Chapter 5: Family

After more than ten hours of rattling along the tracks, the train finally arrived at Nanjing Station.

Zhang Anping accompanied his maternal uncle and the others as they disembarked.

On the platform, three sedans awaited them. The moment they saw the uncle and company step down, they promptly and respectfully approached, greeting them with:

“Chief.”

Zhang Anping tactfully stood with the other attendants, not positioning himself alongside his uncle despite being his nephew. Since those greeting them were all intelligence officers, he immediately noticed unfamiliar faces mixed among the entourage.

Though curious, none of them spoke a word.

Zhang Anping took the opportunity to appraise the group.

The young Xu Baichuan already showed the outlines of the man he would become;

Wu Jingzhong, who trusted Yu Zecheng implicitly, was now also a handsome young man;

Li Weigong, who had been driven to death by his own students, was not as portly as before and surprisingly had a youthful appearance;

Wang Tianfeng, who had been harsh to him, also appeared as a handsome man—how was it that the precursor to the Military Statistics Bureau had so many good-looking officers?

Zhang Anping couldn’t help but grumble silently.

His uncle deliberately did not assign Zhang Anping a seat, curious whether he would ride with him. But after his uncle settled in, Zhang Anping decisively slipped into the car where Zheng Yaoxian was seated.

Only then did his uncle make the arrangement: “Tell Zheng Yaoxian to take Anping home first.”

Anping?

The group of “Brothers in Arms” who were familiar with the “Heroic Roll Call” immediately understood who Anping was.

The son of the deputy director of the finance department and the chief’s nephew.

Xu Baichuan took the lead and smoothly slid into Zheng Yaoxian’s car.

“Sixth Brother, the chief wants you to take Young Master Zhang home first.”

Being called “Young Master Zhang” for the first time, Zhang Anping couldn’t help but laugh: “Officer, don’t call me that carelessly. If you don’t mind, just call me Anping. I’m too small to carry the title of ‘Young Master’!”

At this time, Xu Baichuan was already a captain. Zhang Anping had no intention of putting on airs—the Xu Baichuan from the TV series “Kite” was quite pathetic, forced to stay behind, and even wore a dull olive-green cap.

In the end, he was framed by “Sixth Brother” and sent to the Public Security Bureau.

But Xu Baichuan was after all one of the eight legendary “Brothers in Arms” who had survived the war. For Zhang Anping, it was only wise to befriend him, never to make an enemy.

Zhang Anping had long planned his persona within the Intelligence Bureau: friends everywhere, close allies in abundance.

Only in this way could he avoid being stabbed in the back in the future. Even if someone accused him of being a Communist, no one else would believe it, right?

Zhang Anping’s attitude even pleased Xu Baichuan.

To kowtow to these “Young Masters” was hardly their preference; it was just the way things were!

But deep down, they looked down on such “Young Masters”—though they spoke sweetly, when the moment came to stab a knife, they wouldn’t hesitate to deliver three.

“Since Brother Anping insists, I won’t decline. And don’t call me ‘Officer,’ just call me Brother Baichuan,” Xu Baichuan said with a cultured tone.

Zhang Anping and Xu Baichuan chatted casually, with Zheng Yaoxian occasionally chiming in. The atmosphere seemed congenial, but only those involved really knew the truth.

…

The Military Statistics Bureau, which had wielded great influence and left a deep mark on its era, was still just one intelligence (military police) division under the Investigation and Statistics Bureau. Compared to its future overwhelming power, the Intelligence Bureau was then overshadowed by the First and Third Divisions.

Zhang Guanfeng, deputy director of the finance department and a trusted confidant of the chief, was not yet able to live on the famed Yihe Road in Nanjing.

After moving his family, he had rented a house in Huiyuan Garden with the help of his elder brother-in-law.

One day, a car stopped in front of his house, and a young man stepped down carrying a wheeled suitcase.

After bidding farewell to those in the car, the young man approached Zhang Guanfeng’s door.

This youth was naturally Zhang Anping, just returned from Shanghai.

He stared at the gate, hesitated for a moment, then finally stepped forward and knocked.

“Who’s there?” a woman’s voice called out. Soon the door opened, revealing a fashionable middle-aged woman in a cheongsam.

She was stunned to see the young man in a Zhongshan suit standing there.

Looking at his mother, Zhang Anping whispered, “Mom, I’m back.”

“Anping!” the woman cried out, rushing forward to touch his face. The warmth confirmed this was no dream—the son she hadn’t seen in four years was finally standing before her.

She wept with joy.

Inside the house, Wang Chunlian held Zhang Anping’s hand, chattering nonstop.

“Anping, why were you so foolish back then? If you wanted to study abroad, you should have told me! Instead, you just left quietly with a letter! Do you know how hard these four years have been for me?”

Wang Chunlian scolded him, and Zhang Anping smiled apologetically.

Once his mother’s emotions settled, he pulled out cosmetics he had bought in America and, through a round of coaxing, gradually brought a smile back to her face. He then shared amusing stories from the U.S., making Wang Chunlian laugh heartily.

Zhang Anping silently congratulated himself—he had finally passed the “mother test.”

He had originally intended to tell his parents earlier.

But after much thought, he never did.

Though his uncle had risen by then, he only just took charge of the Intelligence Bureau and was short on funds. The family were mere clerks with little savings. He feared that if he told them, his parents would sell everything to support him. So, after consulting with his uncle, he chose to leave first and inform them later.

In truth, it was his uncle’s help that made it possible. Zhang Anping had saved some money over the year he’d been away, and with his uncle’s support, he had enough for travel and initial living expenses.

After chatting for a while, Zhang Anping took out a $5,000 deposit slip.

“Mom, please keep this money.”

Wang Chunlian took it and, seeing the sum, exclaimed, “A Citibank deposit slip? Five thousand dollars? In U.S. currency? Anping, where did you get so much money?”

“This is what I earned in America—as a foreigner, people thought I was naive and generous, all scrambling to give me money,” Zhang Anping said proudly. But his mother was not so easily convinced; having seen the recklessness of foreigners in China, she instinctively believed money was hard-earned and immediately demanded he explain its source.

Seeing his mother’s concern, Zhang Anping disclosed the patent sale: “Do you see the wheels on this suitcase?”

“Yes, these suitcases have been selling very well on the main roads in recent years—convenient for business trips.”

“I invented this and sold it to the Americans for a lot of money,” Zhang Anping said proudly, much like a child boasting to his parents.

Wang Chunlian beamed, “My Anping has always been smart!”

That evening, Zhang Guanfeng, who had been diligently working, left early for once, returning home an hour ahead of schedule.

Hurrying to the door, he heard the voices of his wife and son chatting in the courtyard. He masked his urgency, took a deep breath to compose himself, then slowly knocked.

“It’s your father! I knew he’d leave work early when he heard you were back—”

“Mom, I’ll go open the door.”

Zhang Anping beat her to it. Opening the door, he saw the middle-aged man standing outside and couldn’t help but tear up, whispering, “Dad.”

Zhang Guanfeng cleared his throat and said calmly, “You’re back.”

“Back.”

“Yes, good to have you back.”

He said this nonchalantly and hurried inside, fearing that if he delayed, he would lose control and embrace his son he hadn’t seen in four years.

Zhang Anping found his father’s pretense both amusing and heart-wrenching. He quickened his pace and embraced his father from behind, holding back his emotions.

“Dad, I missed you.”

“You…” Zhang Guanfeng was stunned. Raised in traditional culture, he could never say such words, but feeling his son’s sincere embrace, he finally let down his guard, patting the arms wrapped around him and repeating:

“Good to have you back, good to have you back.”

Wang Chunlian watched the father and son in the courtyard and smiled.

A family reunited—how wonderful.

Night fell.

Wang Chunlian prepared a lavish meal, persistently filling her son’s bowl with food, no matter how high it piled.

Zhang Anping raised his glass: “Dad, Mom, I toast to you.”

The couple lifted their glasses and happily clinked them with their son, drinking the wine with joy.

It was the first time in four years the family had eaten together, chatting back and forth until late into the night.

Zhang Guanfeng signaled Wang Chunlian with his eyes, but she was so engrossed in talking with their son she didn’t notice until he nudged her foot under the table. She then remembered her husband’s earlier subtle instructions and smiled as she asked:

“Anping, what are your plans now that you’re back? You’re old enough to marry; should I start arranging something?”

Zhang Guanfeng listened attentively.

“Plans? I told my uncle, and he said he wants to start another training class and wants me to teach there.”

Wang Chunlian didn’t quite understand and thought he wanted to be a teacher, so she beamed with delight. But Zhang Guanfeng knew what the training class was and frowned.

After all, the Intelligence Bureau thrived in the shadows and had a poor reputation. He was not pleased, even though he worked there.

“Don’t worry about marriage; I’ll find someone for you! I know you young people are shy,” Wang Chunlian laughed happily.

“Mom, don’t worry about marriage. These days, it’s all about free love. Let me find someone myself, okay? I promise to find you a daughter-in-law you’ll be completely satisfied with!” Zhang Anping was not shy at all—after all, he was a time traveler from the future and wouldn’t accept an arranged marriage.

“Ahem!” Zhang Guanfeng cleared his throat twice and casually asked, “Anping, why do you want to teach at the training class?”

“Dad, you must understand the situation. The Japanese are advancing relentlessly, ever greedy. War could break out anytime. As a Chinese, I have to do what I can, don’t you agree?”

Faced with Zhang Anping’s question, Zhang Guanfeng was speechless—anyone with eyes could see the situation clearly!

Yet the higher-ups behaved like blind ostriches, acting as if China was vast and losses here and there could buy enough time to stabilize and fend off enemies.

“But why your uncle’s place? If you want to be a teacher, you don’t have to come here.”

“I’ve been studying this all these years.”

“What?” Zhang Guanfeng was shocked.

Wang Chunlian, startled by her husband’s reaction, scolded, “Why are you so worked up?”

“It’s nothing, nothing,” Zhang Guanfeng said, unwilling to let his wife know about the Intelligence Bureau’s dealings. He suppressed his turmoil but was uneasy inside.

He managed finances there and wasn’t involved in other matters.

But that didn’t mean he was unaware of their activities—the Intelligence Bureau was shady not only because of the nature of their work but also their methods!

He had seen the bureau’s inhumane interrogations and did not want his son to get involved.

Suppressing his anxiety, they chatted a while longer before he asked Wang Chunlian to tidy up and signaled Zhang Anping to follow him to the study.

Once inside, Zhang Guanfeng’s expression darkened. He wanted to reprimand his son but, seeing him after four years, held back his anger.

“Anping, why do you want to learn this? Is this something decent families should know? Do you know how murky it is in there? Do you know what the Intelligence Bureau really does?”

“Dad, don’t forget what I studied.”

Mentioning this made Zhang Guanfeng even angrier. “Why would you study that? Why not something else? I wouldn’t be this upset even if you joined the army!”

“Dad, the Japanese won’t give up on destroying China. War is imminent. When the great war arrives, can I, as a Chinese, stand idly by? You might think intelligence work is dark, but on the battlefield, it is crucial!”

Zhang Anping spoke calmly: “When the nest is overturned, no egg remains intact. No matter how dirty this work is, if it benefits the upcoming war, someone has to do it! As a Chinese, how can I not act?”

Listening to his son’s resolute words, Zhang Guanfeng wanted to argue but found no retort. After several sighs, he said:

“You’ve grown up and have your own ideas—that’s normal. But you must promise me: never become a ruthless executioner, okay?”

Zhang Anping nodded earnestly. “I promise!”