Cangmang Asks the Way 1: Guardian of the Lamp

In the office of the Technical Section of the Criminal Investigation Detachment of the Nancheng Public Security Bureau, Liu Jianmin stared at the entry "Physical Evidence-047" on the computer screen, sweat slowly sliding down his temples.

It's been three days.

From the day of the bank robbery, he felt like he was walking on a tightrope suspended over an abyss. To his left was his wife in a hospital bed, waiting for him to undergo hemodialysis three times a week, each time the cost feeling like a piece of his flesh being torn away. To his right was the astronomical figure on the back of his University of Tokyo acceptance letter—a deposit of 500,000 yen, which was nearly 40,000 yuan, not even including the first year's tuition and living expenses.

The Motorola pager in his pocket vibrated. He pulled out the small black box; the LCD screen displayed an unfamiliar phone number.

He got up, walked to the public phone booth at the end of the corridor, inserted the IC card, and dialed back.

It was the voice of the person whose name hadn't been saved: "The items have been confirmed to have been taken away for re-inspection, and their current whereabouts are unknown. People from the provincial department came this afternoon and asked very detailed questions."

Liu Jianmin's fingers tightened on the cold telephone receiver: "Understood. In the future... try to contact me as little as possible. If it's urgent, call my pager, and I'll find a public phone to call you back."

He hung up the phone and pulled out the nearly empty IC card. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Images of his wife's swollen face and his son excitedly telling him, "Dad, the professor at Tokyo University said I have a lot of potential!" flashed through his mind.

Nineteen years have passed.

He worked in this position for nineteen years, earning three commendations and solving countless cases. But every time he was promoted, the spots went to people with connections. The last time, his supervisor patted him on the shoulder and said, "Jianmin, you have the ability, but you also need to pay attention to maintaining good relationships with your colleagues..."

Screw getting along.

The day his wife was diagnosed with uremia, he sat in the hospital corridor all night. The attending physician told him privately, "Old Liu, there are only two paths for this disease: either continue dialysis, which costs several hundred yuan each time, three times a week, and the money just keeps flowing away; or get a kidney transplant. Let alone whether you can even wait for a kidney donor, even if you do, the surgery plus the subsequent anti-rejection treatment will cost at least two or three hundred thousand yuan—and there are only a handful of hospitals in China that can perform this surgery."

The day his son received his university acceptance letter, he stood in front of the bank counter for half an hour, staring at the staggering amount that needed to be exchanged for foreign currency, before finally leaving silently.

Then my "cousin" came to my door.

Two hundred thousand. "Consulting fees" remitted from Hong Kong.

The first time, it only provided some non-sensitive internal process information. The second time, it concerned weaknesses in evidence management. The third time…

It's a copper coin.

The pager vibrated again. This time it was my wife's number.

"Jianmin," his wife's voice was weak but tinged with laughter, "the doctor said my indicators are much better this time, and the dialysis is working well. Don't be too frugal, eat and drink as usual..."

"Yes, I know." Liu Jianmin's voice was a little hoarse. "Where's your son?"

"He's at the library, saying he needs to prepare more so we can't embarrass the Chinese." His wife paused, then continued, "Jianmin, you haven't looked well lately. Are you working too hard? Maybe... I should just give up on treatment and leave the money for our son..."

"Nonsense!" Liu Jianmin suddenly raised his voice, then lowered it again. "It must be treated. Don't worry about the money, I have a way."

He hung up the public phone and looked out the window at the darkening sky.

His right hand unconsciously reached into the depths of the drawer—there was a manila envelope containing 50,000 yuan in cash, the "preliminary fee" that his "cousin" had delivered yesterday.

Underneath the envelope was a photo: a family of three in a park. His wife was still healthy, his son had just started junior high school, and he was wearing a police uniform, smiling with an air of righteousness.

Liu Jianmin stared at the photo for a long time, then suddenly pulled open the drawer and stuffed the envelope and photo into the bottom of his briefcase.

I stood up and put on my white coat.

The clock on the wall points to 11 p.m.

---

At the same time, on the third basement floor of the Nancheng National Security Bureau, in the "Quiet Room" analysis center.

The bloodshot in Su Mingyue's eyes was particularly noticeable under the monitor's fluorescent light. She had been staring at the 14-inch dedicated black-and-white monitor for a full eight hours—the machine was connected to a Panasonic VCR, and seven VHS tapes with marked timestamps were piled up next to it. On the left was a hand-drawn floor plan of the robbery scene, in the middle were densely packed telephone interception records and handwritten notes, and on the right were photos secretly taken by the field team members using a telephoto lens.

"Captain Chen, we've made a discovery." Her voice broke the three-hour silence in the analysis room.

Chen Mo, Zhao Haichuan, and Cang Liuqing gathered around at the same time.

"At 3:20 PM yesterday, there was an anomaly in the Municipal Bureau's Evidence Room." Su Mingyue pressed the pause button on the video recorder's remote control, and the image froze on the moment Liu Jianmin entered the evidence storage room. "Liu Jianmin, the deputy head of the Technical Section, entered alone under the pretext of 're-examining key evidence in the robbery case.' The registration procedures were complete."

She slowed the playback to its slowest speed, moving forward frame by frame: "Notice his right hand. At the moment he took the evidence bag, there was an unnatural reflection on his cuff." She pointed to the blurry image on the screen with the tip of her pencil. "I watched the original videotape three times. In the 0.3-second frame, he had another evidence bag that looked exactly the same between his fingers."

The footage progressed frame by frame. In the instant Liu Jianmin turned to grab the recording tablet—his left hand swiftly switched the two bags. He stuffed the real bag into the inner pocket of his white coat, and placed the fake bag back on the table.

The whole process took less than two seconds.

"He switched the real copper coins." Chen Mo's voice was cold.

Zhao Haichuan continued, "Field Investigation Team One reported that at 1:22 AM last night, a person disguised as a sanitation worker emerged from the back alley of the Municipal Bureau, changed clothes at a public restroom outside Sandao Street, and got into a black Toyota Crown. The taillight cover of the car had a crack, and the license plate was fake. When we followed them to the Development Zone, we abandoned the pursuit because there was too little traffic and we were afraid of being exposed."

"But in that area," Cang Liuqing looked at the map, "Japanese companies and foreign affairs offices are concentrated."

Su Mingyue placed a 6-inch photo, enhanced using darkroom techniques, on the table: "This is the moment the 'sanitation worker' takes off her mask in the video. Although it's less than a second long and the image quality is very poor, I had the technical department do optical magnification and contrast enhancement." She then took out a photocopy of a publicly released group photo of the Japanese delegation visiting China: "Compare this profile side-by-side with the ID photo of the delegation's deputy head, Hiroshi Nakamura. Although computer recognition is not possible, measuring with a scale reveals a very high degree of similarity in cheekbone height, the distance from the hairline to the brow bone, and the shape of the upper part of the ear. Based on experience, we cannot rule out the possibility that they are the same person."

A brief silence fell over the room.

"The copper coins are already in the hands of the Japanese," Zhao Haichuan concluded.

Su Mingyue opened the file folder beside her: "The results of Liu Jianmin's background check are in. His wife has chronic kidney failure and needs dialysis three times a week, with out-of-pocket expenses exceeding 2,000 yuan per month—equivalent to more than half a year's salary for him. Three months ago, his son received an admission notice from the Faculty of Engineering at the University of Tokyo, which requires a deposit of 500,000 yen and the first year's tuition, totaling about 50,000 yuan, not including living expenses and international travel costs."

The bank statements, obtained through internal channels and consisting of photocopies of paper records, show that two months ago, a "technical consulting fee" of 200,000 RMB was transferred from a Hong Kong company to Liu Jianmin's cousin's company account. A week later, the same amount was transferred to Liu Jianmin's wife's medical account.

"He's been bribed." Zhao Haichuan looked at Liu Jianmin's nineteen-year resume—three commendations, three failed promotions, and the last psychological evaluation stated: "Outstanding work ability, but somewhat rigid in handling interpersonal relationships, and often feels that his talents are not being recognized."

"These are the people who are most easily swayed." Chen Mo walked to the whiteboard and wrote down several key names, connecting them with lines:

Liu Jianmin (the mole) → Cousin (the middleman) → Nakamura Hiroshi (the Japanese side)

"The copper coin is a key token, but it's not enough with just the coin." Chen Mo circled the words "copper coin." "During the bank robbery, they brought the copper coin to the scene, which clearly wasn't for the cash. I speculate that the copper coin is some kind of 'physical key,' which needs to be verified at specific devices or locations within the bank to locate what they really want."

"What do they want?" Cang Liuqing asked.

"We don't know yet, but the Japanese went to such great lengths, even planning a bank robbery to create chaos, so what they're trying to locate must be extremely important—important enough to warrant trading three lives and a transnational espionage operation," Chen Mo analyzed.

He wrote the action plan on the whiteboard:

1. Monitor Liu Jianmin, but do not move for now. Observe his next move and online contact.

Second, conduct comprehensive surveillance of Hiroshi Nakamura and all members of the Japanese delegation visiting China, using a combination of field surveillance and telephone wiretapping to uncover their network of relationships.

Third, investigate the whereabouts of the copper coins and, if necessary, initiate a "reverse replacement" plan.

Fourth, thoroughly investigate the bank's historical paper archives, with a focus on special custody transactions from 1945 to 1949. A search warrant or coordination with higher authorities is required.

"Furthermore," Chen Mo looked at Cang Liuqing, "your younger brother, Cang Lifeng, is the most unexpected variable in this game. He's a public hero now, a huge target. The Japanese side is very likely to reassess his value."

Cang Liuqing's heart tightened.

"Your task is doubled. You must ensure his safety, and also use him to keep an eye out for any unusual clues that might surface that are related to your family history. Remember, any seemingly coincidental contact could be a test by the other party," Chen Mo said solemnly.

"Understood." Cang Liuqing nodded solemnly, his mind flashing back to his younger brother's words, "Grandpa's copper coin looks very similar to the copper coin I saw at the bank."

That heavy family mystery is now inextricably linked to national missions.

---

The dormitory area for retired professors at Nancheng University, third floor.

Shen Moyuan took off his reading glasses and turned off the TV news. The subtitles on the screen were still flashing: "Three suspects in bank robbery die unexpectedly during transport."

The 78-year-old man slowly got up and walked to the study window. The campus was quiet in the night, with only a few students returning home late under the streetlights in the distance.

But his heart was not at peace.

Forty-eight years have passed.

That number is etched into my bones—1945, Beiping, Box No. 23, lost copper coins.

He walked back to his desk and opened the bottom, locked drawer. Inside was a faded leather notebook, its pages yellowed and brittle. He turned to a page in the middle, where neat handwriting in pen read:

"August 12, 1945. The box has been moved out and stored in a safe place. However, the verification coins were lost at the corner of Dongjiaomin Lane and could not be found anywhere. The lock on this box is special; it cannot be opened without the coins, and forcibly opening it may trigger destruction. What a pity. Qingsong"

There is a line of smaller text below, which was added later: "Forty-eight years have passed, yet I have never forgotten."

Shen Moyuan's fingers traced the words. The "Green Pine" who was twenty years old back then is now an old man in his eighties. But the memory is still as clear as yesterday—the gunshots that night, the heartbeat as he ran, and the feel of the copper coins.

He picked up the old-fashioned rotary dial phone on the desk and dialed a number.

It rang a few times before being answered. It was a middle-aged man's voice: "Mr. Shen? It's so late, aren't you resting yet?"

"Xiao Li, has the proof copy of 'Collected Archives of Cultural Relics Looted During the War of Resistance Against Japan,' the book your publishing house mentioned last month that you were going to publish, come out yet?"

"It's out, and I was just about to show it to you."

"I'll go to the publishing house tomorrow; there are some parts that need revision." Shen Moyuan paused, "especially the section about the verification mechanism of the Japanese military's special safe deposit boxes. I've recently found some new information that needs to be added."

"Okay, Mr. Shen, I'll be waiting for you at the office tomorrow morning."

The phone rang heavily as he put the receiver back on the landline. Shen Moyuan pulled a thick folder from the bookshelf. Inside were materials he had collected over the decades—about wartime looting of artifacts, about the "Golden Lily" unit, and about those safes that had disappeared into the mists of history.

He pulled out a few pages and marked several key pieces of information with a red pen.

These "new materials" were certainly not recently discovered. They were memories he had buried in his heart for forty-eight years. But now, it was time to let them "appear" in some way.

Bank robbery, suspect dying en route to prison...

All of this points to one possibility: someone is looking for box number 23. And, it's the descendants of "those people" from back then.

Shen Moyuan walked onto the balcony, the night breeze ruffling his gray hair. In the distance, the city lights shone brightly, a scene of peace.

But the old man knew that some wars never truly ended. They simply changed form and continued to fester deep within time.

He recalled the words of the person who had been in contact with him back then: "Comrade Qingsong, some things are more important than our lives. They concern the memory and dignity of a nation."

"Yes," Shen Moyuan murmured to himself, as if speaking to the night, "Forty-eight years have passed, it's time for an end to this."