"Female spy"

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

Now, a well-known Chinese-language publication in South America has published materials translated from Japanese into Spanish and then into Chinese. South America has a long history of Japanese-American communities, and for conceivable legal and human reasons, the providers of these materials will not disclose their own identities, or the true identities of the authors, especially their elders. Therefore, the authenticity of these materials cannot be verified in any way, which has hindered their effective use. However, after reading these texts, one feels compelled to make them public in every possible way.

On the surface, it appears to be a memoir by a lower-ranking officer of the Japanese military police during the invasion of China ("first-person narrator"), originally titled "Female Spy." It contains approximately 100,000 words. Below are two excerpts. The story takes place in a city in northern China, near guerrilla activity.

The "first-person narrator" captures a liaison officer of an opposing organization (it's not specified whether it's the Kuomintang or the Communist Party):

a young female teacher. Eager for recognition, he uses both mental and physical torture. But the girl remains unrepentant. The "first-person narrator" can only admit: "My feeling is not that I am torturing her madly, but rather that she was specifically sent to torture me."

The text describes various forms of torture inflicted on women. Over two days, female Japanese military police subjected the protagonist, Chen Huiqin, to nearly twenty different forms of mental and physical torture. The story focuses primarily on the girl's suffering. These tortures closely match materials we've gathered from other sources (such as Huang Ren's *A Grand View of Torture in China and Abroad*). Therefore, the story is highly credible: perhaps the original author based it on their own or others' recollections, and indeed, a female teacher named Chen Huiqin suffered inhuman torture; perhaps the original author created the character of Chen Huiqin based on various observations and experiences, concentrating the suffering of many Chinese women during the War of Resistance against Japan onto her. In any case, the torture and suffering endured by these women are real.

The original author's motivation seems to be a former Japanese officer's ("first-person") confession. However, some readers believe that under the guise of confession, the author exaggerates the torture and suffering of young women to stimulate readers, thus classifying it as "atrocity" literature, or even "sexual atrocity" literature. Regardless, the work realistically depicts the punishment and suffering, thus objectively revealing the cruelty of the Japanese invaders and deepening the reader's respect for the anti-Japanese heroes. Chinese literary works often elevate heroes to an unrealistic level. In "The Red Lantern," Li Yuhe sings, "The thief Hatoyama wants the secret telegram, I've used every torture imaginable," yet he still stands tall and curses Hatoyama. The audience cannot experience the pain of the punishment, nor the cruelty of the Japanese invaders, nor the greatness of the heroes. In this work, the female protagonist, Chen Huiqin, is in a very sorry state: naked, kneeling to be tortured, howling, sobbing, trembling; the shyness of an unmarried woman vanishes under the pain. Yet, she still does not reveal the secret the Japanese invaders want. The first-person narration concludes, "It was originally a very good opportunity to gain the appreciation of superiors and to uncover a very hidden enemy intelligence organization." And so this madwoman ruined everything. Her status in the readers' hearts naturally rose; everyone felt she was the winner.

Israel is strong because it never shies away from its painful past. Its writers don't create Li Yuhe-like figures in concentration camps. It tells young people how naked men and women were sent into gas chambers.

Israelis aren't afraid to expose their scars. Chinese people care about face. In "Plains Guerrilla" and "Tunnel Warfare," for every Chinese soldier's sacrifice, ten Japanese soldiers died. In reality, it was the opposite: the casualty ratio between Chinese soldiers and Japanese soldiers was often far greater than ten to one. We never acknowledge how desperately ordinary people kowtowed and begged for mercy during the Japanese massacres; we only say that men, women, and children stood tall against bayonets. We deceive ourselves with the spirit of Ah Q. Regardless of whether Chen

Huiqin actually existed, regardless of her loyalty to the Kuomintang or the Communist Party, regardless of whether the original author's intention was repentance or to stimulate readers with (sexual) violence, the story reflects a rarely revealed fact—the Japanese used inhuman torture to treat Chinese women resisting Japanese aggression. This work should be fully translated into Chinese, published, and circulated online. This is a rare historical lesson.

The Japanese invaders used inhuman torture against Chinese women (Part One). My predecessor died in a car accident during a raid on bandits. Afterwards, I was ordered to act as the captain of the military police detachment.

I thought I was likely to receive a formal appointment, so I worked diligently within the unit's defense zone. I happened to be in Shangling when this happened.

Shangling town is more than forty kilometers from the provincial capital, the first station where trains from the capital stop, and also an inland river port for agricultural products. It was a key point of defense for the 23rd Regiment.

A Chinese agent from a leftist organization called the regiment's duty room, stammering a request for Imperial Army support. He said he was on a secret mission in Shangling and was currently at the entrance of the Jiang'an Hotel.

Lieutenant Noyama, along with two men dressed in civilian clothes, found him; the skinny man was terrified. It was said that he was ordered to follow a young woman, believed to be a liaison for a hostile organization, back to the provincial capital from a neighboring province. According to intelligence, the liaison was supposed to bring a radio back to the capital, and the leftist organization had made preparations in the province based on this assumption.

However, no one expected the girl to suddenly get off the train at

Shangling. For most of the day, the leftist men, drenched in cold sweat, desperately kept an eye on the girl in the small town, barely having time to make a phone call. Besides, the town's few civilian telephones couldn't reach the provincial capital.

Only after confirming that his target had checked into a hotel did he frantically run to the train station and call the Japanese troops stationed there. The military police didn't like the pretentious leftist organization. But regardless, we still reported to headquarters through the military's communication system.

The Chinese man sat in a run-down restaurant across from the Jiang'an Hotel, muttering incessantly, "She definitely saw me, she definitely saw me." Looking at his ridiculously conspicuous black clothes and top hat in a small town like Shangling, Ye Shan had to completely agree with his assessment.

Just then, their target emerged from the Jiang'an Hotel. She carried a heavy-looking leather suitcase and walked about two hundred meters along the town's only main road. A truck from the 23rd Regiment approached; the girl waved, and the truck stopped. A clean-cut, student-like young man climbed out, grinning broadly.

The girl showed the driver a note, which made him burst into laughter. "Get in, get in," he shouted repeatedly. Two plainclothes military police following at a distance stared in disbelief.

Ten seconds of silence. Further away, a man in a Chinese-style jacket rushed out of a small restaurant, waving a pistol. He shouted in Japanese, "Don't drive! Seize her!" As three men—two military police and a Chinese agent—forced the girl against the car and searched her body, Noyama picked up a piece of paper from the ground. It read, in crooked handwriting, "Please take me to the outskirts of the city to find a toilet." We first questioned the leftist lad. The leftist organization believed the girl belonged to a military intelligence organization and was a liaison responsible for transporting supplies and intelligence. Her public job was a teacher at the provincial capital's XX Higher National School, and her name was Chen Huiqin.

That was all the Chinese man knew.

After hesitating for about ten minutes, I ordered a return to the provincial capital to bring the girl back to our headquarters.

On the first day, the provincial capital's military police detachment occupied a sizable courtyard on a quiet street. It was said the original owner was a reclusive Chinese military officer. We built a row of temporary brick houses in the front for detaining prisoners, with the main house for the detachment's personnel. Several rooms in the back courtyard, possibly former servants' quarters, were used as interrogation rooms. Next door to the courtyard lived a team of Chinese police who were assisting us.

I took two military police officers directly to the backyard, and at the same time, I had Lieutenant Nakagawa take a younger female prisoner to the so-called "Cell No. 2" next to the interrogation room, "to hang her up and make her scream a couple of times." This was to be used to intimidate the female liaison officer during the interrogation.

The young woman was brought in. I made her sit down and stared at her for about three minutes. When Noyama and the others arrested her at Uemori, they had handcuffed her. She placed her handcuffed hands flat on her lap and sat upright in the chair.

She wasn't exactly a beauty. Although she had an oval face, her light eyebrows and narrow eyes looked like a few thin lines drawn on her face. Her nose was narrow and a bit pointed. However, her skin was fair, and her neck and arms were also long.

I started with the most basic questions: name, age, place of origin, occupation, family members, etc. She calmly answered each one, and all the information was true. Her name was Chen Huiqin, she was twenty-three years old, and she taught at XX National High School, etc.

Interestingly, she said she had traveled to a neighboring province for the past two days because she had argued with her boss at school and, in a fit of pique, had taken leave to spend a few days somewhere. This was a pre-planned answer. Because visiting relatives and friends required providing real names and addresses, she would have to reveal more verifiable information.

Finally, I said, "Okay, okay, where did you put the radio transmitter? Tell us, and we won't waste any more time." The military police had already dismantled the suitcase she was carrying; there was neither a radio transmitter nor anything of value inside.

She feigned surprise. "What radio transmitter? How could I have a radio transmitter?" I stopped and continued to stare at her. In the silence, a woman's scream came from next door.

I tried to reason with her for a while. She stammered out some obnoxious things like the Imperial Army was there to help the Chinese, and that she was still young and shouldn't work for some white people from another country. I can speak some Chinese, but not very fluently. Chen Huiqin looked at me with innocently narrowed eyes.

I sneered and said in Japanese, "I don't have much time, sorry to bother you." I waved to the military police who had been standing at attention beside me. They stepped forward, grabbed the front of her cheongsam, and easily tore it open to the side, uncuffing her hands in front of her, twisting her arms behind her back. They then forced her to kneel on the floor in front of the chair, kicking off her cloth shoes. In the blink of an eye, all her clothes, including her underwear, were torn off from behind and thrown into the corner of the room.

The well-trained military police threw the half-naked girl back into the chair, and snapped the handcuffs back on her wrists. Two men squatted down in front of her, using scrap wire to tie her ankles to the two front legs of the chair, and pulled off her still-wearing white cloth socks. They used a folding knife to cut open her remaining underwear, pulling the shredded fabric out from under her buttocks.

The girl didn't struggle much, nor did she say anything stupid like "don't touch me" or "let me take it off myself."

I turned my face away, staring blankly at the calligraphy and paintings hanging on the wall. One of the two military police, the short, stout Lieutenant Nakagawa, leaned down towards the young girl who was forced to sit naked with her legs spread apart. He played with one of her nipples with one hand, while the other hand stroked her body from top to bottom, finally stopping between her legs and fiddling with it back and forth. The girl almost cried out in surprise. Nakagawa pulled out his damp middle finger and held it up, with a few drops of pale red blood on it. Nakagawa paused for two seconds, then burst into laughter. He showed his hand to the girl and said in broken Chinese, "Say it out, the telegraph machine, where? Chinese woman, the Imperial Army cherishes you greatly." Chen Huiqin, who had cursed "beast" several times in a low voice at the beginning, now closed her eyes and turned her face to one side.

However, her cheeks and once fair neck had turned a vibrant pink.

Contrary to popular belief among Chinese, most military police stationed in larger cities did not frequently rape female prisoners. Their stipends allowed them to enjoy a very comfortable life in Chinese cities. When needed, they could seek out Japanese women in fine entertainment venues. Some even found Chinese men and rented houses for them in the city. Objectively speaking, embracing a powdered Japanese woman was far more interesting than lying on top of those filthy female prisoners. Of course, the chaotic discipline of frontline field troops entering enemy territory was well-known.

Sometimes, to disrupt the interrogation subjects' psychology, subordinates would be ordered to rape them in the interrogation room, but most of the time the military police were not entirely willing. Therefore, it was more often the Chinese garrison assisting our operations that did the work.

Now I am somewhat hesitant about whether to let Nakagawa continue. Some women, after being raped, completely give up resistance, answering questions as if they have lost their support, but others may become completely silent. From Chen Huiqin's reaction to her current state after being insulted, I couldn't determine which situation she was in. I stood up and stopped Nakagawa.

"Still won't tell the truth? If that's the case, they'll climb on your belly like boars. Do you want to see how many pigs you can entertain in one night? Thirty, forty?" She was frightened and said weakly, "You can't treat me like this. I'm a law-abiding citizen." I moved closer to her and examined her naked body carefully for the first time. Like most Asian women, her breasts were two small, hemispherical breasts, almost like those of an undeveloped girl, with nipples and areolas as delicate as rose petals. However, her legs, neck, and arms were slender and long, which was very eye-catching.

"Tell me! Where is the thing? Where is it to be sent?" Standing a step in front of her, I suddenly shouted loudly.

"I'm a teacher, I didn't bring anything."

"Damn it, you troublemaking sow." I pretended to storm out, telling the military police,

"Take her next door."

In room number two, Noyama and his men were already prepared. I remembered the young girl hanging naked at one end of the room. Their middle school teacher had been secretly reported for anti-Japanese remarks and organizing a reading group among the students. Lieutenant Noyama arrested the teacher and all the students in his reading group and brought them to the military police headquarters. The teacher was beaten half to death and sentenced to ten years in prison, sent to some mine or somewhere else. Some students were bailed out, but the unlucky ones were neither sentenced nor released, remaining imprisoned in the military police headquarters. Sometimes, like today, they were used as intimidation material.

To create an effect, Noyama tied her hands behind her back and used a large iron hook to pierce her chin, hanging her from a chain hanging from the ceiling, leaving only her toes touching the ground. Her mouth and neck were covered in blood. She tilted her head back miserably, her chin strangely becoming the highest point of her body. A new recruit sat in front of her, guarding a small coal stove commonly used in northern Chinese homes. When it was time to begin, he pulled out a red-hot iron bar and pressed it against the female student's body. The student twisted like a fish, unable to scream because of the hook in her mouth; each scream only emitted a painful whimper from deep within her throat.

I noticed that Chen Huiqin, who had been brought in, turned her face away to avoid the scene of torture, but this did not make her any more cooperative. I sat down in a chair against the wall and ordered, "Begin." The military police pushed her next to the female student, whose body reeked of burning, and used another hook to hook her handcuffs, lifting her feet off the ground and suspending her. Then they lashed her body with a military belt. After about forty blows, I called a halt. I lowered her down; she supported herself with her arms as she sat down, breathing heavily. High, bluish-purple welts rose on her fair skin. Her once neatly styled short hair was now disheveled with sweat, clinging to her forehead and cheeks.

This initial whipping, like the earlier stripping of the female prisoner's clothes, was intended to intimidate her, making her realize that the rules here were entirely different, and causing her to doubt the strength of her prepared resolve.

The military police forced the woman to her knees, moved her hands in front of her, and began to clamp thick, square bamboo chopsticks between her fingers. Two burly men gripped the ends of the chopsticks, their expressions cold as they pressed down hard. In an instant, the four fingers of the woman's right hand, subjected to the torture, stretched out wide and straight in the air, while her kneeling body slumped limply to the floor, writhing as if her bones had been removed. In her frantic state, she instinctively tried to pull her hands back, but the military police grabbed her handcuffs, pulled them to the appropriate height, and began to clamp down hard on her next two fingers.

Then they switched to her left hand.

"Good girl, do you remember? Where should the things be delivered?" She lay on her side on the ground, her narrow eyes staring blankly at me for a long time without uttering a sound. Nakagawa brought a thick wooden board and pressed it against her ankle, then stomped heavily on it with his military boot. The girl cried out in pain, "Ouch!" Nakagawa lifted his foot and stomped on it again and again, finally causing her to scream in agony. This was the first time she hadn't been able to help but cry out in pain since the torture began.

Nakagawa knelt down beside her, feeling her bleeding ankle, probably checking for broken bones. But then he grasped one of her feet and examined it closely. The girl's instep was high and narrow, her toes long and thin, appearing weak and feeble. With an expression that seemed to say, "It's definitely worth a try," Nakagawa picked up

a pair of chopsticks that had been lying on the ground and clamped them between her toes, pressing down hard with his hands. He dragged her up, tying her to the iron bed with her back to the sky. He placed several bricks under her feet to lower her head and stuffed a wet towel into her nose, forcing her to open her mouth to breathe. Nakagawa then poured cold water into her mouth continuously. She coughed and choked, struggling under the stream of water. Nakagawa, an experienced manipulator, quickly filled her stomach until it bulged out.

Next, he placed her on the ground and stomped on her stomach. She weakly tried to push Nakagawa's shoes off her stomach, but of course, it was useless. Water gushed from her mouth, nostrils, and anus. She was soaked to the bone, and the ground was wet and slippery. I went to answer a phone call and when I came back, the two military police had moved aside, leaving her lying there convulsing and vomiting incessantly. By this time, she was vomiting small sips of pale reddish blood. We held her down on the ground and poured almost a whole bucket of water down her throat. Watching the slender woman pitifully writhe over her round belly with her handcuffed hands, trying to avoid the stomping of the boots, that hellish scene would surely evoke sympathy in anyone.

But the call I had just received was from the unit; the lieutenant colonel's angry roar was still ringing in my ears. I didn't have much patience left.

I bent down and grabbed the woman's wet hair. Chen Huiqin was no longer the composed teacher she had been moments before. Her face was deathly pale, her half-open mouth was full of clear water, and she was trembling like a leaf in the wind from the excruciating dry heaving.

"Please, please—stop pouring it in—I—I really—don't know anything." "Ah, is that so?" I smiled darkly. Although she was still denying it, she seemed to be on the verge of collapse. "Try to talk her out of it," I said to Noyama, who spoke Chinese.

Noyama, a businessman who had run a cloth shop in China before the war, proudly displayed his fluent use of the northern Chinese accent. He squatted down next to the woman and chattered for a long time, the gist of which was that no one had ever survived three days in the military police without speaking. What we were doing to her was only the beginning. We were going to do this and that, and we could do that to women. She whispered, "Kill me." So Noyama explained to her that we would not simply kill her, but instead we would keep her alive and suffer endless pain. We would even have doctors treat her until she had no choice but to tell us everything we wanted to know.

Of course, things would be much better after that. We would release her, give her money, and find her something to do somewhere else.

This was, of course, a lie. Those identified as anti-Japanese elements, whether they confessed or not, were rarely released. Someone with an intelligence background like Chen Huiqin, after her full confession, would almost certainly be executed or imprisoned for a long time, in preparation for any future use. But that wasn't the immediate problem. The immediate problem was that I noticed the girl, with her eyes closed, showed no reaction to Ye Shan's incessant chatter; I realized she was just cunningly using this opportunity to rest.

Everyone busied themselves again. The hand-cranked generator was dragged out. The copper wire from the generator's lead wire was wrapped around the girl's nipples, and the crank was vigorously turned. The electric current made her tightly bound naked body thrash about like a fish on a riverbank. She fainted, so they used smoke to wake her up before continuing.

After she woke up a second time, they untied one of the wire ends, wrapped it around a copper rod, and inserted the rod deep into the woman's vagina.

The recruit hid to the side, mechanically cranking the generator. The girl opened her mouth wide in fright, struggling for nearly ten seconds before finally letting out a scream. The terrifying, eerie sound, in retrospect, seemed completely inhuman.

But at the time, we paid no attention; we heard similar sounds almost daily in cell number two.

Staring at her chest and breasts, we could clearly see beads of sweat welling up under her skin, lingering for a few seconds, growing to the size of a soybean, before suddenly rolling down her body. With the rhythm of the generator cranking, a stream of yellow urine flowed intermittently from her lower body, quickly forming a puddle on the floor.

Her eyes had probably never been so wide open since birth. Seeing her pupils roll upwards, we would stop for a while, waiting for her to recover before resuming. We continued like this until after 7 PM, still without success.

The woman's mouth was smeared with bloody saliva, and her voice was completely hoarse. I estimated that she might not be able to endure it and would die, so I decided to stop temporarily. I helped the girl, her face streaked with tears and sweat, to her feet and gave her some salt water.

"Let her rest for three hours, give her something to eat," I said to Nakagawa. "At eleven o'clock, find a few people to keep her company. Isn't she lonely lying here alone?" I added, "Don't call any Chinese. Understand?" "Understood." This whole thing had to be kept completely secret, and the Chinese police force couldn't be allowed to know either. I had to rely on Nakagawa and his men.

I went to an entertainment venue, perhaps called XX Moon, intending to spend the night there and return to the military police station in the morning. But I woke up in the middle of the night and started thinking about the case repeatedly. Based on my understanding of how this intelligence organization operated, once two or three days had passed, it would be too late for the female teacher to say anything. I didn't know the scheduled time for the handover, but it was clear that once that time had passed, no one would be foolish enough to wait there anymore. Perhaps, if I was lucky enough, due to the unpredictable nature of the situation, they had arranged a second contact point in case the first handover failed, which would give me another day or two. On the other hand, I also had to justify the foolish arrest at Uemori. I had no way of knowing the extent of the control the left-wing authorities had over Chen Huiqin, and therefore no way of judging whether I should have shouted like Ye Shan when faced with losing my target. If I continued to speculate like this, there would be an endless number of "shoulds" and "shouldn'ts." The only realistic way out was to get that female teacher surnamed Chen to quickly tell me the details, so I could act accordingly. As long as I achieved results, no one would hold me accountable regardless of whether what I did was right or wrong; otherwise, the left-wing authorities would belittle the army everywhere, and the lieutenant colonel of the military police headquarters would probably have to force me to commit seppuku.

I returned to room number two in the detachment compound at two o'clock in the morning. The lights were on. Chen Huiqin was still completely naked, kneeling against the wall on her feet, her hands cuffed behind her back to an iron pipe nailed horizontally to the base of the wall.

Her legs were spread apart, and her head hung wearily. The three military police in front of her were also completely naked. The small coal stove was placed beside her.

"It's already done, they're questioning her," the report said, and I sat down to listen. Nakagawa and his men asked obscene and vulgar questions, mentioning how many times Nakagawa had asked, how many times Ozaki had asked, and so on. If the woman refused to answer, they would torture her with thin iron bars heated in the stove. Because being branded on her breasts was indeed painful, she would feel that this wasn't a secret she had to keep to the death, and would begin to answer in a hoarse, intermittent voice. After asking for a while, they would move on to the more important questions. Nakagawa hoped that the young woman would feel that even such offensive things had been said, so what was the point of resisting? For them, this was just a means of probing the other person's psychology.

"Go to the internal affairs department and get a few more people. Work on her until four or five o'clock and let her sleep for a while. Don't burn her too much," I instructed them before leaving, desperately suppressing the urge to start the frenzied interrogation immediately.

The military police laid a tattered blanket on the floor of the interrogation room for the female prisoner to lie on. The autumn night was cool, and they also took a dirty, unrecognizable cotton quilt from the detention cell in the front yard and covered her with it. To prevent any potential disturbances, she remained handcuffed, and her feet were shackled with a five-kilogram pair of leg irons—a weight typically reserved for male prisoners. Since my orders were that she not be out of my sight for even a minute, a private first class remained in the interrogation room.

I pulled back the blanket covering her and ordered her to stand up. It took a lot of strength and courage for her to straighten up, leaning against the wall, her legs trembling uncontrollably as she tried. Her body was covered in burns, mostly just burns on the skin, revealing small patches of pale red muscle filled with bodily fluids.

Several areas of charred skin were shrunken like crumpled paper. Her fingers and toes were swollen.

Some were particularly bad; the skin looked like it was oozing fluid, possibly indicating broken bones.

The private told me they had called eight more men, meaning she had been violated more than ten times that night.

"You were a virgin yesterday, you must feel very complicated now, don't you want to talk about it?" She lowered her head, reverting to her feigned ignorance, repeating platitudes like a phonograph: "I'm just a teacher, you can't treat me like this."

"Come on, go next door, and see how we treat you!"

She moved slowly, supporting herself against the wall. The pain and the weight of the shackles made it difficult for her to lift her feet; she barely moved forward, only scraping the ground with the soles of her feet. She passed me and paused briefly at the doorway, perhaps because of the bright sunlight outside. Her back and buttocks looked smooth and shapely against the light. But I was already insane, viciously thinking that if she remained stubborn today, I would make that area look like dumpling filling.

The sound of chains stopped outside the door. I followed her out; there was no one else in the courtyard. The girl leaned against the doorway of the next room, one hand against the wall, the other clutching her lower abdomen. Her eyes were closed, and she was bent over deeply.

"Hmph, can't take it anymore?" I stood coldly beside her, watching, until she slowly moved back inside.

"Go to the other end of the iron bed!" someone shouted from inside.

"Forward, further forward, kneel down by the stove!"

"Just watch the fire and don't move."

"Will that make it warmer?"

The guys inside had all been there the night before. They described the scene one after another, insulting the girl, each more unscrupulous than the last, to the point that I frowned as I listened from outside the door. Ye Shan translated with great interest. They became increasingly excited, jeering and demanding she perform. The girl, her voice trembling with tears, stubbornly repeated, "No—no—" Then they started beating her. When I went in, she had already been dragged to the center of the room, someone holding her hair. Her face was directly facing the door, her eyes filled with despair, like a rabbit cornered in a room.

"I'm afraid this won't do her any good." Although that was my assessment, I went in intending to urge them to start quickly, but I still smiled and waited for a while.

Later, they made her lie on her back on the iron bed, her limbs spread out and her hands and feet tightly bound.

"The top's already been roasted; if we don't fix it soon, the bottom won't be even." The girl's deeply arched feet stood perpendicular to her supine body. The military police poured alcohol onto cotton balls and tied them to the soles of her feet with thin wire. A fire was lit, the alcohol initially emitting almost invisible blue flames. She jerked her legs, causing the iron bed to shake, while she turned her head to look at her two feet emitting bluish smoke.

She bit her lip tightly and pulled her legs back with increasing force, silently struggling with the ropes binding her ankles for a minute or two.

Then, her resolute expression was gradually torn apart by pain, and a long, chilling cry burst from her tightly closed lips. Her legs began to twitch wildly, contorting into various strange shapes as far as possible. She turned her face to the sky and cried out uncontrollably, "Mama, it hurts—" The fire went out, and they asked Chen Huiqin. She sobbed for a long time but couldn't say anything.

"Hot her."

The branding iron was pulled from the furnace, and its head was slammed viciously against the girl's narrow chest between her breasts. She had indeed gritted her teeth and prepared herself, but the immense pain far exceeded her expectations. She screamed in terror, her chest contracting deeply under the red-hot iron. Several more heats were applied to her breasts, then her armpits. She still had some strength left, struggling and twisting her body, uttering broken screams of "Mama!" "It hurts so much!" "I really don't know!" each scream more pitiful than the last.

The military police finally stopped, and Chen Huiqin's tense body relaxed on the iron bed. Since her entire breasts had become a large, dark red, oozing, half-cooked piece of roasted meat, she thought the most painful stage was over.

But the principle of torture was to continuously apply pressure. When the thin hot iron used for cleaning the furnace was reheated to a blazing white, Ye Shan licked his lips and began to gently tap the girl's sensitive areolas and nipples with it. He patiently tortured Chen Huiqin in this area for a long time, creating a series of purplish-red blisters, which he then punctured and tore open one by one. In the end, he drove the girl, who was in unbearable pain, almost to the point of insanity.

When she calmed down a little, the military police plucked all the pubic hair from her lower body, leaving her lower body stained with blood.

Next, they pressed the branding iron against her bloodstained lower body. They wanted to burn the mucous membranes inside, but she was trembling so violently that the person pressing her was burned by the branding iron. So they released her and simply laid the red-hot iron flat and pressed it down; then they replaced it with a new one pulled from the furnace and haphazardly poked it in; they stood it upright and forcefully slashed it from top to bottom, inserting half of the iron into any place they could reach.

Her screams were hoarse and grating, like an animal's; her features, including her nose and mouth, were horribly distorted, no longer resembling a human face. She frantically slammed her head against the iron bars behind her, managing to raise her back and buttocks almost half a foot off the frame despite her hands and feet being tightly bound. Nakagawa struggled for a while, grabbing her hair with both hands, before finally stopping her and pouring a bucket of water over her head.

Even Nakagawa's expression changed slightly. Everyone stared silently at the woman's face.

"Where is the telegraph machine to be delivered?"

"I...I really...don't have a telegraph machine."

"What's his name? Where does he live?"

"Ouch—what's his name?"

"Who sent you?"

Someone else pulled a branding iron from the furnace. I gestured impatiently to stop him. Branding with fire can indeed cause immense pain and intense psychological trauma. But excessive burns do not necessarily increase the suffering felt by the interrogated person. The most intense pain in the human body occurs when the surface layer of skin is damaged, exposing the delicate dermis rich in nerve endings. At this point, the wound appears very moist, pink or off-white, and even a slight touch can cause excruciating pain. I have seen people scalded with boiling water spend the entire night in their detention cells banging their heads against the wall, bleeding profusely but unable to stop. If the high temperature continues, the entire skin, along with the underlying fat, will eventually be charred, leaving the victim with virtually no pain. Of course, that area will later suffer serious problems, becoming infected and festering, but for immediate interrogation, a shallower burn is more effective. Furthermore

, the nipples and genitals are often chosen for branding not primarily because of lewdness, but because these areas have the highest concentration of nerves and are most sensitive. The armpits are also branded for the same reason. Of course, the immense psychological impact of genital torture on both male and female prisoners is undeniable. I believe my military police, whether using branding irons, alcohol, or cotton, are all perfectly suited to the task.

The military police grabbed Chen Huiqin's hair, pulled her head off the iron bed, and pressed it forward, forcing her face close to her breasts so she could see what they looked like. After more than an hour of meticulous work, her breasts resembled two peaches whose skin had been peeled away piece by piece, the soft, light red subcutaneous tissue soaked in a thick, yellowish fluid.

He held up a steel needle, about five centimeters long, usually used for sewing cotton-padded coats, to intimidate her. Then, right under the girl's nose, he used the needle tip to randomly scratch her tender, scalded skin, each scratch causing her to shiver as if from the cold. Finally, the poor woman watched helplessly as the steel needle pierced her nipple, centimeter by centimeter. It must have felt like a stab to her heart. She barely screamed, nor did she faint, but stared dumbfounded, as if under a spell, at the tip of the needle peeking out of her breast.

The girl's muscles bulged like a man's, their outlines clearly visible beneath her skin. Her delicate body was now taut like a drawn bowstring. Suddenly, her right breast, where the needle was inserted, seemed to gain a life of its own, twitching and pulsating in Nakagawa's hand, each pulsation causing a bead of blood to gush from the wound at the tip.

As it echoed this, a large tear welled up in the girl's narrow eyes, which were staring blankly at it.

Nakagawa then picked up a second needle and showed it to her—marking it on her breast—and inserting it slightly below the end of the first needle.

Watching the second needle go in halfway, Chen Huiqin tried to close her eyes, but several voices immediately roared, "Open your eyes and watch carefully!" At the same time, they tore at her hair even harder. She opened her eyes again and suddenly said weakly, "No, don't prick me anymore." Her tone was peculiar. Everyone stopped when they realized this. She swallowed hard and said, "I, I'll tell you everything." The military police put her head back on the iron bed and all looked at me. I checked my watch; it was a little past ten. If this was true, I could still get some things done today. I asked, "Where's the transmitter?" "It's...it's by the river, about a hundred meters south of the river from Doudouji, maybe two hundred. Behind a mud-brick house." I glanced at Ye Shan, who later spent most of the day working with that leftist Chinese agent, retracing Chen Huiqin's route through Shangling several times. He nodded slightly, indicating she had been there.

"Why did you leave it there?"

she asked, slightly surprised.

"For what purpose? To have someone come and get it."

Shamefully, I had been waiting for this liaison to wander around the small town, finally confirming no one was following her, before cunningly slipping to the door of a Chinese-owned courtyard and knocking lightly. When she came out again, the box was gone. Therefore, I always assumed we had caught her before she delivered the package. Those waiting to collect it might not have received timely warnings within two or three days.

I had been fantasizing about leading an action team to storm a liaison station or even a command center of that most secretive intelligence organization. But now the situation is different. I should have thought of this "mailbox" delivery method.

It must be that fighting too many bandits these past few years has made me stupid.

"Ouch, it hurts!" she groaned. "Give me some water." I gave a "that's fine" indication. The military police untied the ropes on her wrists and lifted her upper body off the iron bed.

The girl leaned limply in the arms of the executioner who had tormented her for a day and a night, greedily drinking a whole cup of water like a child, and even sighing as if satisfied. The ropes on her feet were also untied. Because of her desperate struggle during the torture, the ropes were almost completely embedded in her flesh.

My men helped her to a chair, all with expressions of relief. Except for a few lunatics like Nakagawa, to have a young girl, even if she was Chinese, brought to this state inevitably felt strange to these farmers and fishermen from three or five years ago. Of course, if she didn't confess, we would still continue without hesitation. That was the only correct way for us to be loyal to the country and the Emperor during the war. Now the job is done.

I never doubted that Chen Huiqin would eventually break down. There is no one who can withstand the interrogation of the Japanese military police without confessing honestly. What I am anxious about is time; if it drags on too long, it will be meaningless for the prisoner to say anything. But I did not like Chen Huiqin's performance this time. Most people would agree to confess when they could no longer endure the extreme pain and fell into a state of complete frenzy. Then, if they were given a little time to rest before the interrogation began, they would be very cooperative. Because they would be terrified at this point, a mere threat of trying the same methods again would be enough to dispel any thought of resistance. But Chen Huiqin did not give in when she was closest to collapse. Compared to the brutal situation just now, her attitude when she spoke seemed a little too calm.

I glanced at her; the girl leaning back in the chair was pressing her left breast, where two sewing needles were stuck, with her head down and blowing air onto it with her pursed lips. Her legs were stretched out straight and wide apart—closing them would hurt more—oblivious to the men in front of her. A day and a night had transformed this woman, who should have been shy and unmarried, into this. Perhaps she truly couldn't go on.

I sat behind the recorder's desk and opened a hardcover folder. It was empty, of course. The only thing inside was a map of Shangling Town, with the route Chen Huiqin had taken on the first day outlined in pencil.

"Ms. Chen, let's begin."

A standard interrogation should allow the person being questioned to start from the beginning, letting her organize her story step by step. But I couldn't wait.

"Do you know who's going to pick it up?"

"No."

"Do you know when he'll go?"

"No."

"How will you report to your contact person once the item is delivered?"

"Three days later, I'll walk from Hongchang Cloth Shop on Weisi Road to Leji Noodle Shop wearing a red scarf. If I don't go, something bad has happened." "How will your contact person contact you?" "He'll deliver the letter to the school gatehouse. If it's a 5:30 PM invitation to dinner, I'll go to the mailbox to pick up the instructions or the item to be delivered." "Where's the mailbox?" "In a cave on the back of Hongshan Mountain. There's a crevice in the rock inside." "The back of Hongshan Mountain—good.

Which road did you take? The one in front of Lizhuang, the one with the stone archway?" "No, it's the Xiaogou side." So she was indeed familiar with Hongshan. The road in front of the archway was impassable.

"Where exactly is it?"

"Not up to the top of the mountain, turn right onto a small path. It's hard to pinpoint the exact location." "Was the instruction to retrieve the radio station in XX City also picked up here?" "Yes." "Which day?" "Three days ago, no, the day before that. The 12th." "Nonsense! You vile woman!" I slammed my hand heavily on the table, startling the recorder beside me. "The Imperial Army's 27th Company is conducting mountain warfare exercises at Red Hill. That hillside has been sealed off for seven or eight days!" She froze for a moment. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out.

"Dare to deceive the Imperial Army—think about it, think about what you just tasted. They'll pierce your flesh with needles, they'll cut your flesh off piece by piece." I put on a smiling face and walked to her side, touching the brand on her shoulder. My four fingers were slippery with the overflowing liquid, and I could feel her trembling under my touch. "Little girl, I know you're in pain, so much so that you misspoke. Can you try again? Where is the radio transmitter hidden?" There was no 27th Squadron, and no combat exercise. But if you didn't actually go to that place at the time you said you were there, you can't be sure if it existed or not. The problem with the person being interrogated is that a prepared statement cannot be changed. You say you're an ordinary teacher, that you know nothing, and that means you know nothing. A lie fabricated on the spot can never be without flaws. I think Chen Huiqin certainly knew this, but she simply couldn't take it anymore.

I believe that if she were to speak now, she would most likely tell the truth.

She didn't try to argue; she knew it was useless and would only make things worse. But she bit her lip and simply said nothing more.

Suppressing my anger and disappointment, I turned and walked back to the table. Behind me, I heard a jumble of noises and a woman's barely suppressed "Oh—oh—" sounds. The military police were holding her down in the chair, pricking her other nipple with a needle.

I stopped in front of the chair, turned around, walked to her, turned around again, and walked back and forth. She was now kneeling behind the chair, her outstretched hands pressed tightly against the seat. A needle was clamped between pliers and inserted into the nail of her index finger, then hammered into it with a hammer.

Her body jerked upwards with each hammer blow, violently swinging her head from side to side. Others came to help hold her down.

"The radio, where is it?"

"I—I—I—" she gasped, repeating "I" several times, but then fell silent. Another needle was driven into her middle finger, and the question was asked again.

"The radio, where is it?"

She fainted once.

The needle that had been driven into her ring finger emerged from the second joint of the finger. They nailed the first four fingers of her right hand, then proceeded to nail them one by one into her left hand, which was also full. Blood flowed everywhere from the back of her hands and the chair surface. I asked again,

"Where?"

She even had the strength to lift her head and give me a defiant look.

"My feet."

I pushed the girl to the ground, making her stand with her feet together, the soles of her feet pressed against a thick wooden board haphazardly bound with rope, her toes pointing straight up. Then I drove steel needles into each of her toes one by one.

Her toes were relatively short, so the needles pierced all the way to the base of the toes that had been pinched yesterday. From several particularly swollen toes, a surprisingly large amount of almost bloodless, cloudy foam flowed out.

She fainted a second time, and I couldn't wake her up after a long time. "Call the medic, call Yamada. Wake her up and call me." About two hours later, they came to the captain's office to tell me she had woken up. It was already evening.

"Keep burning her."

Make her kneel on the iron bed, face down, arms outstretched, bound. Starting from her shoulders, press the red-hot iron bars down for about five seconds, then replace with another bar, moving it down four or five centimeters and pressing it down again. Continue this process, burning down to her buttocks. Then return to the top, starting from her neck, this time almost skeletally burning her spine. The young woman reacted strongly. Continue burning down to her tailbone.

Then the second shoulder. Three rows could be burned on her entire back, and we burned three rows like that.

Untie her and drag her onto the torture bed. Chen Huiqin no longer had the strength to struggle; she lay motionless on her back, unbound. Her legs dangled limply over the edge of the bed. First, we couldn't let her faint, so we had Yamada inject her with an injection supposedly to stimulate the nerves.

"Call a few more people," I ordered. So we brought a few more men, and twelve or thirteen men crowded into room number two, surrounding Chen Huiqin, whose genitals had already been burned inside and out.

I have indeed sworn to write down everything that happened in the past truthfully and objectively. But I am probably too old. For those two hours that night, even trying to recall the expression on her face under the electric light is beyond the limits of my heart's capacity.

It must be said that during those two hours, in order to make her "more acutely feel the spirit of the Japanese," she was branded with a hot iron at least once more.

Two guys had been cooking chili sauce in a copper pot on a small stove. It was the kind of red chili peppers that farmers hang in strings everywhere, chopped into small pieces, put in a small pot, added some water, and simmered it on the fire. Later, everyone couldn't stand the fumes, so they carried the whole stove outside. After

everyone finished, they brought the pot back in. A small pot of bright red, mushy stuff. They said to the woman, "You must be very tired after working for so long, it will get infected tomorrow. Let me disinfect it for you." So they spread her legs and stuffed handfuls of red chili sauce into her with their bare hands, spreading it with their fingers.

To prevent her from interfering with her hands, they handcuffed her hands behind her back again.

In truth, Chen Huiqin was powerless to resist; she couldn't even manage a slight twist of her body to dodge. She lay there calmly, letting them fool around below, occasionally twitching slightly and letting out a few short, guttural moans from deep within her throat, like someone having a nightmare. However, as the chili peppers took effect, her breathing gradually became rapid.

"Alright, you must feel warm inside now, right?" Everyone stood up and looked at her.

Under everyone's gaze, the girl slowly brought her legs together, then struggled to lift one leg and place it on top of the other. She twisted her legs together tightly, then turned her body to one side. She tried three times before finally managing to lie on her side. All these movements were performed at a slow, deliberate pace, like a movie in slow motion.

Now she tried to bend her legs and press her knees against her stomach. This still didn't work. Her narrow nostrils flared, and her chest heaved for a while before she finally mustered the strength to stretch her legs as far as possible again, confined by her shackles, and gasped for air as if her tongue had been burned. This had nothing to do with her burning lower body; she simply didn't know what to do.

She murmured, "Thirsty, give me some water—"

This reminded us. Someone gently pried open her mouth, and she stared wide-eyed at the small pot of chili sauce, half-full, brought to her lips, her eyes wide with madness. The deep red sauce splattered all over her mouth, covering her nostrils. Now, to breathe, she had to inhale this stuff into her lungs. The

young men who had been called in those nights earlier, those who hadn't participated in the earlier torture, laughed heartily, while the military police who had been working for two days turned and went to the other end of the room to wash their hands. I thought their morale was off and wanted to stop them and reprimand them, but then I felt a strong wave of exhaustion myself. Leaving two military police behind, I dismissed the rest from the room.

I stared with disgust at Chen Huiqin, who was coughing and choking, endlessly writhing on the floor. Her face was flushed a deep purple, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, and she hadn't been able to catch her breath properly. Whistling sounds emanated from her chest, while a jumble of liquid gushed from her mouth and nostrils, layered on her face and disheveled hair—a mixture of dark red lumps, indistinguishable as blood clots or chili flakes. Then came another series of coughs, as if she were vomiting up her insides.

"This isn't a woman, it's a demon," I thought angrily. She certainly looked like a ghost now. "No one can hold out like this," I thought, feeling less like I was torturing her and more like she had been sent to torment me. She knew perfectly well she would eventually confess, yet she stubbornly persisted, holding out for every minute that came.

It was supposed to be a great opportunity to gain recognition from superiors and uncover a well-hidden enemy intelligence organization. This crazy woman ruined it all. I cursed everyone and everything in that rage: the damned Chinese woman, the damned military driver, the damned leftist agencies.

The woman finally coughed up most of the chili powder she had inhaled. She whimpered and crawled on the ground, turning over so her back was facing upwards, writhing like a worm, silently rubbing her skin against the ground. She hoped the cool air from the blue brick floor would seep into her lower abdomen and ease the burning fire within her. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back, making her completely useless.

"Help her," the two unlucky men said dejectedly, washing the female prisoner's face, helping her up to drink some water and porridge. They even tried to take her to the toilet. These things were always done by other prisoners, but Chen Huiqin hadn't been allowed to come into contact with a single Chinese person since entering this room.

"Hang her on the wall." They preferred this to the other task. They pulled the girl to the wall and tied her handcuffed hands behind her back to a section of iron pipe fixed to the brick wall. The pipe was positioned slightly above knee height. With her hands fixed at this height, the prisoner couldn't straighten her legs when standing, and her heels couldn't touch the ground when squatting.

This was a method used by police all over the world. A more stringent method was to also tie the prisoner's feet to the corner of the wall with rope. This prevented him from shifting his feet outwards and using his back to support part of his weight against the wall. Another iron pipe at the base of the wall in cell number two served this purpose, so they wrapped the iron chains on the woman's feet around the pipe several times and tightened them.

Chen Huiqin was already unable to stand upright, and her face changed color the moment her burned soles touched the ground.

She slid down the brick wall, her weight landing on her folded toes. She let out a soft cry, but her body trembled violently. The steel needles still stuck under her toenails were twisted beyond recognition. I went over and stepped on her toes with my sturdy military boot, grinding them forcefully from side to side.

I lifted her foot to look at it; it was flattened like a crushed insect, with blood squeezed out from the front of each toe.

The girl, curled up beneath me, barely managed to lift her face, her eyes glistening with tears. Her lips trembled for a long time, but she couldn't utter a single word. I waited a while, then began to stomp hard on her other foot.

She was probably unconscious. "Wake her up," I coldly ordered. "Watch her, don't let her fall asleep." Chen Huiqin spent the entire night in a half-squatting position with her injured leg, her arms bound behind her back. I don't know how the two military policemen on night duty managed to torment the girl to pass the time. But I really wanted to know what she was thinking an hour later, when her joints ached terribly and every muscle trembled uncontrollably. I know that feeling must have been like every minute felt like an entire day, coupled with the burning sensation in her lower body—an endless torment. Did that girl never even consider giving up?

I don't know if anyone has seen this before! Anyway, my heart ached after reading it. How many unknown anti-Japanese heroes like Chen Huiqin are there? Not long ago, Changsha also held an anti-Japanese petition, and judging from the photos, many people from all walks of life enthusiastically participated. But do we really understand why we should resist Japan? The hatred of history, the denial and falsification of history, and now its arrogance make me utterly disgusted with this filthy country; I am beyond angry.

In this fast-paced era of fast food, I wonder if anyone will still read this passage so carefully? If you have, I think your feelings will change.

[The End]

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/220364.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=220364&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : A romantic encounter in a soft sleeper compartment

Next Page : Sinking into the Sea of Desire: A Wife-Swapping Victim's Confession (A Betrayer's Confession) - Chapter 170: Husband is Away on a Business Trip 4

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

"Female spy"

comment Open a new window to view comments