Courtyard House: Home Alone

A gust of wind drifted from outside the private room, rustling the painting of withered lotus leaves. Tang Baolin's gaze fell on the withered lotus stem in the painting, where the veins outlined by the dry brush seemed to conceal a kind of stubborn vitality.

What does the 'ghost' want?

He repeated, as if talking to himself, "I guess he wants you to get out. Not to negotiate, not to compromise, not to divide the country—he wants you to get out, with your guns, with your 'prosperity pilgrimage,' with your blood-stained hands, and back to that earthquake-prone island."

As for whether he will let you invaders leave, only he himself knows.

Shimizu Tosan's expression changed repeatedly.

"If he really exists,"

Shimizu Tousan's voice held a final struggle, "If he were truly as omnipotent as you say, then why didn't he completely destroy the Imperial Army? Why were there only sporadic assassinations? Why—"

Why should I leave you with a breath?

Tang Baolin finished speaking for him, his smile carrying an almost cruel pity, "Mr. Shimizu, have you ever thought about why a cat lets a mouse run a few steps before pouncing on it?"

The air in the private room suddenly froze. Shimizu Tozo felt his heart pounding violently in his chest, like a trapped bird.

He suddenly realized that he had never taken the initiative in this conversation—from the moment he stepped into this elegant room, he had been a pawn on the chessboard.

Just then, as he was leaving, the instructions of Foreign Minister Hiroki Hitomi echoed in his ears once more: "Prince Shimizu, His Majesty has repeatedly requested that you thoroughly investigate the 'Ghost's' bottom line this time, and make him cease all hostile actions against our Empire no matter what."

If he failed to accomplish the fool's mission this time, then upon returning home, only seppuku awaited him. Shimizu Tousan suddenly awoke with a start, nearly slapping himself twice. Even at this point, he was still thinking of threatening the other party with force—how utterly despicable…

He quickly stood up, walked to the opposite side of Tang Baolin, and bowed respectfully: "I'm sorry, Mr. Tang, I got a little excited earlier, please forgive me."

Please be sure to tell 'Ghost' that we have come in good faith. As long as he stops all actions against the Imperial soldiers, we can make any demands we have.

Of course, as the old gentleman just said, it is impossible for the empire to withdraw from China. I hope that the conditions you propose are acceptable to us.

I believe that you, Mr. Tang, and 'The Ghost' would not want the flames of war to once again engulf the 300,000 people of Beiping.

Tang Baolin quietly looked at the bowing Japanese man in front of him. His posture was so humble that it was almost subservient, a stark contrast to his arrogance when he had just been talking eloquently about the "iron laws of war".

He recalled his master's words: "The etiquette of the island nation is like their sword; the tighter it is sheathed, the more ruthless it becomes when it is drawn."

"Mr. Shimizu," he began slowly, "I cannot accept such a bow."

Shimizu Tosan maintained his bowed posture, the collar of his shirt slightly rolled up at the back of his neck, revealing the faded lining beneath. "Mr. Tang, I am truly sincere—"

"sincere?"

He stood up, his cane tapping the blue brick floor with a dull sound, and walked step by step around to Qingshui Dongsan's side.

"I've seen enough of the sincerity of you islanders. In Meiji 27, Lushun; in 1931, Shenyang; in 1937, Nanjing—" He paused, his voice barely audible, "In every single one of those times, you bowed first, then drew your sword?"

Shimizu Tozo finally straightened up, a dark glint flashing in his eyes behind his glasses. "Mr. Tang, those were actions of the military. I am representing the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, seeking a peaceful solution—"

"Peace?" Tang Baolin whirled around, his cane almost jabbing into the other man's chest. "You drove tanks to Baoding, landed planes in Tianjin and Fengtian, and took 300,000 Beijing residents hostage. Is that what you call peace?"

A faint sound suddenly came from outside the private room, like tiles being blown off by the wind. Zhao Gang's figure flashed past at the top of the stairs and then disappeared. Tang Baolin's gaze flickered almost imperceptibly before returning to normal.

"Mr. Shimizu,"

His voice suddenly lowered, like an echo from the depths of an ancient well, "You just said you wanted me to tell 'Ghost' that you're willing to negotiate."

"Yes, under any conditions—"

"any?"

Tang Baolin slowly sat down. "I will relay what you just said to 'Ghost.' As for whether he is willing to see you or stop, that is not something I can decide."

"Mr. Shimizu," he stood up, his posture hunched yet exuding an air of uprightness, "this tea party should end now."

Shimizu Tozo remained motionless. He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes behind his round-framed glasses blinking rapidly, as if he were making some kind of intense decision. The Foreign Minister's entrustment, the Emperor's decree, the threat of seppuku, and the unfathomable old man before him—all the chips spun rapidly in his mind.

"Mr. Tang,"

He suddenly spoke, his voice carrying a desperate resolve, "What if I, in my personal capacity, request to see 'Ghost'?"

Tang Baolin stopped in his tracks.

"I don't represent the Empire, I don't represent the military."

Shimizu Tozo's voice grew increasingly urgent, "I only speak for myself. I, Shimizu Tozo, am forty-three years old, from Kyoto, a graduate of Waseda University's Faculty of Law, and studied at Tsinghua University for five years. I have a wife in Hiroshima and two children—"

He pulled a wallet from his inner pocket and took out a yellowed photograph. "This was taken in Kyoto last year. Mr. Tang, I'm human too, and I'm afraid of death. But I want to go back to see them alive."

Tang Baolin did not turn around. His gaze fell on the painting of withered lotus, the brushstrokes of the dry lotus appearing even more vigorous in the twilight.

"You think," his voice seemed to come from a great distance, "that you can move a Chinese person with photos of their family?"

"It wasn't about being moved," Shimizu Tousan's voice lowered, "it was a request. A request for... a possible opportunity."

"You can go now," he said.

Shimizu Tosan's face instantly turned ashen.

"But I will pass on your message," Tang Baolin added, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Whether 'Ghost' sees you or not is up to him. Because until now, I haven't seen 'Ghost' at all."

Shimizu Tosan bowed deeply, his forehead almost touching his knees. When he straightened up, he was the only one left in the private room, along with the painting of withered lotus flowers that grew increasingly blurred in the twilight.

Outside the window, a sparrow took flight from the old locust tree, fluttering across the gray-tiled rooftops of Xizhuan Hutong before disappearing into the deepening night.

As Tang Baolin descended the stairs, Zhao Gang emerged from the shadows and whispered, "Master, everything is arranged."

"Um."

"That Japanese man..."

"Let him go." Tang Baolin tapped his cane lightly on the threshold. "Send someone to follow him, but don't alert him. I need to know who he sees first after he leaves."

Zhao Gang nodded, and his figure disappeared into the shadows again.