Courtyard House: Drunk and tipsy, the whole courtyard exposed at the start.

October 20th.

In the late autumn of Beijing, a thin layer of white frost had formed in the morning.

Zhang Dabiao spent most of last night working as a water carrier in his "little nest"—the Mixue Ice Cream shop in Hong Kong is doing booming business and uses a huge amount of water, so he had to tie a plastic pipe to the faucet and then tie a rope to his hand, delivering water while resting, all night long.

I didn't sleep very comfortably.

Just as I was about to take a nap, I heard a piercing electrical hum coming from a loudspeaker in the alley outside.

"Sizzle—sizzle—"

Immediately afterwards, the majestic and stirring "March of the Volunteers" resounded through the sky.

This is not right.

Normally, when the news is broadcast at seven in the morning, there's not such a big commotion, and the national anthem is never played at this time.

Something terrible has happened! Something really terrible has happened!

Zhang Dabiao jolted awake, jumped out of bed, put on his clothes, and pushed open the door.

The front and middle courtyards were in complete chaos.

"They've started fighting! They've really started fighting!"

Yan Jiecheng hadn't even put his shoes on properly; he was shuffling around the yard in his cloth shoes, his face contorted with excitement, like it was New Year's Day.

Xu Damao rushed out of the backyard, holding his belt, and almost bumped into Shazhu, who was carrying a washbasin.

"Xu Damao, are you wailing like you're in mourning?!" Sha Zhu dodged to the side, his face still wet with water, "You look like you stepped in dog poop first thing in the morning—"

"You don't know anything!" Xu Damao's eyes widened. "They've started fighting! With the Indians!"

Sha Zhu was taken aback: "A-San? Which A-San?"

"Which Indian could it be! The one from the southwest!"

The words had barely left his lips when the announcer's voice, high-pitched and filled with indignation, rang out from the loudspeaker, each word striking a chord deep within everyone's hearts: "The Indian army has launched a large-scale armed attack on our border outposts!"

"Our border troops, having reached the point of no return!"

"Forced to launch a counterattack in self-defense!"

The courtyard fell silent instantly.

Everyone froze on the spot, their hands stopping what they were doing—the person brushing their teeth forgot to spit out the foam in their mouth, the person holding the chamber pot forgot to put it down, and even the second auntie who was preparing breakfast in the corridor spilled the cornmeal she was holding all over the ground.

After a brief silence.

Liu Haizhong slapped his thigh hard, making a crisp "smack" sound.

"Damn it!"

"Da Biao was right!"

"These Indians, they really dare to lay a hand on me!"

That shout reminded everyone.

More than ten days ago, Zhang Dabiao's long speech during an interview with reporters at the stone table in the Intermediate People's Court still echoed in my ears—things like "Nehru has the personality of a gambler," "misjudging the situation will have consequences," and "if we don't fight, we won't fight; but if we do, we'll make him suffer."

Every single word and phrase has come true!

Everyone turned their heads in unison, looking towards the direction of the east courtyard.

Zhang Dabiao was leaning against a pillar in the veranda, smoking a cigarette. His expression was almost too calm—as if the news outside wasn't about the start of war, but rather that cabbage prices had dropped again today.

Now, everyone in the courtyard looked at Zhang Dabiao differently.

I used to think he was an artist, a richest man, a cadre, a capable person with shrewd skills, and a living Yama who was not to be trifled with.

now--

This is simply divine!

------------

News travels fast.

After getting off work in the evening.

No one went anywhere; they all spontaneously gathered at the Central Court.

Yan Bugui brought out the Red Star brand radio that he usually treasured and placed it on the large blue stone by the pool. He wiped the dust off three times and turned the volume knob to the maximum—he had asked Yi Zhonghai to sell the batteries; after all, Old Yi wouldn't dare refuse.

The entire hospital was packed with people of all ages and genders.

Even Jia Zhangshi huddled obediently in the corner, listening intently, but the shoe sole she was holding in her hand didn't manage to prick her with a needle for a long time.

The radio kept broadcasting the latest battle reports from the front.

The announcer's voice was impassioned:

"Our troops swiftly broke through the enemy's defenses!"

"Annihilate the invading enemy!"

"The first battle of the Kejie Lang Campaign has been a resounding success!"

"The People's Liberation Army is mighty!" Liu Haizhong exclaimed excitedly, his face flushed, waving his fist. "Well done! That's how we should fight!"

Sha Zhu chimed in from the side, mimicking the motion of flipping a wok: "If you ask me, with that Indian's skills, if it were me, I'd beat them to a pulp with a cleaver!"

Xu Damao scoffed from the side, "Silly Zhu, you're just bragging. Just don't wet your pants on the battlefield."

"What do you know!" Sha Zhu glared at him. "That's called presence!"

"What a load of bull! You can't even fight properly in our own compound—"

Just as the two were about to start fighting again, He Yushui squeezed into the covered walkway—Da Biao was sitting there listening, looking like an empress dowager.

She tugged at Zhang Dabiao's sleeve: "Brother Dabiao, everyone's going crazy with joy, why aren't you excited at all?"

Qin Jingru also came over, holding a half-peeled scallion in her hand: "Yeah, Brother Da Biao, you're amazing! How did you figure that out?"

Zhang Dabiao remained calm: "What's there to be excited about? It was expected."

He flicked his cigarette ash and explained casually, "The Indian army, which hasn't experienced industrialization, relies entirely on buying weapons and equipment from all over the world. Their logistics are a complete mess, and the soldiers can't even get enough to eat. They might be good for counterinsurgency warfare, but in a real battle, they'd just be sending their own people to their deaths."

"Just you wait, it won't be long before it ends."

He Yushui rubbed her forehead, her eyes sparkling: "Really? You can really win so quickly?"

Zhang Dabiao nodded and put down the enamel mug.

"Completely devastating."

"I estimate that we can probably reach the outskirts of their capital."

The neighbors were stunned when he said that.

You love your country, and so do we. We understand and believe in your confidence that we will win.

You said we'd win soon, and we... believed you.

But you're saying that you can sweep through the enemy's capital and destroy the country—isn't that annihilation?

This is a bit... not that I don't believe it, but it's just too exaggerated, isn't it?

Xu Damao was the first to come over, his face beaming with smiles: "Da Biao, what you're saying... to the capital? How far would that take us?"

Zhang Dabiao glanced at him sideways: "What, you don't believe me?"

"I believe you! Of course I believe you!" Xu Damao quickly agreed. "I just... find it a bit unbelievable."

"There are plenty of unbelievable things." Zhang Dabiao stood up, dusted off his military overcoat, and said in his usual nonchalant tone, "Just remember one thing—the elite class in India, from top to bottom, are all inexplicably confident."

"They see themselves as the heirs of the British Empire in South Asia, and think we are still the same poor and weak society from decades ago."

"People are prone to making mistakes once they have a misconception."

"If you make a mistake, you'll get a beating."

"You only know the pain when you get beaten up."

He paused, then added, his tone carrying that classic "I told you so, but you didn't believe me, and there's nothing I can do about it" kind of smugness—

"Besides, I'm not a fortune teller; this is all legitimate strategic analysis. Analyses can be right or wrong, and nobody can say for sure, right?"

"Stop being so mystical! This is strategic analysis, not feudal superstition!"

"If anyone says I'm promoting feudal superstition, I'll slap them across the face!"