Courtyard House: Home Alone

"Master," Old Zhang appeared silently at the door, "he's been seen off."

"Hmm." Tang Baolin didn't look up. "What did you say?"

"I sounded out that I wanted to bypass you and go directly to the 'ghost.'"

"So young," he murmured, "thinking that 'ghosts' were something anyone could see whenever they wanted."

He suddenly remembered something, "Tomorrow, go to the Six Nations Hotel with Smith and finalize the power plant deal. Tell him that if the steel mill equipment arrives two months ahead of schedule, we'll increase his share by another 10%."

Old Zhang took the bamboo tube, but didn't leave immediately: "Master, are you really going to refuse Dong San of Qingshui?"

Tang Baolin raised his eyes, his cloudy pupils surprisingly clear under the light: "Who said I was going to refuse?"

"Didn't you say in Xihua Hall..."

"I said 'Ghost' isn't for sale," Tang Baolin said with a slight smile, "but I didn't say I, Tang Baolin, wouldn't sell."

He pulled out another piece of paper from under his pillow, which was covered with numbers: "The Japanese want five thousand sticks, which is five thousand small yellow croakers at the black market price."

However, the batch of goods I have is defective products that I intercepted from the Germans this month—the efficacy is only 70% of the genuine product, and the cost is basically negligible.

However, even so, its effect is several times stronger than other anti-inflammatory drugs.

Old Zhang's eyes widened slightly.

Tell Shimizu Tosan,

Tang Baolin held the paper close to the lamplight, watching the flame lick at the edges. "'Ghost' said. I'll put in a good word for him; the goods can be sold, but the price will be doubled. And..."

He loosened his grip, and the burning piece of paper spun and fell. "Cash on delivery only, small cash transactions only. No checks, no drafts, no bank drafts."

"Sir, this..." Old Zhang's voice was hoarse, "What if the Japanese find the medicine isn't working properly..."

"Discover?"

Tang Baolin sneered, "By the time they find out, the war will be over. Those wounded soldiers in the Imperial Army Hospital are going to die whether they get medicine or not. If they get medicine, they can live a couple more days. They'll be thanking me for it."

If they really want to search, let them search for the "ghost." Do you think those Japanese devils would dare?

He lay back in the armchair, his fox fur coat slipping down to reveal a dark blue silk cotton-padded jacket underneath. The cuffs of the jacket were worn smooth but clean, like its owner, exuding a stubborn dignity amidst its shabby appearance.

"Go on," he said, closing his eyes. "I'm going to rest too. Let me have some peace and quiet."

Old Zhang bowed and retreated, the bamboo tube heavy in his sleeve. As he passed through the three moon gates, he couldn't help but glance back at the direction of the warm pavilion—the silhouette on that window was motionless, like an old Buddha in deep meditation.

The wind and snow intensified.

The next morning, Lin Yifan woke up from his sleep. He first used his spiritual power to "look" at Long Xiaoni's house and found that Long Xiaoni and Chen Gongshu were also getting up.

So he jumped out of bed and quickly put on his worn-out gray cotton robe. Outside the window, he heard the sound of a manure cart turning in the alley, mixed with the clanging of a tofu pudding vendor's clapper—a scene of bustling activity on a winter morning in Beijing.

He pushed open the door and strode into the kitchen on the east side. Xinyi and the other two were already up and preparing hot water and breakfast. He called Wenxiu out of the kitchen and said, "Wenxiu, go to the deaf old lady's house right away. You don't need to go inside. Just talk to her outside the door and tell her that I asked her and her guest to come over."

"She has guests? How did you know?"

"Why ask so many questions? Just go if I tell you to." After saying that, he casually patted Wenxiu's butt. Wenxiu blushed instantly and walked towards the neighbor's yard with her head down.

Lin Yifan poked his head into the kitchen and asked Tian Xinyi, who was making breakfast, "What are we having for breakfast today?"

Tian Xinyi was stirring the pot with a long-handled spoon when she heard this, and without looking up, she said, "I cooked millet porridge, steamed a batch of cabbage and pork buns, and also some pickled radishes I bought yesterday."

She paused, the bottom of the spoon scraping against the bottom of the pot with a hissing sound. "Young master, who did you ask Wenxiu to call next door? It's so early in the morning."

"The deaf old lady." Lin Yifan leaned against the door frame, his gaze sweeping over the rough porcelain bowls and plates laid out on the stove. "She has a guest staying there, and I'd like to meet him."

"I'll go back to the main room first. We'll eat after I've seen the guests." With that, he turned and walked towards the central courtyard.

Tian Xinyi finally raised her head, a strand of hair damp with steam clinging to her temple. She didn't press for details about who the "guest" was, but simply nodded and agreed, "Okay, I understand. I'll have Xia Yan keep an eye on things."

Back in the main room, Lin Yifan added some firewood to the fireplace and then leaned against the daybed to wait.

Meanwhile, Yu Wenxiu arrived at Long Xiaoni's door and heard voices inside. Without listening to what they were saying, she raised her hand and knocked. "Who is it so early?"

"Grandma Long, it's me, Wenxiu. Young Master said he wants you and your guest to come over." After saying that, she turned and left.

Long Xiaoni and Chen Gongshu, who were inside, were quite frightened. "Xiaoni, who is this? Last night, when I came, I made sure several times that no one knew me before I knocked on the door and came in, this..."

Chen Gongshu's voice was extremely low, his fingers already reaching for his waist. Long Xiaoni pressed down on his wrist, a strange smile appearing on her flushed face.

"What's the panic?" She threw back the covers and got out of bed, her movements surprisingly nimble for someone in their fifties. "This is the little girl from the Lin family next door, sent by that kid."

"The Lin family?"

Lin Yifan. Son of "The Blue Wolf".

Long Xiaoni pulled a copper basin from under the bed, poured in some hot water to wash her face, and said, "This is the kind of person you absolutely mustn't mess with in this alley. They probably already knew you were climbing over the wall last night."

"'The Gray Wolf'? The one the chief has been looking for?"

Chen Gongshu's expression changed. He had indeed been cautious last night, circling the alleyway three times to make sure no one was following him, and waiting for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before knocking on the door.

"Does he know me?"

"He knows where every mouse in this alley goes through its hole."

Long Xiaoni wiped her face with a towel, a glint of shrewdness flashing in her cloudy eyes. "Go ahead, I'm hungry too. That kid's millet porridge on the stove is thicker than the one at the Six Nations Hotel."

Before Chen Gongshu could say anything more, Long Xiaoni had already pushed open the door and left. He had no choice but to follow, his hand never leaving the holster at his waist.

The gate to the neighboring courtyard was ajar. Long Xiaoni didn't stand on ceremony and pushed the gate open, passing through the snow-covered courtyard and arriving at the main room of the house.

Lin Yifan was sitting on the daybed warming himself by the fire. Seeing the two enter, he didn't get up, but merely raised his chin slightly: "Grandma Long, please sit. This one..."

His gaze fell on Chen Gongshu. "Chen, the station chief of the Military Intelligence Bureau's Beiping station?"

Chen Gongshu's pupils suddenly contracted, and his right hand was already gripping the gun handle. The young man sat in the dimly lit main room, with a window covered with Korean paper behind him. The morning light shone through the gaps in the paper, cutting out fine patches of light on his face.

His gaze was as calm as a deep pool, yet it reminded Chen Gongshu of the veteran agents in the interrogation rooms of the Military Intelligence Bureau headquarters—equally composed, equally insightful.