December 25, 1941, Hong Kong.
Lead-gray clouds lay low, like a blood-soaked shroud, hanging over Victoria Harbor. The Japanese fighter planes had just passed over the Kowloon Peninsula, and the roar of their engines was still vibrating in the air. Broken glass and burnt paper were scattered on the streets. A few sparse gunshots were occasionally heard, but they were soon swallowed up by deathly silence.
Ye Chong stood in front of the office window of the Intelligence Section of the Japanese Military Police Headquarters in Hong Kong, holding an unlit cigarette between his fingertips. He was wearing a pressed Japanese major uniform, and the gold stars on his epaulettes shone coldly in the dim light. The lines on his profile were neat and clean, but his eyes were like deep pools, hiding an invisible undercurrent. Outside the window, the once prosperous Nathan Road was in a mess. Several Japanese soldiers were kicking open the door of a silk and satin shop. The sound of women crying and broken utensils was heard from inside. It was as sharp as a needle, piercing the false calm of the so-called "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity."
"Ye Chongjun, Section Chief Sato has asked you to come over." There was a knock on the door, and the communications soldier's voice was deliberately respectful, but he could not hide the alertness in his eyes.
