Spy Wars: I am the Captain of the Military Police

Chapter 1101 The Giant Snowman!

Jinwei Wen remained silent. As the prime minister and a member of the nobility, he knew better than anyone how dangerously the empire's war machine was hurtling towards an unknown abyss.

Resource shortages, an overextended front, international isolation, internal conflicts between the army and navy, and a dwindling domestic economy... all these factors are like nooses, slowly tightening.

Will Takasaki Takuto, this "outlier," be able to help the empire fight its way out of a desperate situation, or will he perish along with the empire when internal conflicts erupt? He cannot predict.

"Take care, Takasaki-kun." Chikao Aya said only softly in the end, then turned and walked out of the palace under the guidance of his attendants.

His silhouette appeared somewhat lonely in the cold autumn wind.

Takasaki Gentoku stood alone in the same spot and lit another cigarette.

He looked toward the direction of the "Original Throne House," where the Emperor still sat behind the Imperial Palace, holding the ultimate power over this vast and distorted empire.

"Son," he murmured to the void, in a voice only he could hear, "The road ahead is fraught with peril, surrounded by wolves."

Let your father see how much trouble you can stir up there.

Just don't forget... No matter how high you fly, your roots are ultimately tied to the Takasaki family, to the path your father paved for you with his blood and darkness.

Don't look back, just keep moving forward.

Even if hell lies ahead, the Takasaki family will carve a path for you on Yomotsu Hirasaka.

He threw away the cigarette butt and crushed it with his foot, as if he were crushing an enemy or the last bit of tenderness deep in his heart.

Then, he straightened his back, his face regaining its cynical, lazy smile, and walked out of the palace with seemingly casual but actually steady steps.

Sunlight pierced through the clouds, casting a long, dark shadow behind him.

Beyond the deep walls of the Imperial Palace, the streets of Kyoto remained bustling, a mix of the fervor of war and the frenzied faces of the people.

The twilight of the empire is quietly approaching, and who will seize the last glimmer of light in the twilight, or ignite a new spark in the darkness, remains to be seen.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Tianjin in January 1938.

A rare, overwhelming snowfall quietly descended in the dead of night, swallowing up all the sounds and colors of this long-worn northern port city.

As dawn broke, the snow gradually subsided, turning into fine, almost invisible snowflakes that drifted silently under the leaden sky.

The whole world seemed to be covered by a thick, soft, and dazzlingly clean down comforter, blurring the boundaries between the concession and the Chinese-controlled areas, between the rich and the poor.

Only the Haihe River continues to flow silently beneath the ice, carrying all the cold and heaviness of this harsh winter, rushing towards the gray Bohai Sea.

In the Japanese concession of Tianjin, on Miyajima Street, the headquarters of the Japanese North China Garrison Military Police sat quietly in a pristine white, like a dream that had emerged from a faded old photograph, deliberately preserved by time.

The Mansard gray-blue pitched roof has now become a thick woolen blanket with soft, undulating curves.

Those tiles that were once lush and green in the summer now only peek out a few dark, damp edges from the eaves, like subtle eyeliner.

The arched balcony protruding from the second floor, with its cast iron railings adorned with carved grapevines, now has every winding groove filled with fluffy snow, creating a pattern that appears almost like a relief sculpture, exquisitely beautiful.

The garden has long lost its original shape.

The once neatly trimmed holly hedges have now become bloated white waves.

The long-dried-up circular fountain, in the center of which stands a stone statue of a girl carrying a water bottle, has snow on her shoulders and in her hair. Her slightly lowered face appears even more serene and sorrowful in the snow, as if her tears have long since frozen into the snowflakes falling from the sky.

There was absolute silence all around.

The city's hustle and bustle was absorbed and eliminated by the thick blanket of snow.

The stillness seemed to freeze time itself, encasing the villa in its surroundings, as if time itself were breathing, and the house slept in that breath, layered with countless passages of time.

The elegance of the Republic of China era, the romance of France, and the pure snow of northern China before us.

They miraculously merge into one at this moment, covered by snow and illuminated by snow, becoming a secluded, complete yet fragile old dream.

At this moment, only the heavily armed sentries at the iron gate, wearing heavy military coats with their eyebrows and beards covered in frost, and the occasional crunching sound of leather boots on the snow inside the courtyard, remind people that this place is still one of the cores of the Japanese Empire's violent machinery.

The back garden was more private than the front garden and was quite large. It had withered vine trellises, a small Rococo-style gazebo, and a relatively open lawn, all of which were now buried under ankle-deep snow.

Several tall plane trees and magnolias had their bare branches weighed down with snow, and occasionally, unable to bear the weight, chunks of snow would fall with a "whoosh".

Early in the morning, after the snow had cleared, sunlight pierced through the clouds, casting a cool halo on the snow-covered ground.

In the open space in the center of the courtyard, a "project" is underway.

Zhou Zhengqing was not wearing his military police officer uniform, a symbol of power, or a comfortable silk kimono. Instead, he wore a thick cotton overcoat, a gray wool scarf casually around his neck, and equally thick riding breeches and tall leather boots.

Without gloves, his hands were red from the cold as he focused intently on gathering the loose snow under his feet and patting it firmly.

At his feet, a creature wrapped up like a round little rice dumpling was making a clear "giggle" sound, trying to help by taking steps with its short legs that were restricted by thick cotton pants and snow boots. However, it often just stepped into the soft snow, making messy little pits, or sat down in the snowdrift, splashing up a cloud of snow, and then laughed even more happily.

Huizi was wearing a thick, bright red cotton-padded jacket and trousers trimmed with white fur, and deerskin boots. She was round and chubby, making her stand out against the white snow.

Her little face was red from the cold, like a ripe apple. She wore a woolen hat with ear flaps, revealing only a pair of bright, curious, and excited eyes, with tiny snowflakes clinging to her long eyelashes.

"Brother, brother! I want a big one! A big snowman!" Huizi called out in her childish voice, her little hands making a huge circle, as if she wanted to build a snowman as big as she imagined.

“Okay, a big one.” Zhou Zhengqing smiled gently, squatted down, and used his hand to scrape a little snow off Huizi’s nose. “But if we’re going to build a big snowman, Huizi will have to help too.”

Look, like brother, you need to pat the snow down tightly, otherwise the snowman won't be able to stand up.