decryption of PURPLE was, in a sense, inevitable. Knowing this, Liseiwicz had initially made great efforts to prevent Rong Jinzhen from moving into this field, but upon discovering that Jinzhen was indeed a cryptographer, he shifted his efforts towards hindering the cracking of PURPLE. Once he learnt that it had been broken, he tried misdirection once again, launching a covert stratagem aimed at ensnaring Rong Jinzhen. I think much of what Liseiwicz did was at the behest of political interests, something he little choice about. Consider, for instance, that had Rong Jinzhen broken PURPLE right at the beginning, Liseiwicz would have become a disgrace — it would have been worse than having all of his possessions stolen. But the alarm never sounded. At that time, his role was as an early warning system. How else could it have been discovered that Rong Jinzhen was the man responsible for cracking PURPLE? It had to have been Liseiwicz that put two and two together. He got it right! However, there is one thing that he could not have thought of and that was that his scheme to ensnare Rong Jinzhen would have no effect! You could say that in this matter, God was on Rong Jinzhen’s side.

What is more, the enemy’s JOG radio station propaganda broadcasts over the next few days spoke evasively on the subject, offering huge amounts of money to ‘buy’ our cryptographers; such and such a person for such and such a price. I clearly remember that the bounty they first put on Rong Jinzhen was over ten times that for a pilot: 100,000 yuan.

Can you believe it!? One hundred thousand!

According to Rong Jinzhen’s reckoning, such a bounty put him up in the heavens and, simultaneously, put him one step away from hell. He realized that since such an amount had been placed on his head, those seeking to harm him would have sufficient cause and incentive; it would attract not a few people. All this left him feeling helpless. This was his mistake, as our security preparations to ensure his safety far exceeded any danger that he might run into. Besides the faithful Vasili, there were any number of plainclothes protectors accompanying him every step of the way, including those trained in advanced combat techniques. They were all ready for the unexpected. He didn’t know about any of this, so feeling himself being jostled by the hordes of people coming and going along the train made him feel really nervous.

Rong Jinzhen certainly seemed to possess a quality that forced him to waste time on insignificant matters. And yet, his remarkable intelligence and divine luck perhaps all relied upon this indomitable spirit to keep at it, no matter how many times he might have to bang his head against the wall. What’s more, it was this spirit that seemingly gifted him with a sublime deliberateness. This was simply Rong Jinzhen. Although he had read a countless number of books and possessed an unparalleled breadth of knowledge, when it came to daily life he was completely clueless, unaware of what was happening around him; which made him overly cautious and stupid at the same time. It was truly beyond belief. During all those years, he had only left the complex once, and that was to rescue his sister, Master Rong. His trip to Beijing was only his second time away. In all honesty, in the years that had followed his decryption of PURPLE, his life was not especially stressful and he had the time to go home for a visit, if he so desired. Indeed, we would have made arrangements immediately should he have asked. But he always flatly refused any suggestion that he leave the unit. It was as though he were a criminal being watched by a prison guard: his speech was circumspect; his movements, too. The thought of doing simply as he pleased had no meaning for him. But perhaps more to the point, he was afraid that something would happen if he were to leave even for a short period of time. Just like a person who fears being locked at home alone and divorced from human contact, he feared stepping outside his door; feared meeting people. His reputation and his job were like a sheet of glass to him, transparent and fragile. There is nothing that can be done for this kind of person, and he himself made matters worse by nursing these reclusive emotions, painstakingly cultivating them inside him. There was simply nothing we could do. .

[To be continued]

Due to his profession and his overly cautious nature, to say nothing of his fear that something might happen, Rong Jinzhen was trapped within a valley of secrets. Days and nights passed in this fashion; from beginning to end he was like a fenced-in animal. His approach to life at Unit 701 soon became familiar to everyone: he had a singular attitude — stiff, almost suffocating. His only joy was to pass the time in a world of the imagination. But now he was on his way to Beijing. It was only his second time away from the complex and it would also be his last.

As his habits dictated, Vasili was once more wearing his windbreaker — a crisp beige jacket, very stylish, with the collar turned up. He looked terribly mysterious. Today, however, his left hand was not buried in his pocket; instead it grasped a leather suitcase. The suitcase was neither big nor small. Brown in colour, it was made of cowhide with a hard shell; a perfectly common travelling safetydeposit box. Inside, however, were the files on BLACK, a veritable ticking time-bomb. Vasili’s right hand, Rong Jinzhen noticed, was constantly twitching inside his pocket as if he had some nervous tick that he was self-conscious about. Rong Jinzhen of course understood that Vasili had no nervous tick; his pistol was in his pocket. Jinzhen had once inadvertently caught a glimpse of the weapon and he had overheard what people said about it. Rong Jinzhen couldn’t help but feel somewhat aghast: holding tight onto that firearm had become a habit, a need for Vasili; something he couldn’t do without. Taking this thought further, Rong Jinzhen felt a sense of enmity, of terror. A sentence came into his mind — ‘A pistol is like money in one’s pocket; it can be taken out and used at any moment.’

Thinking that there was a weapon next to him, perhaps even two, Rong Jinzhen felt anxious. They might be pulled out suddenly to deal with trouble, like water is used to douse flames. But sometimes water can’t put a fire out. If that were to happen. . he could dwell on it no further. Meanwhile, the muffled sound of gunshots rang in his ears.

Of course Rong Jinzhen understood that if anything happened, if they were hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned, Vasili would not hesitate to turn the pistol on him and fire. ‘Death before divulging secrets.’ Rong Jinzhen repeated this maxim in silence. The sound of gunshots that had begun to fade once more echoed in his ears.

This sense of impending failure, a sense that catastrophe was just waiting to happen, accompanied Rong Jinzhen throughout his trip to the capital. No matter how he tried to beat it back, to resist it, he couldn’t help but think that the road was long and the train moved ever so slowly. It was not until he arrived safely at headquarters that his mood began to change and the dread in his heart subsided to be replaced by a warm and relaxed feeling. At that moment, he bravely thought that there was no need for him to frighten himself so in future.

‘What could possibly happen? Nothing. After all, no one knows who you are; no one knows that you carry top-secret information,’ he mumbled, as though berating himself for his earlier silliness.

2

The conference began the day after he arrived.

It had a grand inauguration, with four deputy heads of the Intelligence Service in attendance. An elderly, grey-haired senior official acted as host. According to the introduction provided, the elderly man was the first director of the research section. Privately, however, many said he was the first secretary and military advisor for official XX. Of course, Rong Jinzhen cared little about titles. The only thing he was thinking about was what the senior director had said — ‘We must decipher BLACK; our country’s security depends upon it.’

‘What we are talking about here,’ he said, ‘is decryption; but not all attempts at decipherment have the same objective or significance. Some ciphers are broken to ensure victory on a battlefield; others are cracked to demonstrate military superiority; still others are decrypted to guarantee the safety and security of a nation’s leader; and others for diplomatic reasons. Some are even broken simply to satisfy professional pride. There are of course numerous other reasons for decryption, and yet, out of all of those many reasons, none truly involve the very security and safety of the nation as a whole. To speak frankly, this extremely sophisticated cipher now being deployed by X country threatens the very integrity of our nation. There is only one means by which we can resolve this precarious situation and that is by swiftly decrypting BLACK. Some people say, give me a place to stand and I will move the earth; decrypting BLACK is where we take our stand. If we say that at present the security of our nation is in a critical situation, that we are being pressured, then decrypting BLACK will be the key to fighting against this threat.’

The emotional and yet stately inaugural address delivered by this solemn and respected elderly official brought forth a resounding chorus of applause. When he spoke, his silver hair moved in unison with his excited gestures, as if it too were speaking.

In the afternoon, it was time for the professionals to give their lectures. Rong Jinzhen was ordered to take the lead, giving a report that lasted well over an hour on his progress towards deciphering BLACK. Unfortunately he had made no progress whatsoever. Later, on the way back to Unit 701, he regretted having publically shared his own bewilderment at the conference. Over the course of the next few days, he spent countless hours listening to the opinions of other cryptographers as well as attending the two final closing addresses. Taken as a whole, Rong Jinzhen felt that the entire conference had been more of a discussion and not a rigorous research symposium. It had all been rather frivolous and shallow. The lectures had been more flowery speech and clichéd slogans than anything of substance. There had been no meaty debates, nor any cold, detached contemplation. From beginning to end the conference seemed as though it had been floating on a calm sea and all that Rong Jinzhen could do was to blow bubbles — the tranquillity and monotony had been suffocating.

It could perhaps be said that deep down Rong Jinzhen despised this symposium and everyone who attended it. Later, however, he felt that feeling this way was uncalled for; and what’s more, it was useless. BLACK, he had come to realize, was a cancer eating at his body. For years he had tried to get at it, and still he was no closer to it. Death now shadowed him, sinisterly threatening him. Those who had attempted to help were neither geniuses nor sages, only gossipers. To think that they could find a cure for this cancer, that they could be the Saviour, was completely absurd, a dream, complete nonsense.[Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

A lonely and exhausted man, Rong Jinzhen would spend his days absorbed in thought, or perhaps we should say fantasy. Every night he would purposefully dream. As I understand things, he encouraged himself to dream every night for the following reasons: first, he had previously grasped that a certain lucidness came with his dreams (some said that it was whilst dreaming that he found the means to decipher PURPLE). Secondly, he began to suspect that the creator of BLACK was a monster gifted with a form of intelligence completely alien to humankind, and since he himself was human, the only way to get close to it would be in his dreams.

When he first came upon this idea it boosted his morale; it was as if he had found a way out. I heard that he was now instructing himself to dream every night. Dreaming had become one of his responsibilities. His deliberate excessiveness, however, only resulted in bringing him to the verge of mental collapse. One look at him and you could see that all manner of dreams were coming upon him thick and fast, never-ending. The dreams were disorderly, without coherent thought; the only thing they accomplished was to disrupt his normal sleep. In order to restore some normality to his nights, he had no choice but to dismantle the dream patterns he had become entangled in. He took to reading novels and going for walks before heading to bed. The former helped put him at ease, especially considering the stresses of the day. The latter would tire him out. The results were positive. To use his words: reading and walking before bed were his two sleeping pills.

Still, Rong Jinzhen dreamed a great deal. He had taken everything from this world and experienced it in his dreams. In a sense, he had two worlds of existence: one real, the other a dream. People say that everything on land is also in the sea, but not everything in the sea is on land. Rong Jinzhen’s situation paralleled this: the things he had in his dreams did not necessarily exist in the real world, but everything from the real world was most certainly to be found in his dreams. I guess you could say that for Rong Jinzhen everything possessed a duality: on the one hand was reality — the realness of things, the living world; on the other, the dream, virtuality, chaos. As the idiom ‘baseless gossip’ suggests, we only accept the real world as evidence. But for Rong Jinzhen, there was always a duality: the real and the dream, and only he knew of the latter. It goes without saying that his dream world was more absurd, more incoherent than reality. .[To be continued]

Now, a more tranquil Rong Jinzhen realized that to hope for someone else to offer advice on how to decipher BLACK, to hope that someone else could put him on the correct path — that was just nonsense from his dreams, an absurdity within an absurdity. To console himself he reiterated, ‘Don’t count on anyone but yourself, don’t hope for someone else to help; they cannot tell you the right path, it’s not possible, not possible. . ’ He repeated this to himself, believing perhaps that such a mantra might make him forget the disappointment of the conference.

As it turned out, reciting this mantra did in fact make him feel better; it was not entirely without benefit. Rong Jinzhen was able to find some reassurances in it; four in fact:

1. Attendance at the conference allowed him to see that the Head of the Intelligence Services was immensely concerned about the progress made towards deciphering BLACK and the future thereafter. This made Rong Jinzhen feel somewhat stressed, but it also encouraged him, urging him on in his attempt to decrypt the cipher.

2. Attendance at the conference also allowed him to witness how nearly everyone in his profession fawned over him, either in speech or by deed (say for instance by shaking his hand overly affectionately, or by bowing at the waist instead of just a nod, or by politely smiling at everything he said, and so on). Rong Jinzhen had discovered that in their secretive world, he was a celebrity, loved by all. Before he had had some awareness of this but had never really been sure. Now that he knew, he couldn’t help but be a little cheered by it.

3. At the first drinks reception of the conference, the elderly statesman had made an impromptu promise to provide Rong Jinzhen with an incredibly sophisticated calculator, capable of over 40,000 calculations. Such a gift would be tantamount to providing Jinzhen with an internationally top-ranked assistant!

4. Before leaving, he had bought from the Yesterday Bookstore two books he had long desired, one being The Riddle (a translation of The Writing of the Gods by the famous cryptanalyst Klaus Johannes).

In sum, then, what makes a trip worthwhile?

For Rong Jinzhen, it was getting these particular items. With these in hand, Rong could happily head back to Unit 701. The train ride home would be free of incident, and free too of men hiding in shadows. Vasili would have no difficulty in booking a soft sleeper car for the journey. Once on board, Rong Jinzhen felt at ease, in total contrast to the journey six days before.

He really was quite happy to be departing the capital. Another reason for this happiness was that the night before leaving, the city had received its first winter snowfall, almost as though it had been arranged as a special send-off for this man from the south. The snow had fallen intensely, blanketing the ground, brightening the darkness. In this wintry setting, Rong Jinzhen waited for the train to depart. The silence of the falling snow and the scent of moisture it carried in the air filled his heart with peace; it was a splendid daydream.

Such a start would have satisfied even the fussiest of people, making Rong Jinzhen feel quite confident that this would be a relaxing journey home.

But what happened was anything but.

3

The trip home was completely different. For one thing, it was two days and three nights, whereas the train to Beijing took three days and two nights. Two of the nights had already passed, and the second day was in the midst of dying away. Except for sleeping, Rong Jinzhen spent his time reading his newly purchased books. It was quite obvious that he felt nothing of the anxiety or fear that had marred his previous train ride. The fact that he could sleep well and enjoy reading was proof enough. A journey home has certain advantages. For their party this was especially so since they had been able to get a sleeper car that had its own independent heating unit, which somewhat separated their berth from the rest, making it a more secure location. Rong Jinzhen couldn’t help but feel rather pleased and happy about their good fortune in getting such a car.

No one can deny that for a man who lacks courage, who is overly sensitive and rather cold and detached, to be removed from close proximity to others is a most pressing desire, an overriding concern. At Unit 701, Rong Jinzhen was always taciturn and uncommunicative, always aloof from the world around him. This was how he maintained his distance from people, how he separated himself from the crowd. Whichever way you looked at it, his motivation for befriending the chess-playing lunatic must have been to ensure his own ostracism from everyone else. To associate with the lunatic was the best means to make sure that he was left alone. He had no friends and no one tried to be his friend: they respected him, they admired him, but they weren’t affectionate towards him. He lived a solitary life (and even the chess-playing lunatic left Unit 701 when his dementia began to come under control). Most people said that he was untouched by the world around him: he never got close to people, and was always alone and rather depressed-looking. But loneliness and depression did not bother him; the greater torment was enduring the myriad idiosyncrasies of other people. From this point of view, he did not much fancy the rank of section chief, or even the title of husband. .[Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

Rong Jinzhen got married on the first of August in 1966. His wife’s surname was Di, an orphan who had come to work for us quite early, initially as a telephone switchboard operator. In 1964 she was transferred to the cryptography section as a security officer. She was a northerner, rather tall — half a head above Rong Jinzhen — and she had quite large eyes. She spoke a most proper Mandarin Chinese, although she never said very much. When she did, it was in a low tone of voice. Perhaps that was due in large part to her position as a keeper of secrets.

To speak of Rong Jinzhen’s wedding — well, I’ve always felt that it was exceptionally odd, as if fate were teasing him in some way. Why do I say that? It’s because I know that in the beginning there were a great many people who were concerned about his marrying someone. Some even thought that they should propose to him, in an effort to somehow bask in his glory I suppose. And yet maybe not, perhaps it was his own indecisiveness, or some other reason. But whatever the cause, whenever the possibility of marriage arose, he always shut the door. It seemed as though he simply lacked interest in women and marriage. But then later, I don’t know how, and with very little fanfare, he married Miss Di. He was thirty-four at the time. Of course, his age was not an issue, I mean, he was a little old, but if someone was willing to marry him, then what’s the problem? None. The problem came after they were married: BLACK came and stole him away. It goes without saying that if he hadn’t married Miss Di at that time, he would probably never have got married: BLACK would have prevented that. Their wedding gave people an odd feeling, just like when you are about to close a window and a bird abruptly flutters into the room: it’s a little strange and yet it seems almost like fate, and you don’t really know what to do — is it good or bad omen, something right or wrong?

To tell you the truth, he was a terrible husband, completely unreasonable. He would often not return home for days, sometimes staying away for the best part of a couple of weeks; and then when he did go home, he would hardly say a word to his wife: he would just eat then leave again, or eat, sleep, and then leave when he got up. That was their married life. They lived together but she rarely saw him, and spoke with him even less. As section chief, an administrative leader, Rong Jinzhen was not up to the task. Generally, he would show up at his office an hour before the day ended; the rest of the time he was squirreled away in the his cryptography room. He would even unplug the telephone to ensure that he would not be disturbed. It was in this fashion that he shirked the responsibilities and pains of being a section chief as well as a husband. He seemed to preserve his customary habits and longed-for style of life: a solitary existence — living alone, working alone, not wanting anyone to trouble him or to help. What’s more, things only became more extreme after BLACK entered the picture. It was as if he had to hide himself away, that doing so was the only means by which he could find the hidden secrets of this cipher. .[To be continued]

Rong Jinzhen was reclining in a rather cosy soft sleeper bunk, feeling as though he had finally found a safe place to take refuge in. It had been indeed rather fortunate that Vasili had secured two berths in a soft sleeper car. Their travelling companions were a retired professor and his nine-year-old granddaughter. The professor must have been around sixty years old. He had previously served as vice-chancellor at G university, but because of an eye disease he had resigned not long before. He carried himself with authority, liked to drink and smoke Pegasus cigarettes — this was how he whiled away his time on the road. His granddaughter, who aspired to be a singer when she grew up, spent the time singing, using the carriage as a stage. The two of them, one old, one young, served as a tranquilizer for Rong Jinzhen, putting him at ease. In this simple and unsophisticated space, he felt devoid of any sense of foreboding. Or to put it another way, he was able to forget his own timidity, and he devoted his time to his two most important endeavours: sleeping and reading. Sleep compressed the long dark nights into a dream; reading dispatched the boredom of the days. Sometimes he would lie in the dark, unable to sleep, unable to read, and instead passed the time by letting his imagination run wild. This was how he spent the journey home — engaged in sleeping, reading, and flights of fancy. The hours slipped by one after another, as he gradually drew ever closer to the last leg of the trip and home, back to Unit 701.

The second day of the trip was coming to a close. The train was briskly making its way through a wide open field. At the far end, the setting sun was flushed red; its last rays of crimson light had a beautiful, benevolent hue. The remaining sunshine bathed the train in a warming, tranquil light, much like a dreamscape or a gentle landscape painting.

During dinner, Vasili and the professor struck up a conversation which Rong Jinzhen only listened to with half an ear. That was until the professor said in an envious tone of voice, ‘Ah, we’ve just entered G province — by tomorrow morning you two will be home.’

Hearing this was music to Rong Jinzhen’s ears, and he asked, ‘When will you arrive at your destination?’

‘Tomorrow, at three in the afternoon.’

That would be the terminus for the train. Rong Jinzhen joked, ‘You two are certainly faithful passengers: you’ve accompanied this train from beginning to end.’

‘While you are a deserter. . ’ The professor laughed heartily. It was quite evident that he was happy to have found people to talk to on the train. But his happiness was fleeting. After a couple of chuckles, Rong Jinzhen once more turned his attention to Johannes’ The Riddle, paying the professor little heed. All the latter could do was stare at him curiously, wondering whether or not he might be unwell.

Rong Jinzhen was not ill, of course; this was simply his customary manner. Once he had finished what he wanted to say, then he was finished. He didn’t drag things out, he didn’t switch topics, he wasn’t polite; there was no preface, no postscript: he spoke when he had something to say, he was silent when there was nothing to say — like talking in one’s sleep, he made his interlocutors feel as if they too were dreaming.

Speaking of Johannes’ The Riddle, it had been published by the China Publishing House before the Revolution, translated by the Eurasian author Han Suyin. It was a rather slim volume, more a pamphlet than a book. On the title page it had the following epigraph:

A genius is the spirit of this world, there are few but they are the finest of humankind, they are noble, they are to be treasured. Like any other treasure in this world, they are delicate, fragile as a newly planted bud; once hit they crack; once cracked they fracture.

These words hit Rong Jinzhen like a bullet. .

[Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

Genius is easily broken. This was not news to Rong Jinzhen, nor was it a topic he was uncomfortable with; many times before he had discussed it with me. He said, ‘This fragility is what makes a genius, a genius. It is what allows them to transcend all limits, to become ever more refined, like gossamer silk; to become almost transparent, but to be unable to bear any knock. In a sense, a person’s intelligence can exceed any frontier, and from a certain perspective knowledge can easily be seen as limitless. But in another sense, we could say that erudition is achieved by sacrificing a broad knowledge of the world for the particular. Therefore, on the one hand, the great majority of geniuses are incredibly sensitive and learned, but on the other, they are stupid and clumsy, incorrigibly obstinate, very unlike ordinary people. The exemplar of this sort of person was Professor Klaus Johannes, a legend in the field of cryptography, and Rong Jinzhen’s personal hero. The Riddle was his work.

No one would deny that there was something almost godlike about Johannes’ ability; he was beyond reach, a god himself really. Nothing could disturb him. He knew the ciphers behind the ciphers! But in the real world, in life, he was a fool, a fool who didn’t even know his way home. He was like a house pet — if he was let out without a collar, he mightn’t return. The story goes that he was like this because his mother had been so afraid of losing him that she wouldn’t let him out of her sight, shadowing his every movement and making sure he always returned home.

It goes without saying that from his mother’s perspective, he was, without a doubt, an abysmal child.

Nevertheless, in the first half of the last century, in the fascist camp, this man — this thoroughly sheltered and socially inept child — was known as the Grim Reaper: he could make Hitler piss in his pants at the mere mention of his name. Johannes was actually from the same place as Hitler, born on an island named Tars (known for its gold deposits). If it’s true that every man needs to have an ancestral homeland then his was Germany, and Hitler at that time was the commander-in-chief. You could say he should have been serving Germany, serving Hitler’s Reich. But he didn’t, at least not from start to finish (he had at one time). He was the enemy of no country, of no individual — his only enemies were ciphers. At any given time he might become the enemy of a certain nation, a certain person, but at any other time he might become the enemy of some other country, some other person: it all depended on who — which country, which person — had created and used the most complicated secret cipher. Whoever possessed such a thing was his adversary.

In the 1940s, after documents encrypted using EAGLE appeared on Hitler’s desk, Johannes chose to betray his homeland, to desert the German military and switch sides, joining up with the Allied forces. His betrayal had nothing to do with political beliefs, nor with money. His only reason for leaving was EAGLE, a cipher that caused every cryptographer to fall into despair.

It was said that EAGLE was developed by an Irish mathematical genius who had once been resident in Berlin. The story was that during a visit to a Jewish synagogue he had been helped by God to create it: a cipher so sophisticated that it was reckoned secure for thirty years. EAGLE outstripped other ciphers of the time ninefold — this was incredible, unheard of; indeed, it was downright unbelievable.

We could say that the fate that awaits all cryptographers everywhere is that whatever they strive after will always remain just out of reach, always on the other side of the glass. Like the chance of a particular grain of sand from the sea colliding with a particular grain on the shore, the odds are millions upon millions to one: completely impossible. Even so, cryptographers still chase after this gargantuan impossibility. In the process of writing ciphers, the cryptographers, or the ciphers themselves, will invariably encounter certain unavoidable mishaps — akin to people randomly and instinctively sneezing: it’s bound to happen but there is really no way to calculate the numerical probability of when it will actually take place. The problem is that when pinning one’s hopes on the possible mistakes of others, one cannot but help feel this is at once absurd and terribly sad. This layering of absurdity upon absurdity, sorrow upon sorrow, has become the fate of many cryptographers: so many — all of them the elite — have passed their lives in this fashion, obscure and unknown, living dark and tragic lives.

Whether it was thanks to his genius or his luck, Professor Klaus Johannes needed only seven months to crack EAGLE. In the history of cryptography it could be said that his accomplishment was unique and never to be repeated: an unbelievable occurrence, like the sun rising in the west, or a single raindrop deciding to fall upwards in a downpour. .

[To be continued]

Every time he thought about his fate, Rong Jinzhen had an inexplicable sensation of shame and uneasiness, a dreadful feeling of unreality. He would frequently gaze at Johannes’ photo and repeat to himself: ‘Everyone has a hero, and you’re mine: all my knowledge and power come from your example and your encouragement. You’re my sun: my brilliance can never be separated from yours, never outshine yours. . ’

This type of self-deprecation wasn’t due to Rong Jinzhen feeling dissatisfied within himself; no, it was due to the enormous respect he had for Professor Johannes.

In truth, besides Klaus Johannes, there was no one else that he admired other than himself; he didn’t believe that anyone else in Unit 701 could break BLACK if he couldn’t. He didn’t have confidence in his colleagues; or at least his reason for feeling this way was completely straightforward: no one else at Unit 701 showed any sincere admiration for Klaus Johannes. Amidst the clattering of the train across the tracks, he clearly heard himself speak to his hero. ‘They cannot see your intellectual magnificence, and if they did, they would only be afraid of it. But I cannot understand nor trust their reasoning. To appreciate something that is truly beautiful requires courage and talent; without this, beauty can only terrify.’

Rong Jinzhen believed that only in the eyes of other geniuses could one’s own genius be valued. In the eyes of the common man, geniuses were quite likely to be seen as freaks or fools. This was because those with superior intellect had left the common man behind, had marched far off into new frontiers, so far that even if the commoner raised his eyes to look, he could not see them, thus thinking erroneously that the genius had fallen behind. This was the plebeian way of thinking. All it took for them to exclude — to fear — a genius was for the latter to be uncommunicative; they would never realize that the genius’ silence issued from his fear and not from contempt.

It was here that Rong Jinzhen believed the reasons for his distance from his colleagues lay: he could appreciate and thus respect Johannes’ abilities. He could bask in this giant’s intellectual brilliance — it shone over him and through him as if he were glass — but no one else was able to see; they were like stone and Johannes’ brilliance could not shine through them.

Continuing this train of thought, Rong Jinzhen felt that comparing geniuses to glass and commoners to rock was particularly apposite. Geniuses after all had many of the qualities of glass: they were delicate, easily broken, very fragile; not at all like stone. Even if a stone were to be cracked, it wouldn’t shatter like glass; perhaps a corner or a face would be broken off, but it would still remain a stone, and could still be used as a stone. Glass, however, did not have this resilience: its innate quality was vulnerability; to be cracked meant to be shattered, each shard becoming useless. Geniuses were just like this: all it took was for you to snap off their outstretched head, like breaking a lever in two. The remaining bits would be worthless. He again thought of his hero: if there were no ciphers in need of decryption, what would be his worth? Nothing!Outside the window, night was slowly turning into day.

4

Everything that happened after this was totally unreal, because it was too real.

That’s how it goes: when things seem too real they become unreal; people have trouble believing them — just like most people can’t believe that in any mountainous area in Guangxi you can take a sewing needle and exchange it for a cow, or even for one pure silver broadsword. No one can deny, however, that it was ten years ago, whilst dreaming of Dmitri Ivanovich Mendeleev (1834–1907) — who had himself been given the idea of creating the periodic table in a dream — that the secret to cracking PURPLE had come to Rong Jinzhen. This was of course an extraordinary story, but what happened next far exceeded it.

In the middle of the night, Rong Jinzhen had been woken by the sound of the train pulling into a station. As was his habit, upon waking he immediately reached out his hand to touch the safety-deposit box that was under his bunk.

It was there! Still chained to the leg of the tea table. Feeling at ease, he lay back down, trying to differentiate between the scattered sound of footsteps and the blare of the train station’s public address system.

The public address system informed him that they had arrived in B City.

The next stop would be A City.

‘Still three hours to go. . And then home. . Home. . Only a hundred and eighty minutes left. . Sleep a little more, home. . ’ In a daze, he fell back to sleep.

Before a moment passed, however, the train whistle blew sharply, signalling its departure from the station, waking him up once more. The clacking upon the tracks grew ever more intense, and just as music gradually increases a person’s level of excitement, it prevented him from falling asleep. He never slept soundly in any case; how could he endure such auditory violence? The sounds of the train rolled over him, thoroughly waking him up. Light from the moon flitted into the cabin, shining directly upon his berth. The shadows tossed about, fluctuating sharply, tempting his drowsy eyes. Just then, he noticed something unusual out of the corner of his eye. What was it, what was wrong? Making a lazy attempt to ascertain what had happened, rolling it over in his mind, he finally realized that his leather attaché case which had been hanging on a hook on the wall — a bag very much like a teacher’s black briefcase — was gone. He got up abruptly, searching in his berth for it. It wasn’t there. Then he got down and looked round the floor, the tea table, under his pillow. It was nowhere to be found!

He noisily roused Vasili and the professor, the latter telling him that about an hour before when he had got up to use the toilet (please remember that it was an hour ago), he had seen a young man in military plainclothes on the connecting platform, leaning against the door-frame smoking a cigarette. On his way out, however, the young man had disappeared without a trace. In his hand he had been holding an attaché case very much like the one Rong Jinzhen had just described.

The professor said, ‘At the time, I gave it little thought, thinking that it must have been his case because he was just standing there, smoking, I never really paid much attention to what was in his hands, it seemed as though he were in no hurry, would just finish his smoke and leave, but now — ah, I should have been more attentive.’ The professor’s voice was full of empathy.

Rong Jinzhen thought it most likely that it had been that man in the military clothes who had stolen his case. Even though it seemed as though he had just been standing there, in truth he had been deciding upon his mark. The professor’s trip to the bathroom gave him his opportunity, like seeing tracks in the snow — following them would lead you to the tiger’s cave. You could speculate that whilst the professor was in the lavatory, the man had made his move, he had ‘made use of every second and every inch’.

Mulling this over in his head, Rong Jinzhen couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.

[Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

In truth, cryptography is very much like having to make good use of every second and every inch.

Ciphers are very much like an enormous, seamless net, thus seemingly unreal. But once a cipher is used, they are like anyone’s mouth: it is very hard to avoid slips of the tongue. These slips are like rivulets of blood, splitting open a gash, providing a glimmer of hope for those attempting to crack the cipher. Just as lightening splits open the sky, a sharp mind squirrels itself into the gaps, passes into the inner labyrinth of a cipher as if it was a normal corridor, and sometimes even finds access to heaven. These last few years, Rong Jinzhen had used an enormous amount of patience in waiting for the gaps in the sky to open, he had waited through a countless number of days and nights, and yet he still had not succeeded in deciphering BLACK.

This was highly irregular. It was downright strange.

In trying to find a cause for this state of affairs, we at Unit 701 thought about two things:

1. Cracking PURPLE had forced our adversary to grit his teeth and bear the pain, to be ever more cautious when opening his mouth, to be circumspect and deliberate, to ensure that not one drop of water was spilt. It made us feel invulnerable.

2. Rong Jinzhen had failed to detect any errors within BLACK. The drops of water fell right through his hands. And what’s more, the chances of this happening were rather high. Think about it: Liseiwicz truly understood Rong Jinzhen; he could easily have warned the creators of BLACK of Rong Jinzhen’s skill at decryption and assisted them in developing countermeasures. Quite honestly, they were once like father and son, but now, because of their respective political positions and beliefs, the spiritual gulf between them was greater than any geographical distance. I still remember to this day the moment we learnt that Liseiwicz was in fact Weinacht — everyone in our organization wanted to come clean to Rong Jinzhen, to tell him of Liseiwicz’s clever ruse, to beg him to be wary. And guess what he said upon learning about this? He said, ‘Tell him to go to hell, this devil in the temple of science!’*

* This recalls the preface written by Young Lillie for Jinzhen’s thesis.

To reiterate, our adversary was increasingly cautious, making fewer and fewer mistakes; thus making it easier for us to miss things. Even if we were less than diligent, it would still have been obvious that our opponent had begun to make fewer errors. We were like an uneven mortise and tenon, echoing each other, nipping at each other, but never quite linking up; there was a heretofore unseen perfection in the network of lies we wove. But this perfection was strange and frightening. For Rong Jinzhen, each day and each night was greeted with a feeling of cold terror. No one but his wife knew what he was going through; for he had told her everything about the problems he was experiencing in his dreams: on the path to breaking a cipher, he was already too tired to be on his guard. His faith, his inner tranquillity had already met with the threat of despair; he was sick and tired of making his moves and fending off countermoves. .

[To be continued]

Now, thinking of what had happened, thinking of how the thief had kept watch on them, thinking of his stolen leather attaché case, Rong Jinzhen’s thoughts became focused on his own vigilance and desperation. He mocked himself: ‘I thought of other people — the cryptographers who had constructed BLACK as well as those who had used it — and how difficult it was to get close to them, close to it. Yet it was so terribly easy for me to have my bag stolen, a task that took all of half a cigarette.’ He laughed to himself and smiled a bitter smile once again.

In truth, at this time Rong Jinzhen had yet to realize the gravity of the situation, had yet to think about the seriousness of his predicament. Thinking about what was inside, all he could remember was the return train ticket and the receipt for his lodgings, as well as 200 yuan or more worth of food stamps and an assortment of credentials. Johannes’ book was in there as well; he had put it in there last night before heading to bed. Realizing that he had lost a prized possession sent a pang through his heart. Still, comparing these things to what was still safely locked away in the safety-deposit box made him appreciate his good fortune, to be glad he had just narrowly escaped calamity.

It goes without saying that what the thief had desired to take was the safety-deposit box. That would have been a disaster. Now it seemed as though there was nothing to be worried about: what had happened was regrettable and that’s all; a pity, but not something to dread.

Ten minutes later, the carriage had become peaceful once again. Vasili and the professor had done much to console him and the emotional upheaval of losing his case had gradually receded. He felt calm. However, once he settled back into the dark of his berth, the peace of just minutes ago seemed to be swallowed by the night, shattered by the clacking of the train upon the tracks. It made him sink into a sea of regret.

Regret is a frame of mind; to recollect means to use one’s brain, to mentally exert oneself.

Was there anything else in the leather attaché case?

He turned it over in his mind.

Since all he now had was an imaginary briefcase, he needed to use his imagination to pull open the zipper. But as soon as he began this train of thought, his mind was invaded and harassed by feelings of regret and pity, turning his mind blank, making it impossible to open the zipper. All that was in front of his eyes was a large dizzying expanse of gloom. This was the outside of his leather attaché case, not the inside. Gradually, the feeling of regret began to subside and his thoughts returned to what was inside. His thinking was urgent, focused; much like the forcefulness of water running off melting snow — rising, pooling together, rising again, and again pooling together. Finally, he tore open the zipper and there was a blast of blue light that blazed in front of his eyes. It was as if an assassin’s hand had just flashed before him, making him stumble backwards into his bunk. He screamed, ‘My god, Vasili!’

‘What is it?’ Vasili had jumped up out of his berth; in the dark he could see Rong Jinzhen shivering.

‘My notebook! My notebook!. . ’ Rong Jinzhen’s voice trailed off.

As it turned out, he had put his notebook in his briefcase.[Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

Think about it: as a solitary person, a man generally sunk in deep contemplation of something or other, Rong Jinzhen gave the impression that he often heard fantastic, astonishing sounds. These reverberations would seem as if they had drifted in from somewhere far, far away, as if emanating from some spiritual realm. But they would never fully manifest themselves, they wouldn’t wait for him, they would always fall short of what was hoped for, and yet, without warning, he would encounter them on the fringes of perception. They would come uninvited, appear within his dreams, in the dreams within dreams, behind the words in a book he was reading — cryptic, always in new forms, mysterious in nature. What I would like to say is that these sounds — inspirations, really — would seem to spring from somewhere between heaven and earth, but in truth they came from Rong Jinzhen; they were ejected from his soul, they radiated out from his being, flickering once and then disappearing. He had to write them down immediately or they would be lost. As fast as they came, they left, even their shadows vanished. Because of this, Rong Jinzhen had got into the habit of always carrying a notebook on his person, everywhere he went, at all times; the notebook seemed as if it were his shadow, quietly striding alongside him.

I know it was a 64-page blue leather notebook; the title page contained a top-secret number as well as Rong Jinzhen’s personal serial number; inside were his notes and scribblings made over the last few years when he was working on BLACK. Normally, Rong Jinzhen would put the notebook in his top left-hand pocket, but this time, since he had to carrying along any number of official credentials and papers, he decided to bring a leather attaché case with him, placing the notebook in with them. The leather case was one that had been given to him by our director upon his return from a trip overseas. It was made of very fine calf ’s skin, very delicate and lightweight, with a wide elastic strap that you could carry in your hand and hoop around your waist, making it into an extension of your clothes. His notebook was inside. Certainly, Rong Jinzhen never suspected that anything would happen — he didn’t believe he could lose it, he most likely felt as though it would always be there. .

[To be continued]

Over the past few days, Rong Jinzhen had gone through two notebooks.

He used up the first one four days ago. On that day, he had left the conference early and returned to his room feeling rather angry because of a particularly idiotic and dim-witted presentation. Panting with rage he reclined on his bed and stared out the window. From the outset, he noticed that the sky outside was slanted; he blinked, and yet it still spun. He began to realize that his line of sight was becoming blurred: the window, the sky, the city, the setting sun, everything was quietly slipping away, and in its place there emerged a flowing atmosphere and the sound of the setting sun scorching the sky — he saw the firmament as a formless and swirling mass with hot embers drifting through space on into nothingness. The heavens burned and darkness swelled up, eventually engulfing him. At that moment he understood, and he felt his body transform into an electric current. He glimmered, his entire body began to float; he had become some form of energy. Like a blazing flame he began to burn, to swirl, to evaporate, to drift into nothingness. Then at that instant, a clear sound rang out, like the graceful resonance of a butterfly flapping its wings. . this was the sound of his fate, the sound of nature, the flash, the blaze, the spritely imp — he had to record it.

This was the moment he had used up an entire notebook, and later he felt rather pleased about what he had written. It was the wrath he had felt that had ignited him, the ire towards that mindless presentation that had inspired him. The second notebook he had filled out in the wee hours of the previous morning. Whilst dreaming and swaying back and forth in unison with the train’s movements, Rong Jinzhen had dreamt of Professor Johannes. They had spoken at length in his dream, and upon waking, Rong Jinzhen immediately reached for his notebook to record their conversation.

You could say that on the trail to deciphering some secret cipher or other, passing through the narrow passageways of the genius, Rong Jinzhen never cried out in distress, nor did he exert himself praying for assistance. Instead, from beginning to end, he made his way on crutches: one was diligence, the other was solitude. His loneliness hardened his mind and soul, his diligence made it possible for him to reach out to the stars and take hold of good fortune. Luck is crafty: you cannot see it, you cannot touch it, nor can you say for sure what it is. You cannot understand it, nor does it wait for you. If you pray for it, it will not come. Luck is sublime and mysterious, perhaps the most mysterious thing in this world. But Rong Jinzhen’s good fortune was not mysterious, it was very real, it was hidden away between the lines in his notebook. .

But now his notebook had been spirited away!

Realizing what had happened, Vasili became agitated, nervously moving about. He went first to see the head of the train’s security, to alert him and his staff to prevent anyone from disembarking; then he used the train’s telegraph machine to wire Unit 701 and report the situation. Unit 701 in turn reported to General Headquarters, who then reported to their superiors — on up the chain of command it went until reaching the most senior director. He issued forth the following directive: ‘The missing documents involve national security; all departments are instructed to provide whatever assistance is necessary. The files in question must be recovered as quickly as possible!’

How had Rong Jinzhen’s notebook been lost? It involved sensitive institutional secrets and it contained explicit information on the problems they had encountered in their attempts to decipher BLACK. Rong Jinzhen had used it to record his thoughts — these most important ruminations on the intricacies of BLACK. How could it have been lost?

Lost!

It had to be recovered!

The train had picked up speed. It was hurrying to the next station.

Everyone knew that the next stop was A City. You could say that Rong Jinzhen had met with calamity just outside his front door, as if it had been long predestined, set in stone. No one would have imagined that so many days could have gone by without anything happening — and now this! It was terribly unexpected, to get all the way home only to have a leather briefcase go missing (not even the safety-deposit box). The culprit behind all of this could not be considered to be someone especially villainous, rather just a damnable thief. It was all like a dream. Rong Jinzhen felt weak and confused; a pathetic, hollow web of intrigue had entangled him, was torturing him. As the train roared ahead, he felt worse and worse. The train wasn’t heading for A City, it was heading to hell.

Once it reached its destination, the train doors were all locked. The orders had been given an hour ago by the Intelligence Service. But common sense told everyone that the thief in question had already left the train. He had disembarked once he had taken the briefcase, and that was in B City.

It is well known that if you want to conceal a leaf, the best place to do so is in a forest. If a person wants to conceal himself, the best place is in a crowd, in a city. Solving this case was not going to be easy. Establishing the particulars was going to be harder than hard. To give you an example, to give you a general idea of the features of this case, consider the following.

According to the records of the ‘Special Investigative Team’ at the time, this case involved, directly and indirectly, the following departments:

1. Unit 701.

2. A City’s police force.

3. A City’s PLA detachment and military reserves.

4. A City’s railway authorities.

5. All of A City’s affiliated government ministries.

6. B City’s police force.

7. B City’s PLA detachment and military reserves.

8. B City’s railway authorities.

9. B City’s health authorities.

10. B City’s Administrative Bureau.

11. B City’s Construction Administrative Bureau.

12. B City’s Communications Bureau.

13. B City’s Reporters Club.

14. B City’s Postal Authorities.

15. All of B City’s affiliated departments; and a countless number of other small work units and departments. The terrain to be covered included:

1. A City’s train station.

2. B City’s train station.

3. The 220 kilometres of track between A City and B City. 4. B City’s seventy-two registered guest houses.

5. B City’s 637 dustbins.

6. B City’s fifty-six public toilets.

7. B City’s forty-three kilometres of sewers.

8. B City’s nine rubbish tips.

9. The homes of all of B City’s residents.

More than 3,700 men were directly assigned to carrying out this job, including Rong Jinzhen and Vasili.

All 2,141 passengers on board came under direct scrutiny, as well as the 43 employees working on the train and the more than 600 plainclothes military men in B City. The train was delayed for five hours and thirty minutes.

The intelligence services in B City used up 484 hours on this case, equalling ten days and four hours.

According to what people said, this was the largest and most mysterious case G province had seen: tens of thousands of people had been disturbed, whole cities were thrown into upheaval; the scale and depth of this operation had never before been seen.

5

Returning to our main story (this is after all Rong Jinzhen’s story, which still isn’t over but rather is just entering a new phase). As soon as Rong Jinzhen stepped off the train and onto the platform in A City, he spied a delegation from Unit 701 approaching him — at the head was a rather exasperated and intimidating looking Director (not Zheng the Gimp, who had yet to be promoted to the post, but rather the predecessor of his predecessor). This was as it should be, thought Rong Jinzhen. Walking up to him, it was clear that the Director had lost all the respect he had once had for Rong Jinzhen. He looked at him with cold, menacing eyes.

Filled with terror, Rong Jinzhen cowered away from those eyes, but he could not escape the Director’s voice: ‘Why didn’t you place such sensitive and secret documents in the safety-deposit box?’

Everyone on the platform was fixated on the scene and saw what happened. There was a quick flash of something across Rong Jinzhen’s eyes that died away almost immediately, just like a tungsten filament burning out; then everything seemed to freeze as Rong Jinzhen went rigid and collapsed to the ground.

When the early morning light shone in through the window, Rong Jinzhen returned to the conscious world, and his eyes opened upon the hazy face of his wife. For one brief moment, he had fortuitously forgotten everything. He thought he was at home, in his own bed, and his wife had just woken him from some disturbing dream, her face looking anxious (perhaps she performed this duty quite frequently). But soon the white walls and the smells of medicine brought him fully back to reality; he realized he was in hospital. The shocking memory of what had happened returned and he heard the imposing voice of his Director: ‘Why didn’t you place such sensitive and secret documents in the safety-deposit box?’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’

‘Why. . ’[Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

You must believe that Rong Jinzhen did not deliberately try to lose his attaché case. In fact, he was always very vigilant. Therefore if you said that this mess was the result of him lowering his guard, or because he was treating the whole thing too lightly, or that he was somehow neglecting his duty, well that would be awfully unfair. But not putting his notebook in the safety-deposit box was a lapse in judgement on his part; his vigilance had certainly left him then.

I remember clearly that before they set off on this trip, Vasili and I had repeatedly requested — had urged him over and over again — to place any secret documents (including anything that could identify him as a member of the intelligence service) in the safety-deposit box. And he had assured us that he would do so. On the trip back, according to Vasili, Rong Jinzhen had been very careful, he had placed all sensitive materials in the safety-deposit box, including a book of maxims written and given to him by the Director-General of the Intelligence Service, to secure anything that might expose his identity, especially his particular position, or compromise him. Virtually everything was placed in the safety-deposit box except for his notebook. As to why he left the notebook out: well, that has become an age-old and profound mystery. I believe, unconditionally, that it wasn’t because he intended to write in it that he made sure to leave the notebook out; that’s not possible. He didn’t take risks like that; he didn’t have the courage to do so. It’s as though there really was no reason for him not to put the notebook away, and although he tried to figure out why after it had been stolen, he couldn’t imagine a reason. What is strange, however, is that before it went missing, he didn’t really seem to be conscious of having the notebook with him (and even after it disappeared, he didn’t immediately think of it). Like a woman failing to notice that she has a needle slipped into the cuff of her shirt until it pricks her; normally you just wouldn’t think of it.

But for Rong Jinzhen, his notebook was most certainly not an overlooked needle — there was no reason for him to think of it as being something worthless. No doubt his original intention was to remember it, to think much about it, to ensure that it was not forgotten, to enshrine it within his very being itself. This was because for Rong Jinzhen, his notebook was his most important and most valuable possession. To use his own words: his notebook was the vessel for his soul.

If this was the case, how is it that he had neglected to put away his most precious possession?

That is a most impenetrable riddle. .

[To be continued]

Rong Jinzhen felt a profound sense of remorse about what had happened, and as though he had stumbled into a mysterious labyrinth, vainly searching for an answer to the riddle as to why he neglected to put his notebook away. At first, the darkness that lay within his mind was nearly impenetrable and brought about an acute feeling of vertigo, but gradually he adapted to it, and the darkness became his means of discovering the light. In this fashion he brought himself towards a most important thought: ‘Perhaps it was because I had prized it too much, had hidden it too deeply in the heart of my heart, that I had failed to see. . Perhaps I had subconsciously come to understand that my notebook was no longer my solitary companion, no longer a real concrete thing, just like my glasses. . Something so necessary can so easily be lost! For so long my notebooks had been part of my life, they had become part of my blood, a bodily organ. . I never felt them, just like a person is never truly aware of his heart or his blood. . It is only when sick that a person becomes cognisant of his physical body; only when your glasses go missing that you discover that you need them: that’s what happened with my notebook. . ’

Rong Jinzhen leapt from his bed as though he had been electrocuted. He got dressed and made haste to leave the hospital. He was like a fire consuming its fuel, a man desperately trying to flee. His wife, this young women who stood a half a head taller than him, had never before seen her husband act like this: she was shocked, stupefied; all she could do was chase after him.

Because his eyes were not accustomed to the darkness of the staircase, he stumbled quickly down the steps, finally tumbling out onto the ground floor. His glasses fell with him, and although they didn’t break, the delay allowed his wife to catch him up. She had just hurried over to the hospital from Unit 701 because she had been informed that due to the stresses of travel, her husband had taken ill and had been sent to hospital, and was in need of care. This was her reason for hurrying over, but she had no idea as to what had really happened. She urged her husband to return to his bed to rest but he resolutely refused.

Outside, he was pleasantly surprised to see his jeep parked in the courtyard. Rushing over to it he saw the driver hunched over the steering wheel taking a nap. The jeep seemed to have been brought for him to use. Lying by telling the truth, he told his wife that he had left his briefcase at the station and had to go and retrieve it. But he never went to the station, going directly to B City instead.

Rong Jinzhen understood that the thief could be either on the train or in B City — there were no other possibilities. If he was still on the train, then there was nowhere for him to run. That meant that Rong Jinzhen had to make great haste to B City. A City didn’t need him, but B City — B City might yet need its entire population!

Three hours later, Rong Jinzhen pulled into the courtyard of the city garrison. From there he learnt that he had to go the Special Incidents Task Force, located within the garrison guest house. The man in charge was a Deputy Minister dispatched from General Headquarters; but he had yet to arrive. Below him were five deputy heads whose responsibilities had been divided up between the relevant departments of the military in A City and B City. This group included one deputy head who would later become Director of Unit 701: Zheng the Gimp. Upon reaching the guest house, Assistant Director Zheng gave Rong Jinzhen some bad news: the train had been searched from top to bottom and the thief was nowhere to be found.

This could only mean that the thief had alighted in B City! Without delay, everyone involved was dispatched to B City. In the evening, Vasili himself arrived, initially under orders from Director Feng to escort Rong Jinzhen back to the hospital; but sensing that Rong Jinzhen would most likely refuse to return, Director Feng had included supplementary instructions: if he would not relent in his desire to remain in B City, then Vasili had to accompany him everywhere and ensure his safety.

This is more or less what transpired.

No one knew that Vasili would potentially compromise the very security of Unit 701 and nearly bring ruin upon them all.

6

Over the course of the next few days, Rong Jinzhen drifted through the streets and alleys of B City much like a wandering, displaced soul. During the long endless nights — nights that would have driven the most resolute person insane — he whiled away the hours contemplating the most far-off things. He had passed through hope and now felt the most extreme despair; the night had become torture. Every evening, his most pitiable fate nagged at him, tortured him and stole away his sleep, and yet the mornings only served to pressure him even more, like burning moxa on his body. He delved deep down into his mind in an effort to recall that day and evening, to censure himself, and to try and understand how he had committed such a terrible mistake. But in truth, it seemed as though everything he had done had been a mistake, and yet free of mistakes: it was all a dream, a fantasy. Tangled up in this bewildering, agitating and yet shameless predicament, miserably hot tears scorched his eyes, drowning him within this torture. Rong Jinzhen felt he was a withered flower, his petals in the process of falling off. He was like a lamb that had lost its way, whose mournful calls grew weaker and weaker, ever more heartwrenching.

It was now the evening of the sixth day since the incident had occurred. This most important and yet most hurtful evening began with a torrential downpour. The rain drenched Rong Jinzhen and Vasili to the bone, giving rise to a ceaseless cough in the former, and causing them to return early from their search. Stretched out on beds that had been provided for them, the weariness in their bones was not entirely unbearable, but the endless rain outside was tormenting.The rain made Rong Jinzhen think of a dreadful quandary. . [Transcript of the interview with Director Zheng]

As someone intimately involved in the situation, Rong Jinzhen had a unique point of view when compared to the other investigators assigned to this case. For instance, he believed that the main motive for the theft had to have been money, and that once the thief had taken what was financially valuable, he would dispose of the rest, including Rong Jinzhen’s most precious notebook. This perspective was not without reason, and so once Rong Jinzhen set it out, everyone working on the case paid it special attention. Consequently, men were sent out to search all the city’s dustbins and landfills. Of course, Rong Jinzhen himself went out to scour through the city’s rubbish, taking the lead in many instances, putting his energy into being especially meticulous, even going over the same places that someone else had already looked through.

But on the evening of the sixth day the city was immersed in a deluge of rain that showed no signs of stopping: it howled through the sky and beat against the ground, and soon the city’s nooks and crannies were inundated with water. The rain made Rong Jinzhen feel even worse for all the personnel from Unit 701 who had come to search for his notebook, that most precious repository for his thoughts that the rain would now transform into an undecipherable blotch of ink. The rain had coalesced into a torrent, most likely washing the notebook away with it, making it even more difficult to find. The heavy rain drenched everyone with a feeling of acute pain and a terrible sense of anguish. But for Rong Jinzhen it must have been even worse, more dispiriting. To tell the truth, this rain was really no different from any other downpour: it harboured no ill will, and certainly had no connection to the thief ’s actions; but from a certain point of view, it did seem as though the rain was the far-off echo of the thief, as if the two were in silent collusion, the rain carrying on the malice of the thief, nurturing it, ensuring that this disaster became more intense, heightening its impact.

The rain drowned any remaining hope that Rong Jinzhen still held. .

[To be continued]To hear other people tell it, the rain drowned any remaining hope that Rong Jinzhen still harboured.

With this torrential downpour, it was easy to see how severely this catastrophe had affected Rong Jinzhen. It was as if some unknown outside entity was manipulating the situation, bringing whatever was dreadful and unexpected all into line, to form a freak combination of events; an abhorrent situation. Because of the rainstorm, Rong Jinzhen looked back on the last twelve years, back upon its mysteries and profundities: he saw how the inspiration he received on how to decipher PURPLE, gleaned from a dream about Mendeleev, had in one night metamorphosed him into something glorious and splendid. He used to think that this type of miracle, this form of divine providence, was no longer something he possessed because it was too extraordinary: such miraculousness meant people dare not seek it. But now he felt that this heavenly intervention had returned, but not in the same form as it once had. Now it was brightness together with darkness, a rainbow together with menacing clouds; it was the reverse of a ‘thing’ — as though over these many years, he had been circling round this ‘thing’ but had only seen the ‘proper’ side. Now, however, it was inevitable that he would witness the reverse.

But what was this ‘thing’?

To this former student of Mr Auslander, a student whose heart had been influenced by the teachings of Jesus, this ‘thing’ could be nothing else but God, the omnipotent Holy Spirit. Because he felt that this ‘thing’ must be God, it possessed a complicated and yet absolute nature. While it possessed a beautiful side, it also and necessarily possessed an evil side; it was benevolent, but also malevolent. Though it seemed to be only a spirit, it possessed enormous power and capabilities, forever forcing you to revolve around it, spinning and spinning; allowing you to observe all: all that was happiness and pain, all that was hope and despair, all that was heaven and hell, all that was glorious and in ruin, all that was honourable and dishonourable, all that was exultation and grief, all that was good and evil, all that was day and night, all that was bright and dark, all that was proper and improper, all that was yin and yang, all that was above and below, all that was inside and out, all that was this and that, all that was everything. .

The radiant and grand appearance of God on the scene thoroughly and decisively put Rong Jinzhen’s heart at ease. He thought, ‘If this is how it is, then this must be God’s plan: how could I oppose it? Resistance is futile. God’s laws are just. God would not change these laws to satisfy the aspirations of any man. God’s ultimate plan is to make clear to everyone the beauty of all creation.’ God had shown the nature of everything to Rong Jinzhen by means of PURPLE and BLACK –

All that was happiness and pain.

All that was hope and despair.

All that was heaven and hell.

All that was glorious and in ruin.

All that was honourable and dishonourable.

All that was exultation and grief.

All that was good and evil.

All that was day and night.

All that was bright and dark.

All that was proper and improper.

All that was yin and yang.

All that was above and below.

All that was inside and out.

All that was this and that.

All that was everything. .

Upon hearing these parallel slogans issue forth from deep inside, Rong Jinzhen calmly and serenely turned his eyes away from the downpour still raging outside. Whether it stopped raining or not seemed no longer to matter: the sound of the rain was no longer unbearable. When he lay down, the sound of the rain was amiable, so pure and unadulterated, so mild and gentle, he was entranced by it; he felt himself dissolving into it. He slept and dreamed. Within his dream he heard a far-off call — ‘You still have this superstitious faith in God. . God is a coward. . God never gave Johannes a perfect life. . And don’t tell me that God’s laws are just. . God’s laws are entirely unjust. . ’

The last phrase repeated over and over in his mind, the voice getting louder and louder; finally sounding like lighting cracking in his ears, forcing him awake — and yet he still heard the voice linger in his ears: ‘Unjust — unjust — unjust. . ’

He didn’t recognize who or what spoke these lines, and he certainly didn’t know why it had wanted to speak these mysterious words to him — ‘“God’s laws are unjust!” All right, let’s say they are unjust, but then what?’ He began to ponder. But whether it was from the pounding in his head or from some unconscious worry or unknown fear he harboured, his thoughts were uncoordinated and unfocused. Every starting point drifted out of reach, like a headless dragon not knowing which way to go. A quarrelsome cacophony raged in his head: his mind was like a pot of boiling water, bubbling and gurgling. But if you removed the lid you would discover nothing of value inside. His mind was simply going through the motions; nothing of substance was happening. A moment later, the mental undulation ceased — as if food had been put in the pot to cook. Then memories of the train ride, the thief, his leather attaché case, the rainstorm rolled over him in succession, bringing into the frame once more his own personal doom. But this time, Rong Jinzhen did not understand the significance of these memories — as if the food had yet to be fully cooked. Later, the memories pressed themselves upon him once more — like the pot beginning to slowly boil again. But now the pot was no longer empty. His mind was beginning to become excited as a mariner is once he sees land after a long sea voyage. Moving at full throttle towards his destination, moving ever closer, Rong Jinzhen once again heard that mysterious voice speak to him: ‘Allowing this accident to herald catastrophe for you, to beat you down, how is that just?’

‘Noooooo —!’ Rong Jinzhen roared, smashing through the door and rushing out into the downpour, assailing the darkness with invective: ‘God, you have been unjust to me! God, I want to let BLACK defeat me! Only by letting BLACK defeat me can there be justice! God, only the vilest person need suffer such unfairness! God, only the vilest divinity could force me to suffer such blame! Oh wicked Lord, you shouldn’t do this! Oh vicious God, I will fight you to the bitter end —!’

After this raging outburst, Rong Jinzhen felt as though the freezing rain were burning him, and his blood began to gurgle and flow forth, making him realize the rain too was gushing. As this thought flashed in his mind, he soon felt that his entire body was streaming forth, becoming one with the sky and the earth, drop by drop melting into them, like air together with cloud, like dream together with fantasy. It was then that he heard once more that faint, indiscernible voice from somewhere beyond. It was as if this most pitiable sound issued forth from his lost notebook, in the dirt and the mud, miserable and desperate, appearing and disappearing, intermittently crying out: ‘Rong Jinzhen, listen. . the rainwater is surging, turning the ground into a bubbling mass. . even though the water may have carried your notebook away, it might also carry it back to you. . back to you. . after everything that has happened, why can’t this also happen. . even though the water may have carried your notebook away, it might also carry it back to you. . back to you. . back to you. . back to you. . ’

This was the final strange thought Rong Jinzhen had.

It was an eerie and evil night.

Outside the window the sound of the rain was indomitable, unceasing.

7

This part of the story will make people feel both inspired and sorrowful. It is inspiring because Rong Jinzhen’s notebook will finally be found, sorrowful because Rong Jinzhen will disappear without a trace. Taken altogether, this outcome is what Rong Jinzhen spoke about: God gives us happiness and also suffering; God reveals everything to us.

Rong Jinzhen disappeared the very same evening of the torrential downpour. No one really knew exactly when he stepped out of his room, whether it was early or late in the night, during the rainstorm or after. But everyone knew that he wouldn’t return — like a bird that forever leaves its mother’s nest, or like a circling star forever torn from its orbit.

Rong Jinzhen’s disappearance caused the case to become more complicated and confused. One person suggested that perhaps his disappearance was the next stage in the case of the missing notebook, that the operation was a two-step procedure. The identity of the thief now became more mysterious and sinister. However, more people believed that Rong Jinzhen’s disappearance was due to his lack of hope, his inability to withstand the fear and pain of what had happened. Everyone knew that ciphers were Rong Jinzhen’s life, and that meant that his notebook was too. Now hope of finding his notebook was slowly but surely fading — even if it were located, it would most likely be nothing more than a water-soaked ink smudge. There was no way that he could take a lighter view of what had happened; suicide no longer seemed impossible.

What happened afterwards seemed to confirm everyone’s misgivings. One afternoon, along the eastern side of the river that made its way through B City, close to an oil refinery, a leather shoe was picked up. Vasili identified it immediately as belonging to Rong Jinzhen because of its stretched mouth, caused by all the recent rushing about in search of the notebook.

It was at this time that Vasili began to believe that their efforts to find Rong Jinzhen would in truth result in nothing. Dejected, he couldn’t help but feel that they would never find the notebook either. Perhaps all that they would find would be Rong Jinzhen’s corpse floating down a muddy torrent.

If things turned out this way, Vasili conjectured, then it would have been better had he taken Rong Jinzhen home at the beginning. The whole situation seemed to be hanging over his head like an evil sword of Damocles.

‘Fuck it all!’ Holding Rong Jinzhen’s dirtied shoe in his hand, he couldn’t help but violently fling it as far away as possible, as if he were attempting to do away with all of the bad luck that had hung over these past days.

This all transpired on the ninth day of the investigation. No information had come to light about the missing notebook, which couldn’t help but make people lose heart; the shadow of despair began to entrench itself in peoples’ minds, growing and expanding, consuming all hope. Because of this, Headquarters agreed with the investigators and decided to publicize what had happened instead of keeping it a secret.

The following day, in the morning edition of the B City Daily, a lost property notice was printed and widely circulated. The person in search of the missing item was identified as a scientist, the notebook that had been lost contained information on certain new technological innovations the nation had been working on.

We should say that carrying out this sort of action was exceptionally risky due to the fact that the thief could, upon learning of this public search, either hide the notebook away or destroy it, causing the investigators’ work to reach an impasse. However, contrary to expectations, that evening at precisely 22:03, the telephone hotline at the special investigative team’s office rang. Three hands immediately reached out to grab the phone, but Vasili, being exceptionally nimble, took hold of it first: ‘Hello, this is the Offices of the Special Investigative Division, please state your information.’

‘. . ’

‘Hello, hello, is anyone there? Please speak.’

‘Ah, ah, ah. . ’

The telephone went dead.

Crestfallen, Vasili returned the receiver to its base, feeling as though he had been making a mountain out of a molehill. A minute later the telephone rang again.

Yet again Vasili grabbed the receiver first. When he said hello, he immediately heard a hurried and agitated voice issuing from the phone: ‘The note. . notebook. . is in a letterbox. . ’

‘A letterbox? Where? Hello, what letterbox?’

‘Ah, ah, ah. . ’

Again the phone went dead.

This vile thief; this pathetic and yet somehow adorable little thief. Because the thief was so terribly flustered, as you can imagine, he was unable to finish telling them exactly which letterbox the notebook was in. But no matter, this was enough, quite enough. B City only possessed a few hundred letterboxes, and what did this matter? Luck had finally arrived, for in the first letterbox Vasili opened he discovered –

Under the starlight, the notebook exuded a blue serene glow, a deep quiet that made you a little afraid. But that quiet was perfect, inspiring, like a frozen ocean beginning to thaw, like an ever-sovaluable sapphire.

The notebook was completely unscathed, save for a few pages torn out of the back. An official at Headquarters couldn’t help but humorously remark over the phone: ‘Perhaps that thief used them to wipe his dirty arse.’

Later, another senior official at Headquarters, upon hearing this, furthered the image: ‘If you ever find that little prick, give him some toilet paper, you have that at Unit 701, no?’

But no one was ever assigned the task of finding the thief.

Because, after all, he wasn’t a traitor.

And because Rong Jinzhen had not yet been found.

The next day, in the B City Daily’s main edition, a missing person’s report was printed. It was for Rong Jinzhen:

Rong Jinzhen, male, thirty-seven years of age, 1.65 metres tall, thin stature, pale skin. He was last seen wearing a pair of brown nearsighted spectacles, a blue-green Sun Yat-sen jacket and light grey trousers. His breast pocket held a fountain pen (imported). Around his wrist was a Zhongshan watch. He speaks Mandarin Chinese and English, loves to play chess, his movements are always slow and exact, and it is possible that he is missing one shoe.

On the first day after the missing person’s report, there was no news; the same for the second day.

On the third day, the G Provincial Daily also printed the missing person’s report; there was still no news on that day.

According to Vasili, no news was quite as expected: after all, expecting news from a dead person was rather optimistic. But Vasili had already sensed deep down that he would eventually bring a living Rong Jinzhen back to Unit 701 — this was his duty — it was also an already exceptionally exigent affair.

Two days later, in the afternoon, the Special Investigative Office informed him that a man from M county had just telephoned to say that they had seen a man matching Rong Jinzhen’s description hanging about and that they should hurry over and see as quickly as possible.

A man matching Rong Jinzhen’s description? Vasili thought that his premonition had come true. Before heading out, the normally staunch and ferocious Vasili broke down like a coward and cried.

The main town in M county was about 100 kilometres to the north of B City. How Rong Jinzhen had managed to make his way over such a distance to look for his notebook left people feeling especially strange. Whilst on the road, Vasili took stock of all that had happened; his heart was filled with listlessness, a mournfulness that made it hard for him to know what to think.

Arriving at M county, he did not make his way directly to the man who had made the call; rather, upon passing by a paper mill, Vasili spied a man in the factory’s pile of waste paper who caught his interest. The man was unusually conspicuous, and upon closer inspection you could see that he had problems, that he wasn’t normal. His body was covered in filth. His feet were bare and they had a bluish-black tinge to them. Both his hands were bloodied, but the man kept sifting through the rubbish just the same, turning over mound after mound of refuse. Each torn and frayed book he discovered went though meticulous and exacting scrutiny. His eyes blurred, he mumbled continuously, he had the look of misfortune about him, and extreme piety — like a Taoist abbot who has suffered through calamity and is now standing in the midst of the ruins of his temple solemnly and tragically searching for his holy scriptures.

This all happened in the afternoon, under a winter sun, with the rays of sunshine beating over this pitiable man –

Beating over his bloodied hands.

Beating over his bent knees.

Beating over his crooked waist.

Beating over his deformed cheeks.

His mouth.

His nose.

His spectacles.

His eyes.

Gazing upon this man, on his black, trembling hands, Vasili’s eyes began to dilate, to expand; at the same time his feet carried him forward. He had recognized that this most pitiable man was Rong Jinzhen.

Rong Jinzhen —!

Vasili found him on the sixteenth day after the briefcase had gone missing, on 3 January 1970, at four in the afternoon.

On 14 January 1970, late in the afternoon, in the care of Vasili, Rong Jinzhen, this now broken and tormented man, was brought back to the high-walled compound of Unit 701, thus bringing to a close this part of the story.