Ah, those of us who have been given to this profession live our life for ciphers, and we die for them as well. In your father’s case, this is perhaps most accurate: the most perfect description for how he lived. The only thing denied to him was that until his death he was unable to decrypt his own cipher, the secret of ‘that matter’. I have already told you the answer to this particular riddle; the only problem was that he refused to believe it. And so, at this very moment, I truly hope your father’s spirit up in heaven can read the letter I have written to you. Perhaps in this way he will believe me, perhaps in this way he will be able to let go of the guilt and shame that followed him throughout those years. Whatever happens, you mustn’t let Sisi read this letter. If she were to see it, she would feel that your father’s last hundred days were yet another tragedy, which would only cause her even more grief …

WIND-CATCHERS

How wonderful it is to wake up in the morning and find out that one is still alive. Every operation could be our last. The work we do is the most secret and the cruellest there can be; an inopportune sneeze could mean our heads will roll. But death isn’t frightening, since survival is not part of our calculations.

A Vietnamese Ghost Story

The second valley was divided into eastern and western courtyards. Walking into the eastern courtyard was like walking into a typical work unit: an administrative building stood to one side, a dormitory not too far off, an exercise yard to the other side, and everywhere there was the hustle and bustle of people. Once, this was Old Wang’s realm, the training centre. The western courtyard, however, was nothing like that. There were only a few scattered buildings that seemed to be tucked away inside a lush green forest; there was little trace of human activity; all was silent and still. But it wasn’t a peaceful silence; it was heavy, serious, almost smothering. The first time I found myself in there, the first time I felt this oppressive tranquillity, I had no idea that this was part of the centre for covert operations. I was under the impression it was used by Unit 701 for receiving and entertaining people from headquarters.

So I had to ask, ‘How could this be part of the covert operations division?’

The answer was: ‘If everyone just sat at home, how could they be conducting covert operations?’

You could say he hit the nail on the head.

The man who provided this answer was none other than Mr Lü, a senior intelligence officer – the one people called ‘Old Potato’.