People Are Not for Themselves Alone

Generally speaking, the one thing spies dreaded most was letting outsiders recognize their true identities.

That was especially true of those sent by Nippon to infiltrate Huaxia.

They would never mention the cherry blossoms of their homeland, bring up Nippon at drinking parties, or show the slightest trace of anything unusual during the holidays.

As time passed, even their neighbors would come to believe that they were locals, born and raised there, with roots sunk deep into the land.

But no matter how well-hidden the web, someone still had to stand in the open.

Shiratori Keio was that kind of person.

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows of a high-rise office building, he held a cup of sake in his hand. Outside, the nightscape of a southern Huaxia city stretched before him, its lights spreading into the distance.

The glass reflected his face: a man in his fifties, well-preserved and impeccably groomed. His suit was free of wrinkles, and not a strand of hair was out of place.

He had come to Huaxia more than twenty years ago.

When he first arrived, his Mandarin had been halting, and he had not known a word of Cantonese.

Now, he could discuss business in Mandarin, curse at drivers in Cantonese, and bargain with market aunties in the local accent.

Everyone knew he was from Nippon, but no one would ever connect him with the word “spy.”

To outsiders, he was Mr. Shiratori—the head of a cross-border trading company, a foreign businessman who had long since established both his career and his fortune in Huaxia.

They thought of him as a spiritual Huaxia native who loved Huaxia culture.

Only Shiratori himself knew that his heart had never truly left Nippon.

All these years, he had been responsible for compiling intelligence and coordinating operations.

Vina was merely one of his lines.

The two of them rarely met. They had no personal relationship, and there was not even the slightest connection between them on the network. When it came to intelligence, the less visible the links, the safer they were.

But recently, those links had been severed far too quickly.

So quickly that even Shiratori Keio had begun to feel uneasy.

He picked up the encrypted phone on his desk and dialed a number.

When the call connected, a brief greeting came from the other end.

“Moshi moshi?”

Shiratori Keio skipped the pleasantries.

“I’m applying to return home. Something has gone wrong in Huaxia. Our people are being eliminated, and there’s a risk that the identity list has been compromised.”

The other end fell silent for several seconds.

Shiratori stared out the window. The sake in his cup had already gone cold.

At last, the voice spoke.

“Your application is denied. Considering your identity, even if you’re exposed, it won’t cause you any real harm, so—”

Before the other person could finish, Shiratori hung up.

He watched the phone screen go dark without cursing.

There was no point.

Over the years, he had done countless things for Nippon. He had transmitted mountains of intelligence and cleaned up after countless people.

Yet when the time came to extract him, the higher-ups gave him only those few words.

Put nicely, it was called putting the greater good first.

Put bluntly, it meant: die out there.

Those people could not be relied upon. Shiratori now had two choices.

He could go straight to Yanhuang Awakening, confess everything, and spend his old age in Huaxia.

Or he could keep holding on.

The office was silent for more than ten seconds.

Then Shiratori Keio suddenly said in flawless Cantonese, “Every man for himself, and the heavens will destroy anyone who isn’t.”

After saying it, he laughed at himself.

In more than twenty years in Huaxia, he had not learned everything—but when it came to staying alive, he had cultivated that skill to perfection.

He set the cup back on the desk, turned on his computer, and inserted a USB drive.

There were not many files.

Together, they amounted to a little over three hundred megabytes.

But inside were the channels, codes, accounts, contacts, and several deeply buried intelligence lines he had built over more than twenty years.

Once handed over to Yanhuang Awakening, the clandestine network Nippon had spent years laying across southern Huaxia would collapse by at least half.

Shiratori Keio did not love Huaxia.

Nor could he be said to have experienced some sudden change of heart.

He simply understood one truth better than most: when a chess piece was about to be discarded, the only way to leave the board with dignity was to flip the board over and show the player what was underneath.

The progress bar reached the end.

Shiratori pulled out the USB drive, shut down the computer, and stuffed several paper documents from the safe into his briefcase.

He walked to the door and straightened his tie.

Next, he would go to the local branch of Yanhuang Awakening and seek political asylum.

Those words were arranged clearly in his mind.

Yanhuang Awakening would not reject him. After that, he should be able to live out the rest of his life in peace.

The logic was simple enough. If defectors who voluntarily came bearing intelligence received no good ending, who would bring information to their door in the future?

No matter how much Huaxia hated spies, it would still leave a path visible to those who came after them.

Shiratori Keio pushed open the office door.

The instant the gap appeared, a flash of steel swept across his throat.

Shiratori leaned back half an inch. The blade grazed his tie and sliced through half of it.

He retreated into the office and looked at the person outside.

His female secretary.

She was not particularly beautiful, but she had been at his side for eight years. She was capable, quiet, never took credit, and handled every assignment flawlessly.

In the past, Shiratori had praised her more than once. But he could say with certainty that this female secretary was not part of any intelligence line.

Their relationship was nothing more than that of a superior and subordinate.

The female secretary stood in the doorway, holding a wakizashi. Her expression was devoid of any unnecessary emotion.

“As expected, Shiratori Keio. You intend to betray the Great Nippon Empire!”

Shiratori lowered his eyes to the slashed tie. A hint of mockery entered his voice.

“Looks like the Empire never trusted me much. You were planted at my side this early.”

The female secretary did not answer.

“Eight years. They were certainly willing to invest.”

Shiratori understood now.

The people across the sea had been guarding against him all along.

It made sense.

A Nipponese man who had lived in Huaxia for more than twenty years, who could speak Mandarin and Cantonese, and who could even order dim sum like a native—someone like that would be unwelcome on either side.

“The Empire guards against me, while Huaxia investigates me.”

Shiratori let out a laugh.

“To end up this way as a person… I suppose I’m perfectly suited to the profession.”

The female secretary advanced, her blade raised.

“I can give you a dignified death.”

Looking at the secretary before him, Shiratori sneered.

“You’ve been my secretary for eight years, yet you still haven’t figured out my personality?”

Shiratori did not feel the slightest fear. He flung his briefcase behind him and began forming hand seals.

“I’ve only ever given dignity to others!”

Shadow-Seam Technique!

Under the office lights, his body receded backward. His skin, the edges of his clothes, and the tips of his hair were swallowed by the shadow on the floor.

This was not an escape, but a stealth technique from Nipponese ninjutsu that had rarely been passed down to outsiders.

When he had first come to Huaxia, he had not immediately taken up the work of compiling intelligence. He had needed to personally gather information in the field.

“Just because I’ve spent all these years compiling intelligence doesn’t mean I’m truly old.”

But the female secretary had been prepared.

She flipped her wrist. A small sphere dropped into her palm, and she slammed it onto the floor with the back of her hand.

Blinding light burst from the sphere.

Just as Shiratori sank into the shadows, four beams of light nailed the ground in place, locking that patch of darkness into a square prison.

Light-Prison Technique!

Within the shadows, Shiratori was forcibly squeezed out. Half his body remained trapped inside the darkness, and for the first time, panic appeared on his face.

“Impossible! The Light-Ninja Arts were lost long ago!”