Amidst a climate of conspiracy and coercion, Song Zhijun surrendered to the KGB, and fate began to spin even more frantically. Song Zhijun knew full well that the overwhelming nationwide wanted warrants hung like a sword of Damocles, poised to strike him down at any moment. Plastic surgery was his only hope for survival; otherwise, he would have nowhere to hide.
"Major Frunze, I need plastic surgery. There are wanted posters everywhere in the country. If I don't change my appearance, I won't be able to survive." Song Zhijun looked anxious, his eyes full of the desire to survive. Frunze sat there with a cold expression. After a moment of silence, he nodded slightly: "Okay, it will also help you carry out your mission."
Song Zhijun breathed a sigh of relief after receiving the agreement. He hadn't slept for seven days, overcome by extreme fear and exhaustion. Now, as his frayed nerves relaxed, sleepiness washed over him like a flood. He lay down on the bed and quickly fell into a deep sleep, snoring like thunder.
Just as he was sleeping soundly, the doctor arranged by Frunze quietly entered the room.
The doctor, dressed in a pristine white coat, exuded a cold aura under the dim light. He held a syringe in his hand, the transparent anesthetic inside gleaming eerily in the dim light.
The doctor gently approached Song Zhijun, inserted the needle into his skin, and slowly pushed the syringe in. Song Zhijun frowned in his sleep, but did not wake up. As the anesthetic was injected, his body completely relaxed.
The operation began. The sharp scalpel moved across Song Zhijun's face, as if carving a work of art, yet with a chilling cruelty. Blood oozed from the wound, which was quickly wiped away by an assistant.
The doctor's eyes were focused and indifferent, his hands moved precisely and skillfully. In this silent room, the only sound was the subtle sound of the scalpel touching the flesh.
After an unknown amount of time, the operation was finally over.
Song Zhijun slowly awoke, feeling a sharp pain on his face, as if thousands of needles were pricking him simultaneously. He instinctively reached out to touch his head, but found it was wrapped in layers of thick gauze, revealing only his eyes, nose, and mouth.
"My...my face..." Song Zhijun's voice trembled with a hint of relief.
However, he knew in his heart that, although the process was painful, he was temporarily safe, and the face on the wanted poster no longer existed. At this moment, he had only one thought: to escape Hong Kong, escape Frunze's control, and fly away from home to find a glimmer of hope for survival.
"You're awake. The operation was successful. Take good care of yourself from now on." The doctor's voice was calm, as if what had just been performed was just an ordinary treatment.
Song Zhijun lay in bed, his head wrapped in thick gauze, the sharp pain on his face a constant reminder of the dangerous situation he was in. He was secretly thinking about how to escape from all this when the door was roughly pushed open with a bang, and Frunze walked in with a steady but oppressive step.
"You think you can get away with plastic surgery? How naive." Fu Longzhi sneered and casually threw a stack of photos in front of Song Zhijun. The photos scattered in the air, like pieces of death sentences.
Song Zhijun picked up the photo with trembling hands. He took a look at it and was struck by lightning. The blood instantly drained from his face and despair completely overwhelmed him like a tide.
The photos showed him in a dishevel during the interrogation, and also showed him sleeping with a declaration of treason in his hand. Each photo was like a sharp blade, piercing his heart.
"No...how could this be..." Song Zhijun's voice was filled with tears. He couldn't believe his eyes, but he had to face this cruel reality.
Frunze looked down at him, his eyes full of mockery and complacency. "Humph, not only are there photos, but there's also video footage. Where do you think you can run to? The KGB's methods are not something you can withstand."
Song Zhijun felt his head spin. The last shred of hope he had clung to was completely shattered. He collapsed on the bed, like a stray dog with its spine removed.
"Once the gauze on your face is removed, just face the camera and honestly tell us your name and the process of your defection, and your mission will be completed." Frunze's voice was cold and unquestionable, as if he was reading out a death sentence.
"Why...why..." Song Zhijun muttered to himself, his heart filled with grief, anger and helplessness. He knew that he had fallen completely into the trap set by the KGB. No matter how hard he struggled, he could not escape its control.
The room was filled with suffocating silence, with only Song Zhijun's heavy breathing and Frunze's cold gaze.
"From now on, you can only contact me through a single line. Your code name is Night Owl."
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