In the twenty-sixth year of the Republic of China, Shanghai.
On the Bund shrouded in night, the neon lights cast a blurry halo in the humid air. The rickshaw driver hurried past with his rickshaw, causing a splash of water. A whistle sounded in the distance, and a cargo ship slowly entered the dock.
Silently stood on the terrace on the top floor of the Peace Hotel, the cigarette in his hand had been burned to the end. He looked at the brightly lit Japanese Consulate in the distance with gloomy eyes. Three days ago, the Juntong Shanghai Station suffered a devastating blow and twelve agents were arrested, including his supervisor "Old K".
"Your martini, sir." The waiter came over carrying the tray.
Shen Shen took the wine glass, and his fingertips inadvertently touched a folded piece of paper at the bottom of the glass. He calmly put the note into his sleeve, turned around and walked into the bathroom.
There was only one line on the note: "Tomorrow night at 8 o'clock, Paramount, White Rose."
This is a backup contact method that will only be used in the most critical moments. Silence lit the note on fire and watched it turn to ashes in the ashtray. The man in the mirror has a thin face, sharp eyes, and is wearing a suit and leather shoes. He looks like a new rich man in the business world. Who would have thought that this young industrialist who was emerging in the business world would be one of the most outstanding agents of the military?
