Courtyard House: Home Alone

So you're afraid?

"Afraid?" Chen Gongshu suddenly laughed, a laugh tinged with a desperate, resigned despair. "If I were afraid, I wouldn't have come to Beiping. I want to know... why would someone like this help the Red Party?"

The main room remained quiet for a long time. From outside the window came the sound of Tian Xinyi calling Long Xiaoni to eat, and the crisp sound of a knife blade hitting the cutting board as pickled radishes were shredded.

"Who told you 'Ghost' gang is a Red Party gang?"

Chen Gongshu paused for a moment: "The intelligence from the Shanghai station indicates that 'Ghost' has repeatedly provided the Red Party with medicine and weapons, and also..."

"And there's news from Yan'an that 'Ghost' is a Red Party ace agent infiltrated behind enemy lines?"

Lin Yifan finished speaking for him, a half-smile playing on his lips again. "Station Chief Chen, you've been in the Military Intelligence Bureau for ten years. You should know that intelligence is only believable when it's seven parts truth and three parts falsehood. But what if it's the other way around, three parts truth and seven parts falsehood?"

"Furthermore, I'd also like to know, what heinous things has the Red Party done to make you hate them so much? I wonder if Station Chief Chen could enlighten me?"

Chen Gongshu frowned. This question was like a dull knife, slowly cutting into the boundaries of his habitual understanding.

During his ten years in the Military Intelligence Bureau, "suppressing the Communists" was the underlying theme, the air, and a truth that never needed to be questioned.

But now, when this young man asked the question in an almost naive tone, those obvious answers suddenly became difficult to utter.

"Young Master Lin is joking."

He tried to mask his embarrassment with a smile, "The Red Party... the Red Party controls its own territory and doesn't obey the central government's orders, isn't that...?"

"Separatist regime?" Lin Yifan interrupted him, a hint of coldness in his voice. "Has Station Chief Chen ever been to northern Shaanxi?"

"No."

"I don't have any either," Lin Yifan said frankly, "but I've read some materials. In 1935, the Red Army was forced to embark on the Long March. When they set off from Jiangxi, there were 86,000 people, but when they reached northern Shaanxi, there were less than 8,000 left."

Along the way, they crossed five major rivers, traversed five snow-capped mountains, and traveled 25,000 li (approximately 12,500 kilometers). Station Chief Chen, what do you think was the purpose of all this?

Chen Gongshu fell silent. He recalled the battle reports from the Military Intelligence Bureau about the "suppression of the Communists." The numbers were always precise: how many enemies were killed and how much was captured. But no one ever told him why the pursued army had gone so far.

"To survive?" he asked tentatively.

"Then let me ask you another question."

Lin Yifan considered for a moment and asked, "Do you think there are more large landowners and capitalists or more ordinary laborers in China? This question should be very simple and easy to answer, right?"

Chen Gongshu frowned even more deeply. The question was so simple it was almost absurd, yet it made him feel a strange unease.

He recalled the gold-rimmed conference rooms at the headquarters of the Military Intelligence Bureau, the tea set made in Jingdezhen in Dai Li's office, and how his monthly salary could buy half a year's harvest from the grain store at the entrance of the alley.

"Naturally... the majority suffer more."

"Then let me ask Station Chief Chen," Lin Yifan's voice remained calm, like a patient and encouraging teacher in class, "aren't those big landowners and capitalists afraid of these working people?"

Chen Gongshu's fingers touched the gun handle again, then he forced himself to release them. He remembered the winter before last, when starvation was rampant outside Beiping, while the dance halls inside the city continued their nightly revelry.

He recalled a traitor he had personally executed—the man had written in his confession that he became a traitor because "what do I care about the lives of ordinary people? I just need to protect my land and my business."

"What exactly is Young Master Lin trying to say?"

I want to say,

Lin Yifan added the last piece of firewood to the fireplace, the firelight casting a flickering shadow on his face. "Bald guy, and you guys too, you're just serving a small group of people, while the Red Party is fighting for the majority."

You represent two classes, so you are inherently on opposite sides.

As for the "Ghosts," you can tell from what they've done before that they are nationalists who only care about the Chinese people.

"So they don't care who the ruling party is, they only care who is truly working for the people."

Chen Gongshu's pupils contracted slightly. The firewood in the fireplace crackled softly, and a few sparks fell onto the blue brick floor like silent punctuation marks.

"Young Master Lin's words..." he hesitated, "If the Director heard them..."

"What difference would it make if Dai Yunong heard it?"

Lin Yifan interrupted him, his tone carrying a weariness that seemed out of place for his age, "He sent you here to use 'Ghost' to get rid of you."

Someone always has to take the blame for what happened in Hanoi. Zhao Lijun is dead, Wang Tianmu defected to the enemy, and Shen Zui is his confidant... If not you, who else would we choose?

Chen Gongshu's expression finally changed. This wasn't the first time he'd heard this speculation, but coming from this young man, it carried a suffocating certainty.

Do you have evidence?

"I didn't," Lin Yifan said frankly. "But you're a smart man. I don't believe you can't see through Baldy and Dai Yunong's tricks. Do you think following them will lead to a better future, or would you rather live a carefree life with 'Ghost'?"

Chen Gongshu's back suddenly tensed. He instinctively reached for his gun, but found he couldn't even lift a finger—not out of fear, but a more primal stiffness, like being stared at by a wild beast.

Outside the window was an ordinary winter day in Beiping: gray walls, snow, and the sounds of vendors hawking their wares from the distant alleyways. But he knew that in some unseen corner, something was watching him.

"Young Master Lin is joking. Everyone knows the rules of the Military Intelligence Bureau. I hate the Japanese and traitors, and I hate that guy surnamed Dai even more. But I also..." He forced himself to speak, but found his throat dry as if it were filled with a handful of sand.

"Station Chief Chen, do you know what's the scariest thing about the 'Ghost'?"

"means?"

"No." Lin Yifan turned around, his silhouette against the light.

"Because...he's fair?"

"Because he does things in a way that is visible to others."

Lin Yifan walked back to the couch but didn't sit down. "The Military Intelligence Bureau also kills traitors, but what happens afterward? Who gets the credit? Who pockets the bonuses? Who cares about the civilians displaced by the war?"

His voice remained calm, but Chen Gongshu noticed that his fingers tightened slightly as he held the teacup.

"'Ghost' is different. He killed traitors and Japanese soldiers, and he would distribute the spoils to the poor and find ways to ensure that ordinary people could have a good New Year;

He robbed the bank, then used the money to buy medicine and send it to the base. Station Chief Chen, who do you think the people will believe?

The air in the main room seemed to freeze. Chen Gongshu felt something crumbling beneath his feet—the solid framework he had built over ten years concerning "the Party-State" and "the enemy."