Courtyard House: Home Alone

"There's one more thing."

Lin Yifan took out a folded blueprint from his spatial storage. "This is a simplified airport construction manual provided by 'Ghost.' There are plenty of flat riverbeds in the Taihang Mountains; with a little modification, transport planes can take off and land. When the Japanese invade, the planes can disperse and hide."

Grandpa Peng took the blueprints and unfolded them by the firelight. Next to the dense German annotations, someone had added neat Chinese annotations in pen—clearly, they had been translated beforehand.

"They even thought of this..." Grandpa Peng's voice was a little hoarse.

Lin Yifan did not answer, but looked towards the eastern horizon. A faint light was beginning to appear there, and the outline of the Taihang Mountains was emerging from the darkness, like a giant beast slowly awakening.

"It's five o'clock sharp," he said.

Grandpa Peng took out his pocket watch and clicked it shut: "Let's go back to command. There's a meeting this morning to discuss the selection criteria for flight cadets."

The two walked side by side toward the valley entrance, the soldiers' neat shouts echoing behind them. Lin Yifan's mental energy swept over the entire airport one last time—372 aircraft, 72 engines, 540 tons of aviation fuel, 120,000 rounds of anti-aircraft machine gun ammunition… These numbers settled in his mind, transforming into a heavy sense of reality.

"Uncle Peng," he suddenly spoke as they walked out of the valley, "those Japanese pilots will arrive tomorrow."

"I know."

"Some of them still have family in Hokkaido. Some are recent graduates from military academy."

Grandpa Peng stopped and turned to look at him. The morning light had already spread over the mountain ridge, casting complex shadows in those deep-set eyes.

What do you want to say?

"I want to say," Lin Yifan carefully chose his words, "that reforming them is harder than eliminating them. But it's also... more valuable."

Grandpa Peng suddenly laughed, a laugh tinged with both melancholy and insight: "Xiao Fan, how old are you exactly this year?"

"Seven years old."

"Seven years old..." Old Man Peng shook his head and strode forward. "When I was seven, I was herding cattle for a landlord. And you, you're talking to me about winning people's hearts."

His voice drifted from ahead, carried on the cool morning breeze: "Don't worry, our Eighth Route Army has a policy. Those willing to resist Japan are friends; those genuinely opposed to the war are comrades. This applies equally to Chinese and Japanese."

Lin Yifan followed in his footsteps, the horse's hooves crushing the dewdrops on the grass. In the distance, wisps of smoke rose from the camp, a new day unfolding on this ancient land.

In the depths of his consciousness, two hundred and eighty-seven Japanese pilots huddled in the darkness, awaiting their unknown fate. Lin Yifan could sense their fear, their exhaustion, and that faint, suppressed will to survive.

What's the point?

He silently repeated Grandpa Peng's question in his mind.

Perhaps, it's just about creating a world where no one needs to answer this question anymore.

For the next two days, from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. the following day, Lin Yifan transferred the supplies out of his space.

He used the three-night window of opportunity to take out 95% of the aircraft, light and heavy weapons, various cannons, ammunition, food and supplies captured in the space.

He left behind some light machine guns, submachine guns, rifles, pistols, and grenades in his own space. Of course, the gold bars, silver dollars, and paper and pens from various countries were also left in his space.

The seized legal tender was also left to the Communist Party, because he couldn't spend it all at the moment.

After completing the handover of supplies with the Red Party, Lin Yifan returned to the command post. Today, he prepared to take his leave. He had calculated that his younger brother (or sister) was about to be born, and he wanted to find his parents before they were born.

The deputy commander, who was looking at the map, saw Lin Yifan walk in and quickly put down his pencil, rushing over to him: "What's wrong, Uncle Peng? Is this too simple? I heard you're in a hurry to leave?"

After saying that, he turned to the guard next to him and said, "Go and bring me the two boxes under my bed in my room."

Lin Yifan quickly waved his hand: "No, no, Uncle Peng, this place is very nice. It's a family matter, and I want to go back. I can come over anytime; there will be plenty of opportunities in the future."

The deputy commander-in-chief paused for a moment, then burst into laughter, the sound so loud it made the map inside the cave rustle: "Good! Good! You're welcome to come anytime!"

The guards had already brought in two wooden crates, their corners covered with copper plates, and they looked quite old. The deputy commander patted the crates: "These are all what 'Ghost' wanted: three calligraphy scrolls each for the instructor, the teacher, the commander, and me."

We are truly ashamed! We took so many things from the "ghost," including over ten million yuan in legal tender, yet we only gave back a few calligraphy pieces.

Lin Yifan looked at the two wooden boxes, a warm feeling welling up inside him. He reached out and stroked the mottled brass clasp on the lid, thinking of the gold bars and silver dollars in his spatial storage—compared to the two boxes of calligraphy before him, they seemed insignificant.

"Uncle Peng," he looked up, his eyes clear, "these words are more precious than an airplane."

The deputy commander paused, then his deep-set eyes welled up with tears. He patted Lin Yifan's shoulder heavily, so hard that the boy staggered slightly: "Good! Good lad! That's what I should say!"

He turned around and picked up an oil paper package from the table. After peeling it open, four seals were revealed—two ivory seals and two Shoushan stone seals. "These are what my teacher and mentor asked me to pass on."

They said, "In the future...in the future when the world is at peace, let the 'ghosts' take these seals and come to Yan'an for tea anytime."

Lin Yifan took the seal, his fingertips tracing the intricate carvings on the seal knob. The instructor's seal depicted a gaunt old ox, while the teacher's seal featured a pine tree emerging from a rock.

He suddenly remembered the artifacts he had seen in museums in his previous life, separated by glass and dust, and he never imagined that one day he would touch them in this way.

"I will definitely bring it." He carefully put the seal into his spatial storage, then remembered something, "Oh, right, Uncle Peng, those Japanese pilots..."

"It's all arranged."

The deputy commander interrupted him, his tone becoming serious, "The first batch of those who were willing to stay were sent to Yan'an yesterday."

The instructors personally approved it. They set up a 'Japanese Workers' and Peasants' School,' where they would learn Marxism-Leninism and Chinese. Some would become teachers, some translators, and some…” He paused, “and some wanted to go to the battlefield; we wouldn't stop them.”

Lin Yifan nodded.

"There's one more thing."

The deputy commander took a cloth bundle from the drawer, unfolding it layer by layer. It was a slightly worn cotton-padded coat. "My wife altered this overnight, saying your clothes were too conspicuous. There are hidden pockets sewn into the lining; you can hide things there."

Lin Yifan took the cotton-padded coat; the rough cloth carried the fresh scent of soap. He suddenly thought of his mother, and the life he had never met, stirring restlessly in her womb. His eyes welled up with tears, and he quickly lowered his head.

"Thank you, Uncle Peng. Thank you... Auntie."

"Don't call me 'Auntie,' call me 'Grandma'!"

The deputy commander-in-chief burst into laughter, then composed himself. "Really not staying a few more days? I won't question your 'ghost' rules. But you should at least... at least let me host a banquet."

"Next time," Lin Yifan said, folding his cotton-padded coat and holding it to his chest. "Next time, I'll bring you some good wine."

"It's a deal!"

The deputy commander-in-chief personally escorted him out of the command post. The morning mist had not yet dissipated, the mountain path was wet, and a series of hoofprints stretched into the distance.