Chapter 1: Maternal Uncle

July 3, 1936.

A passenger ship sailed across the sea, heading toward a port and dock already visible on the horizon. After drifting over the ocean for an entire month, the passengers could not help but cheer.

However, most of the cheers were in various American English accents, with only a few voices belonging to Chinese.

By the railing on the ship’s left side, two white men flanked a young Chinese man, all standing by the edge.

Gazing at the approaching port, one of the white men asked, “Dear Zhang, can this really increase our assets tenfold here?”

The young Chinese man smiled, looking toward the distant city, and replied, “I may have understated it. It could be twenty times, maybe fifty, or even… a hundred times!”

The white man was dumbfounded, then quickly calculated.

He had brought $20,000 all the way to the far East. A hundredfold increase would be… two million dollars!

Two million dollars!

Was this the kind of empty promise Zhang often spoke of?

The young man named York looked intently at Zhang Anping.

He was certain this was no mere fantasy.

Because he knew Zhang was a remarkable master of wealth.

Four years ago, Zhang was a construction worker barely scraping by, working under government relief projects.

But now, having sold half of his supermarket shares, he had become a wealthy man holding $20,000 in cash and shares worth another $20,000!

More than a month ago, Zhang had told them, “Follow me to mysterious China. In fifteen years, I guarantee your $20,000 will multiply tenfold!”

“I regret it. I should have sold all my shares like you did!” York lamented deeply.

“Yes, I regret it too — Zhang, you should have told us earlier it might multiply a hundredfold. Then I would have sold all my shares,” said another white man named Bianchi, also filled with regret.

Zhang Anping smiled at his two companions calmly and said, “Have you forgotten what I said? Never put all your eggs in one basket!”

“Following me, you have a ninety percent chance of multiplying your cash several times over, but there’s still a ten percent chance of losing it all — yet those shares will become your lifelong security!”

Bianchi shrugged helplessly. “Zhang, we can never argue with you.”

“My dear friends, if you could argue with me, that would mean I’m wrong. Now, the Pearl of the Far East is about to arrive. From this moment on, remember what I said: you and I are strangers. Understand?”

“Okay! So should we leave now?”

“Yes, leave immediately. Remember what I said: after disembarking, find the Trade Bureau and register your trading companies. The staff you need will arrive on the next ship. When that time comes, please express my heartfelt thanks to them.”

“Okay!”

The two young white men walked away arm in arm. Watching their backs, Zhang Anping shook his head slightly.

He hoped they would always remember that the reason they became wealthy was because he, Zhang Anping, led them.

Gathering his thoughts, he stared at the ever-closer city of Shanghai.

September 18, 1931 — a day no Chinese could ever forget — when he had crossed over, his soul replacing his former self to become a fifteen-year-old boy named Zhang Anping.

In September 1932, he had left his homeland for America.

Four years later, on the verge of the full-scale war that would erupt a year hence, he returned with the wealth he had earned in America.

Staring at the approaching city with an impassive face, Zhang Anping suddenly smiled and whispered softly:

“My dearest maternal uncle, your nephew has returned. Are you happy?”

His mind involuntarily recalled his uncle’s face:

Thick eyebrows and large eyes, especially those sharp, penetrating eyes.

Yes, his uncle should now be serving as the deputy director of the Second Division at the Investigation and Statistics Bureau.

The passenger ship finally docked. One by one, travelers who had endured the long journey over a month stepped onto solid ground — some curious, some solemn, some anxious, some excited.

Pushing his suitcase that had earned him his first fortune, Zhang Anping greedily breathed the air of his homeland.

Four years ago, when he left, the smoke of the January 28th Battle of Shanghai had not yet cleared. Now, returning, the smoke of the August 13th Battle of Shanghai would linger only one more year!

“Oh, my motherland, so full of suffering…”

His gaze grew resolute.

The coming years would be filled with hardship; the tragic chapter of the Chinese nation was about to unfold.

As a time-traveling Chinese, he would witness and partake in this chapter of disaster!

Beep, beep, beep.

The honking of a car echoed from the dock. Zhang Anping turned toward the sound and saw a military vehicle still sounding its horn.

Through the window, he saw a familiar face.

Thick eyebrows, large eyes, wearing dark glasses, yet still radiating a serious gaze.

“Uncle!”

Zhang Anping’s face lit up instantly as he hurried toward the car with his suitcase.

“Get in,” his uncle said, glancing at the greatly changed Zhang Anping with calmness.

Zhang glanced at the driver.

Sure enough, it was Old Zheng!

Not bad — in just a few years, he had become his uncle’s part-time driver.

He boarded quietly, smiling with delight: “Uncle, I never expected you to come pick me up amid your busy schedule!”

His uncle suppressed his joy, feigning anger: “Hmph! Your mother has been nagging me for four years! Four years ago, I sent you onto that ship. No matter what, four years later I had to bring you back off it!”

“Haha, Uncle, your mother and you are always at odds, so don’t drag me into it — Uncle, this is for you. American pilots wear these; they’re much more stylish than your glasses.” Zhang Anping said, pulling out a delicate box. Opening it, he took out a pair of exquisite glasses and, after removing his uncle’s own, placed them on his face.

This was one of Zhang Anping’s “inventions,” sold to Bausch & Lomb and became standard issue for American pilots. After opening to civilian use, it earned Bausch & Lomb plenty of dollars.

Yes, Zhang Anshi was just a transporter — moving others’ goods forward and making some small money…

His uncle liked the glasses but, accustomed to seriousness, did not show it. Instead, he asked calmly, “You never said in your letters where you studied or what you learned — can you tell me now?”

“Uncle, don’t ask that as soon as I arrive. I want to eat rice cakes, pan-fried buns, wontons, crab shell pastries…” Zhang Anping rambled about the snacks he had craved for four years.

His uncle cut him off coldly: “Get to the point! The school I found for you, you ran away after three days! Do you know how furious your father was? I struggled so hard to find a school for you, and you ran off without a word!”

Zhang Anping “dared not” and “acted cute,” then honestly said:

“Uncle, I never wanted to study economics! Since the First Sino-Japanese War, the Japanese have sharpened their knives — the Russo-Japanese War, annexation of Korea, Jiaozhou Bay, September 18th Incident, January 28th Battle, Rehe Campaign, the Great Wall Defense, the North China Incident. The Japanese ambitions have become known to all. China has retreated repeatedly, and when there is nowhere left to fall back, war is inevitable! At this critical moment for the nation, you want me to study economics? How could I?”

When Zhang finished, his uncle suddenly said, “So you ran off to study espionage?”

Zhang feigned shock: “How, how did you know?”

“Hmph!” His uncle snorted but said no more.

Zhang said honestly, “I wanted to study warfare, but then I thought, many people in our country can fight, but very few do intelligence work. Besides, you, Uncle, are in intelligence, so I studied it to help you.”

“Is that really what you thought?”

“Of course! And intelligence work is very important. A single piece of intelligence can save thousands or tens of thousands of lives. Sometimes, a battle’s outcome changes because of it — Brother Zheng, don’t you agree?”

The driver Zheng Yaoxian nodded in agreement: “Sir, I think Anping is right.”

“Hmph,” his uncle snorted again.

He thought the same way — Zhang Anping’s success getting into the spy school in America was partly due to his own support. Otherwise, in America shrouded by the Chinese Exclusion Act, how could an insignificant foreigner like Zhang enter an FBI-affiliated spy school? (At this time, the FBI did not have a dedicated spy school, but the story required it.)

“Uncle, don’t be angry. By the way, before I left, I reported communists. How many did you catch? There’s a reward for reporting communists. Shouldn’t you give me some too?” Zhang teased, pretending to be money-hungry.

Driver Zheng pricked up his ears. He hadn’t expected that the kid who always called him “Brother Zheng” had quietly reported his comrades!

“A reward? Hmph! You should be grateful I didn’t deal with you!”

“Ah? Reporting communists is wrong?” Zhang looked shocked.

“The person you reported wasn’t a communist! He was an undercover agent sent by the Party Investigation Department to root out communists at the school! Because of your report, the agency wasted manpower and resources!”

Zhang was dumbfounded, then said helplessly, “I thought I had done a good deed.”

His uncle said coldly, “Remember, in this line, you must never show your emotions — if you can’t handle such setbacks, then don’t do this work!”

“Yes, I’ve noted that,” Zhang replied, looking utterly dispirited.

They chatted on casually for a while. After Zhang’s mood improved, he proudly opened his suitcase and took out a collection of devices.

“Uncle, look at all this equipment I bought — can you guess what they’re for?”

His uncle glanced over and, with a hint of praise, said, “Have you forgotten what your uncle does? You’re thoughtful, knowing what I lack!”

Zhang asked nervously, “Ah? Uncle, you wouldn’t confiscate my treasures, would you?”

His uncle looked at Zhang, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, and uttered a meaningful “Hmm?”

“Alright, they’re all yours,” Zhang said with a wince. “These are all the treasures I bought with the money I earned in four years!”

Seeing the pained expression, his uncle inwardly chuckled and magnanimously said, “I won’t confiscate them outright — do you have a source to buy these?”

“Yes, my classmate deals with this. Uncle, do you want some?”

“I’ll have the procurement department contact you — order 30 of each, 20 sets total.” His uncle had wanted to order more but, considering the tight budget due to pressure from Divisions One and Three, and the stern face of his brother-in-law when money was spent, he cut back.

They needed more money!

Zhang agreed outwardly but was inwardly delighted, thinking, “Look, my trading company business is already starting!”

Though pleased, he still wore a tired expression and feigned solemnity: “Uncle, these are actually teaching tools. Don’t you have a special training class at Honggong Temple? May I join you there?”

“You want to be a student?”

“A teacher! With my skills, I’d be the best teacher! I’m extremely professional!” Zhang boasted.

Recalling Zhang’s performance, his uncle tacitly agreed — his nephew learned fast and never forgot what he saw.

He was intrigued: “You really want to be a teacher?”

“Of course! I’ve studied so long — I can’t keep it all in my head. The Japanese are getting more aggressive; war could break out anytime. I have to do something for our country.”

“The Honggong Temple class stopped after three sessions, but I’m planning to restart it. Wait a bit; when the new class begins, you’ll start as a trainee instructor.”

“Honestly, I think I can be the head teacher.”

His uncle laughed at the audacity. Honggong Temple’s special class had run three sessions, and he himself had never been head teacher. And now this little brat wanted that position?