Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

Section 1: Outside the Chenguang Cold Operating Room of the Military Region General Hospital, the Heart Suspended Blade

With a screech of brakes, the Hongqi Xingyao S600L Guard armored limousine came to a steady stop in front of the emergency building of the military hospital. The sky was already faintly bright, with low-hanging leaden clouds filtering the morning light into a somber gray. The atmosphere in front of the hospital mirrored the gloomy dawn—solemn and heavy.

Replacing the usual white-coated, hurried medical staff and anxious patients were two rows of soldiers, armed to the teeth, their expressions as cold and steely. Holding Type 81 assault rifles, they stood in combat stances, muzzles down but fingers constantly on the trigger guards, their sharp eyes scanning every inch of space and every direction like searchlights. Any unauthorized personnel attempting to approach were unceremoniously stopped behind the perimeter. The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant, the faint acrid smell of lingering gunpowder, and an invisible yet suffocating tension.

As soon as the convoy came to a stop, the glass doors of the emergency building were flung open. Dr. Chen Shuhua, the chief physician of gynecology who had been notified and had been waiting there for some time, a female doctor in her fifties with her hair neatly combed and a serious yet anxious expression, personally led four experienced midwives and nurses, pushing a mobile hospital bed covered with a snow-white sterile sheet, and jogged up to greet them.

"Quick! Be careful!" Director Chen's voice was short, forceful, and left no room for argument.

Wang Huanbo pushed open the car door and bent down to reach into the back seat. Instead of asking anyone else to help, he used as steady and gentle a movement as possible to personally lift the frail Lou Xiao'e from the stretcher. He could feel his wife's body trembling slightly in his arms; her face was as pale as paper, and the stray hairs on her forehead were soaked with cold sweat, clinging to her skin. Although he had temporarily stabilized the situation with his light energy, the feeling of life slipping away and the restless movements of the fetus in her womb were still clearly transmitted to him through their skin-to-skin contact.

"Xiao'e, we're at the hospital. The doctors are all here. It'll be alright," Wang Huanbo whispered comfortingly in her ear, his voice calm and composed, as if the same person who had transformed into a demon and annihilated his enemies in the courtyard just moments before was not the same person. Only those who knew him best could perhaps glimpse the turbulent waves surging within him from his slightly tightened arms and the unyielding coldness deep in his eyes.

He gently placed Lou Xiao'e on the mobile hospital bed. Director Chen immediately went to her, quickly checking her pupils and pulse while placing a stethoscope on her prominently swollen abdomen. A few seconds later, she frowned slightly and said to the midwife, "Her blood pressure is low, the fetal heart rate is fast, and there are signs of regular contractions. Go directly to operating room number three for treatment to prevent miscarriage. Notify the anesthesiology and neonatal departments to be on standby! Quickly!"

"Yes!" the medical staff responded in unison, pushing the hospital bed like a well-trained commando unit, moving quickly towards the operating room along the cleared passageway. The rubber wheels rolled over the smooth terrazzo floor, making a rapid and rhythmic sound that struck Wang Huanbo's heart.

Wang Huanbo took a step forward to follow, but was stopped by Director Chen raising her hand. "Engineer Wang, please wait outside. We will do our best." Her gaze carried the calmness and unquestionable authority of a professional.

Wang Huanbo stopped in his tracks, watching the slowly closing operating room door, which would isolate his wife's figure and the busy silhouettes of the medical staff inside. Above the door, the three bright red words "Operating" suddenly lit up, like a red-hot branding iron, searing his retina.

He didn't insist on going inside, nor did he slump onto the bench like most family members would. He simply stood there quietly, like a silent statue. The pale light of the corridor shone on his blood-stained and soot-covered Zhongshan suit, illuminating his cold, hard profile. Lin Zhan and Xiao Zhao stood a little distance behind him, one on each side, equally silent, but their wary eyes never leaving their surroundings.

Time ticked by slowly in the disinfectant-smelling corridor, each second passing in a agonizingly slow manner. Occasionally, a nurse would rush in or out, bringing instruments or blood plasma, casting a glance at Wang Huanbo that was a mixture of awe, pity, and curiosity, but no one dared to approach him and speak.

I don't know how much time passed, maybe only a dozen minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Suddenly, the operating room door was pushed open, and a midwife wearing a mask poked her head out, her voice urgent: "Director Chen asked me to inform you that the fetal movement has suddenly intensified, and the cervix is ​​showing signs of dilation. The pregnancy-preserving treatment may not be able to continue, and we need to switch to the premature delivery plan! Family members, please prepare yourselves!"

Premature birth?!

Wang Huanbo's heart clenched, as if gripped by an icy hand! How could this be? He had clearly used light energy to soothe the fetal movements and stabilize the uterine environment, so why did it suddenly worsen, even leading to premature labor? Was it a delayed reaction to the previous shock? Or... was there some other unknown reason? Could it be that his limited light energy was ultimately insufficient in the most exquisite and complex process of human life creation, and might even have had a counterproductive effect?

A surge of anger, a mixture of self-blame, anxiety, and helplessness in the face of the unknown medical situation, quietly rose within him. He prided himself on possessing knowledge and abilities far ahead of his time, yet when his wife and child's lives truly hung in the balance, he could only stand outside the door, watching helplessly, utterly powerless!

He needed to do something to alleviate the anxiety that was almost consuming him. His fingers unconsciously reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of specially supplied "Chunghwa" cigarettes. Li Huaide had given them to him earlier, saying that people like him who overworked their brains needed to stay alert. He rarely smoked, but at this moment, he needed something to suppress the churning emotions in his chest.

"Snap." A match was struck, and a pale blue flame ignited the cigarette. He took a deep drag, the pungent smoke filling his lungs, bringing a burning sensation and dizziness, but also a false sense of calm. He slowly exhaled smoke rings, watching the bluish-gray smoke twist, rise, and finally dissipate under the stark white light, much like his chaotic thoughts and uncontrollable fate at that moment.

Section Two: A Warm Heart Spreads from a Resolute General, the Flames of Revenge Ignite in His Heart

Just as Wang Huanbo was enveloped in anxiety and smoke, the sound of firm, powerful footsteps came from the end of the corridor. The steps were steady and solid, with a rhythm unique to soldiers.

Wang Huanbo did not turn around, but his senses had already detected the aura of the person who had come—not hostile, but certainly not an ordinary medical worker.

"Hahaha, Engineer Wang! Sorry to keep you waiting!" A loud, rough laugh with a heavy Henan accent shattered the silence in the corridor. The voice was so distinctive and penetrating that Wang Huanbo instantly recognized who it was.

He slowly turned around. Two middle-aged officers in crisp military uniforms strode towards him. The one in front wasn't tall, even somewhat lean, but his back was ramrod straight, like a javelin. He had a dark face, a buzz cut, and small but frighteningly bright eyes that shone with a piercing light, as if they could see right through people. A habitual upward curve to his lips carried a defiant, arrogant smile. This was none other than Li Yunlong, the man who had once struck fear into the hearts of the Japanese army and was now the commander of the Capital Garrison Division!

Half a step behind was a middle-aged military officer with glasses and a refined and composed demeanor—Zhao Gang, the division's political commissar. Although the two had very different personalities, they walked side by side with a unique harmony and authority.

"Commander Li, Political Commissar Zhao." Wang Huanbo stubbed out his cigarette, forcing a polite smile, his voice slightly hoarse. He respected these two legendary figures, but he had no mood for pleasantries at the moment.

"Alright, alright, stop with the nonsense!" Li Yunlong waved his hand, walked over to Wang Huanbo, patted him on the shoulder without hesitation (quite forcefully), and glared at him, looking him up and down. "Good heavens! No missing limbs, and you're still in good spirits! Damn it, I heard those sons of bitches of spies have even gotten to your wife's bedside? You're still standing here unscathed, you're a real man!"

His words were rude, yet carried a soldier's straightforwardness and admiration. Zhao Gang shook his head helplessly and interjected, "Engineer Wang, you've been frightened. The leaders are very concerned about you and your wife, and specially sent Lao Li and me to check on you. If you need anything, just let us know. The General Hospital of the Military Region has organized the strongest medical team to ensure the safety of your wife and child."

Li Yunlong picked up the conversation, his joking expression fading, and lowered his voice: "I've asked you to pass on the message from above: Comrade Wang Huanbo is a precious asset to our country. This heinous attack by enemy agents is a serious provocation against all our scientific researchers and the newly established republic! We will remember this blood debt! Please rest assured, your wife and child will receive the best possible treatment. Your task now is to take care of yourself; your mind is more valuable than that of a division or an army!"

These words were undoubtedly a gesture of comfort and reassurance from the highest level. The coldness and anger in Wang Huanbo's heart melted slightly from this undisguised attention and protection. He nodded and said in a deep voice, "Thank you for your concern, Commander. Thank you, Division Commander Li and Political Commissar Zhao. I'm fine. It's just…"

His gaze returned to the closed operating room door with its red light on, and the coldness in his eyes hardened once more: "I just want to know, who exactly are these bastards? Who gave them the audacity to use military-level firepower in broad daylight in the capital to carry out assassinations, kidnappings, and even target pregnant women and children?!"

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like iron, carrying an extremely suppressed, icy killing intent. The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop several degrees.

Li Yunlong and Zhao Gang exchanged a glance, both seeing the gravity in each other's eyes. Li Yunlong's smile vanished, his small eyes flashing coldly: "Damn it, just thinking about this makes me furious! According to the initial interrogation of prisoners and the on-site investigation, this attack was a 'joint operation' orchestrated by multiple forces! There were Taiwanese spies, CIA lackeys, and... damn it, remnants of the Japanese who had infiltrated!"

"The Japanese?!" Wang Huanbo's eyes flashed with a sharp look.

"Yes!" Zhao Gang pushed up his glasses, his tone heavy with grief and anger. "And they were the most stubborn, the most deeply poisoned by militarism, the ones who accepted suicide missions! They used human bombs to clear the way, their methods were extremely cruel! Their goal was to capture you or kill you at all costs! According to intelligence analysis, it's very likely that your previously developed 'Ark' energy technology, as well as your recent breakthroughs in automatic exchange and computer technology, made them feel an unprecedented threat and...greed!"

Li Yunlong gritted his teeth and said, "Damn it! They saw we had good stuff, and since they couldn't steal it openly, they resorted to underhanded tactics! They wanted to take you away or destroy our 'brain'! Engineer Wang, don't worry, this isn't over! The higher-ups have given a death order to investigate thoroughly! Every single force involved in planning and providing support will be made to pay back their principal and interest sooner or later!"

Wang Huanbo listened quietly, his expression unchanged, but a dark vortex seemed to be slowly swirling in his deep eyes. Taiwan, America, Japan… fine, very well. You can mess with me, but you shouldn't have targeted my wife and unborn child!

Dragons have scales that provoke their wrath; touch them and they will be enraged. And some people, once they cross that line, must be prepared to bear the wrath of thunder. Wang Huanbo is no saint with a magnanimous heart; he's just an ordinary person who wants to protect his family and, incidentally, use his knowledge to benefit his country. But since some people don't want him to live in peace, he doesn't mind showing them what kind of storm an "ordinary person" who wields power beyond his time and is thoroughly enraged can stir up!

The seeds of revenge were sown silently at this moment. Not out of a sense of justice, but out of the most primal and direct blood feud! He would personally collect this debt! In his own way!

"Commander Li, Political Commissar Zhao," Wang Huanbo spoke slowly, his voice eerily calm, "I understand what the leaders mean. Please also convey to them that I, Wang Huanbo, am fine. Some scores can be settled later."

Looking at Wang Huanbo's calm and expressionless face, Li Yunlong felt a sudden unease in his heart. He had fought half his life and seen all sorts of ruthless people, but this refined engineer before him felt more dangerous than the bloodthirsty enemies on the battlefield. It was a restrained, cold danger that seemed to freeze one's soul.

"Good! You're a real man!" Li Yunlong patted Wang Huanbo heavily on the shoulder. "Anything you need, just let me know! I, Old Li, may not be good at much else, but I'm an expert at leading troops, fighting, and cleaning up messes!"

Zhao Gang also solemnly said, "Engineer Wang, please rest assured and wait for the surgery results. We and the country will take care of things outside."

Just then, the operating room door opened again, and Director Chen walked out, looking tired but with focused eyes. His gaze fell directly on Wang Huanbo: "Engineer Wang, your wife's condition has stabilized for now, and the contractions have been suppressed, but the fetus is still unstable, and the risk of premature birth is extremely high. We need to perform a cesarean section. Here is the surgical consent form; please sign it."

Without the slightest hesitation, Wang Huanbo took the pen and signed his name in the designated spot. The pen tip scratched across the paper, making a soft, resolute sound.

"Director Chen, please." He handed back the consent form, his eyes piercing. "Use the best medicine, the best equipment, don't worry about the cost. I want them, mother and child, to be safe."

"We will do our best." Director Chen nodded solemnly and turned to return to the operating room.

The door closed again. The red light remained glaringly bright.

Wang Huanbo turned his gaze back to the window. Dawn was approaching. But the blood shed in Courtyard No. 95 would not have been shed in vain. The pain of his wife, the danger to his child, the wounds of his comrades, the deaths of civilians… all of it would become fuel, igniting the cold fire of revenge burning within him. He was waiting, waiting for an outcome, and also waiting for an opportunity that would allow him to act without restraint.

Section 3: The devastation needs to be healed; help from all sides is needed to soothe the traumatized souls.

While Wang Huanbo endured inner turmoil and burning anger outside the operating room of the military hospital, a large-scale, highly efficient cleanup and rescue operation was unfolding methodically in the pre-dawn chill of No. 95 Nanluoguxiang and its surrounding area. Last night's sudden bloodshed left behind not only blood and death, but also endless pain and wounds that urgently needed healing.

Medical rescue, life comes first.

Elite medical teams dispatched by major hospitals such as Peking Union Medical College Hospital, Beijing Hospital, and Fuwai Hospital, under the guidance and protection of the police and militia, had already arrived at the scene some time ago. The pungent smell of gunpowder had not yet completely dissipated, and the stench of blood was still strong, but the medical angels were fearless and quickly set up several temporary treatment points in the alleys centered around No. 95 Courtyard.

"Prioritize the seriously injured! Stop the bleeding! Immobilize them! Establish intravenous access!"

"Quick! This person needs a blood transfusion immediately! Type O blood! Do you have any plasma left?"

"Don't be afraid, child. Auntie will bandage you up; it won't hurt..."

The hoarse commands of doctors, the gentle soothing voices of nurses, the suppressed groans and sobs of the injured, and the crisp sounds of instruments clashing mingled together. Snow-white gauze was quickly stained crimson with blood, bottles of plasma and saline solution were hung on makeshift IV stands, and silver surgical instruments gleamed with a cold yet hopeful light under the emergency lights.

He Daqing was carried out on a makeshift stretcher made from a door panel by Sha Zhu and Yu Shui. Although Sha Zhu had applied simple pressure to stop the bleeding from his gunshot wound, he had lost too much blood, his face was ashen, and his breathing was weak. A deputy director of surgery from Xiehe Hospital personally led a team to take over, and after a quick examination, his expression was grave: "Penetrating wound, hemorrhagic shock, immediate surgery is necessary! Take him to ambulance number two, straight back to the hospital!"

"Dad! Dad, hang in there!" He Yushui cried out, trying to catch up, but was gently pulled back by an older nurse: "Girl, don't worry, leave it to us. Go take care of your brother, he's injured too." Sha Zhu had cuts on his arms and cheeks from stray bullets and flying debris. Although they weren't fatal, they still needed treatment.

On the other side, Yu Li's parents supported each other, still shaken. Yu's mother had tripped and sprained her ankle in the chaos; Yu's father had suffered a cut on his forehead from a flying piece of tile, blood smearing half his face. They were taken to the minor injuries treatment area for disinfection, stitching, and bandaging. Yu Li, suppressing her worry (about Sha Zhu and He Daqing in the backyard), stayed with her parents, her face pale. The emerald bracelet on her wrist gleamed damply and dimly in the morning light and emergency lamps.

More wounded were carried out. There were steel mill workers hit by stray bullets, neighbors injured in the procession, and distant relatives from Yu Li's family who had been caught in the crossfire… Tragic news kept coming: an uncle from the east courtyard, who had come to a wedding, was hit in the chest by a stray bullet and died before the ambulance arrived; an elderly woman in the middle courtyard, who was helping to serve dishes, was hit in the abdomen by a ricocheting bullet and was in critical condition; a teenager in the front courtyard, who had been watching the commotion, was hit on the head by a brick from the explosion and remained unconscious…

Cries of grief and wails echoed through the alleyways. The shadow of death and injury loomed over the hearts of everyone who had experienced it. Wang Hongmei, the capable director of the neighborhood committee, her eyes red and swollen, her voice hoarse, yet she still mustered her strength, moving between the various treatment points, coordinating personnel, comforting families, and recording the casualties. Each newly added name and description of injury in her notebook weighed heavily on her mind.

The site was cleaned up and order was restored.

As the injured were transferred in batches, the work of clearing the scene, maintaining order, and protecting evidence at the scene was fully launched.

Police officers from Nanluoguxiang Police Station, reinforcements from the district public security bureau, and street armed teams and militia members brought by Wang Hongmei were mixed together and set up several cordons, completely sealing off No. 95 courtyard and several surrounding alleys. No unauthorized personnel were allowed to enter.

Inside and outside the courtyard, devastation was everywhere. The central and western courtyards looked as if they had been swept by a hurricane: collapsed stoves, shattered water tanks, broken tables, chairs, and dishes; countless bullet holes and shrapnel embedded in the walls and doors; large patches of congealed and blackened blood; scattered bullet casings; and the remains of weapons abandoned by enemy agents (destroyed submachine guns and grenade fragments)... as well as the twisted corpses of those enemy agents, covered with white sheets, awaiting special personnel to handle them.

"Search thoroughly! Mark and seal all suspicious items—shell casings, document fragments, clothing fibers!"

"Measure the trajectory! Draw a map of the scene! Photograph and document the pattern of the bloodstains!"

Criminal investigation experts and forensic personnel from the Ministry of Public Security have arrived. Wearing white gloves and carrying cameras, rulers, and tweezers, they are carefully examining and collecting evidence amidst the mess. Every bullet hole, every pool of blood, and every remnant could point to the enemy's identity, the source of their equipment, and details of their operation.

Meanwhile, a team of laborers organized by the neighborhood committee began to enter the site, clearing away garbage and debris from non-critical areas, covering large areas of bloodstains with sand, and initially repairing the breaches in the collapsed courtyard wall (temporarily plugging them with wooden planks and bricks) to prevent secondary collapse. The pungent smell of lime water began to permeate the air, partially masking the stench of blood.

To appease the public and assess the losses.

Wang Hongmei, along with officials from the street office and neighborhood committee, visited affected residents door-to-door. It wasn't just the No. 95 courtyard; many homes in neighboring courtyards also suffered damage from stray bullets and explosions—shattered windows, torn roof tiles, and holes punched through courtyard walls by ricochets…

"Aunt Zhang, your window is broken. Please register it and the government will replace it with a new one."

"Master Li, we'll send someone to repair the roof tiles this afternoon. Please bear with us for the next couple of days."

"Aunt Zhao, you've been frightened. This is a small token of our appreciation from the neighborhood (a packet of sugar and two pounds of noodles) to help you calm down. If you encounter any difficulties, please feel free to come to us."

Officials patiently recorded the losses of each household, comforted the frightened residents, and distributed limited relief supplies. The government's timely intervention and clear statement (that the government would be responsible for repairing and compensating for all losses, and for treating all the injured) acted as a reassurance, greatly stabilizing the anxious public. Although the fear and grief would not disappear immediately, at least people saw order being restored and that the country had not abandoned them.

Heroes may fall, but their loyal spirit will live on.

The atmosphere was most somber at the makeshift "martyrs and seriously wounded" assembly point. Beside the bodies covered in white sheets, the cries of relatives were heart-wrenching.

Huang Haijun, the 22-year-old security officer who risked his life to draw enemy fire to cover the evacuation of civilians, lay there quietly. The childishness on his face hadn't completely faded, but his eyes were closed forever. Wang Hongmei stood silently beside him for a long time, and finally, slowly raised her hand to give a salute—not perfect, but incredibly solemn (she had been a militia captain). Several armed team members and police officers who had participated in the rescue also stood at attention and removed their hats.

Minister Lin Hongjie, his left leg heavily bandaged, sat in a chair nearby, his face pale from blood loss and exhaustion, but his back still straight. He refused to go to the hospital immediately, insisting on waiting until the initial arrangements at the scene were made. Vice Minister Wang Luofei, her arm in a sling and her body bandaged in several places, also stood steadfastly by the side. Looking at Huang Haijun's body, and at the other fallen civilians, their eyes were filled with grief, anger, and a deeper sense of responsibility.

"This blood debt must be avenged!" Lin Hongjie's voice was hoarse, but it carried an iron will.

The list of casualties continues to grow, and damage assessments are underway. It's not just about human casualties, but also damage to buildings and property losses (food and supplies for the wedding banquet, and lost belongings of guests). Wang Hongmei's notebook grows thicker and thicker, and her heart grows heavier with each passing day. This attack is nothing short of a catastrophe for Nanluoguxiang, an ordinary residential area.

However, amidst the grief and chaos, some people were quietly taking action. Nan Yi, along with his apprentices Feng Hua and Deng Kai, as well as Sha Zhu's apprentices Ma Hua and Fatty, these men who were cooks, somehow managed to get another large iron pot. They set up a new stove in the relatively intact front yard, boiled water, and started cooking millet porridge.

"Come on, folks, have some hot water to calm your nerves."

"Wounded comrade, have some porridge first to warm up."

"Doctors and nurses, thank you for your hard work. Please have some hot water."

They didn't say much, but in the simplest way, they offered small but heartwarming comfort to the terrified, cold, and hungry. Wisps of smoke, mingled with the aroma of rice porridge, stubbornly rose from this land stained by gunpowder and blood, as if silently proclaiming: life must go on; the warmth of human connection will eventually dispel the shadows of death and fear.

Finally, dawn broke. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, bathing Nanluoguxiang, which had just endured the baptism of blood and fire, illuminating the ruins, the busy white-clad workers, the solemn police uniforms, the simple work clothes, and the lingering tear stains on people's faces and the gradually igniting resilience in their eyes. The aftermath is far from over, and the grief needs time to heal, but a new day has begun. Those who are alive must carry the hopes and sorrows of the deceased as they move forward. And the flames ignited in the hearts of some will silently burn under the sunlight, waiting for the moment when they spread like wildfire.