Courtyard House: Home Alone

"How did you get here," he said, putting his glasses back on, his voice low and deep.

Lin Yifan had already prepared his explanation. Because of a deal with the Red Party, he first went to Shanxi with the transport team, and then, with the Red Party's help, arrived in Wuhan.

Finally, he used the money his mother had left him—he specifically emphasized that it was "the money you hid under the bed"—to bribe the captain of the Jiang'an.

"Captain MacDonald," he added, "an Englishman, religious, who went to church every Sunday. He hid me in a storeroom next to a barrel of tung oil and carried me by water for three days."

The more specific the details, the higher the credibility. Lin Qiqing had clearly heard of the Jiang'an, his brow relaxing slightly: "That Scotsman is quite an oddball."

"He said he saved seventeen Nanjing refugees last year."

"That's true." Lin Qiqing nodded. "The Nationalist government even awarded him a commendation, praising his 'international humanitarian spirit.'"

A faint smile appeared on Lin Qiqing's lips. "However, in private, McDonald complained to the people at the embassy that six of the seventeen people were agents of the Military Intelligence Bureau and three were couriers of the Communist Party."

The remaining eight were genuine refugees—but upon arriving in Chongqing, all twelve ended up working for various intelligence agencies, and not one of them actually earned a living through their skills.

Lin Yifan lowered his eyes. The water in his teacup was now completely still, reflecting the swaying light bulb on the ceiling. He could tell there was a probing tone in his father's words.

Who was hiding on McDonald's ship was none of his business, but his father clearly wanted to confirm whether he had also been drawn into some kind of power.

"I was just a passenger," he said, his voice soft but firm. "The captain asked me for twenty silver dollars, gave me three days' worth of rations and a water bottle. Other than that, we didn't exchange a single word."

Lin Qiqing hummed in response, neither confirming nor denying. The rattan chair creaked slightly as he shifted his posture, his gaze falling on his wife's protruding belly, his expression gradually softening.

"Zhuo Lin," he said, "go lie down for a while. The doctor said you can't sit for long."

Meng Zhuolin shook her head, her fingers still gripping her son's wrist: "I'm not tired. Yifan just got home, I..."

"Go." Lin Qiqing's tone wasn't harsh, but it carried undeniable weight. "I need to speak with Yifan for a few minutes."

Meng Zhuolin hesitated for a moment before slowly getting up. She brushed the stray hairs from her son's forehead to the side, then straightened the collar of his school uniform before taking the handrail and slowly climbing the stairs. The sound of her footsteps disappeared at the end of the second-floor corridor, leaving only the father and son in the living room.

Lin Qiqing picked up the newspaper from the armrest of the rattan chair, shook it, but didn't unfold it. The masthead was "Ta Kung Pao," and the date was three days ago.

"Do you know why your mother and I abandoned you and ran away?" he asked.

"I don't know," Lin Yifan said. "I only know that in that kind of environment, your escape must have been related to some political party or force. I think you must have felt helpless at the time."

Lin Qiqing's fingers paused for a moment on the edge of the newspaper. The shouts outside the window rang out again, this time closer, with the long, drawn-out echoes unique to the mountain town, like some kind of ancient sigh.

"have no choice."

He repeated the word, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That's a brilliant word. For a seven-year-old to use such precise language—should I praise your hard work in your studies, or should I ask what you've been through?"

Lin Yifan didn't reply. The water in the teacup had gone cold, and the red dates had sunk to the bottom, like solidified beads of blood.

"There are some things I shouldn't tell you because you're still young. But now that you've made contact with the Communists, I might as well tell you that your mother and I are Communists, and that we fled Beiping because someone informed on us and the Japanese wanted to arrest us."

So... the situation was extremely dangerous. To avoid the Japanese noticing you, we had no choice but to grit our teeth and leave. We thought it was better for you to be in the courtyard, with Mrs. Long and He Daqing taking care of you, than to have to flee with us. Since then, your mother has cried countless times.

"After you were out of danger, I mentioned to the organization that I hoped they could arrange for someone to take good care of you. Manager Zhou and Xiao Yang were my liaisons and couriers, so the organization entrusted you to them for care."

Just a couple of days ago, I was discussing with your mother about how we could bring you from Beiping (Beijing) after she gave birth to your baby. Who knew... who knew you'd actually run off to Chongqing on your own.

Lin Qiqing said, "I never expected you to come in this way."

Lin Yifan looked at his father and said, "You doubt me." He added that this wasn't a question.

"You are my son, I knew you might come."

Lin Qiqing corrected him, "I don't know if you'll even make it to Chongqing. From Beiping to Wuhan, from Wuhan to Yichang, there are Japanese checkpoints at every stop, and intelligence agents on every ship. What makes you, a seven-year-old child, think you can survive?"

Lin Yifan met his father's gaze. The eyes behind the glasses were the same as in his memory, carrying the calmness of a doctor and the stubbornness of an intellectual, but now there was something else—weariness, and a kind of almost tragic expectation.

"Because I want to live."

Lin Yifan said, "Because I want to see you. Because..." He paused, "Because I don't want the child in my mother's womb to be born without a brother."

That sentence struck a nerve. Lin Qiqing's fingers tightened on the tin box, his knuckles turning white. He looked again...

A brief silence fell over the living room. The shouts of porters carrying loads drifted in from outside the window, growing louder as they approached, then gradually fading away around the bend in the hillside. Lin Qiqing suddenly stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the half-drawn curtains shut.

"Your mother is due to give birth next month." He had his back to his son, his voice low. "Things aren't peaceful in Chongqing either. The Military Intelligence Bureau, the Central Bureau of Investigation and Statistics, the Japanese, Wang Jingwei's puppet regime's agents, and various other forces are all stirring up trouble. And you're coming at this time…"

"I know." Lin Yifan put down his teacup, the porcelain bottom clinking against the glass coffee table. "So I won't stay long. I'll take one last look at my mother, see if she... has given birth safely, and then I'll leave."

Where to?

"Go back," Lin Yifan said. "Go back to where you belong."

Standing on the stairs, Meng Zhuolin's hands tightened suddenly, her nails almost digging into his flesh.

"no!"

Her voice suddenly rose, then quickly fell back down, as if afraid of startling something, "You've just come out of the tiger's den, and you want to jump into the fire pit again? Beiping is Japanese..."

She paused, realizing she had let something slip.

Lin Yifan calmly replied, "Mom, I know what Father and you are doing. I also know that you chose this place because Chongqing was the wartime capital and the main base of the War of Resistance against Japan. You wanted to do something for this country."

He turned to his father, his gaze open and honest: "I won't be a burden to you. I'll only stay for a month, until the baby is born and my mother finishes her postpartum confinement. Then I'll leave, to go where I belong."

Lin Qiqing finally turned around. The setting sun shone through the gaps in the curtains, casting interplay of light and shadow on his face.