Courtyard House: Home Alone

Chen Gongshu climbed up the ladder first, and when he poked his head out of the cellar, the scene he saw shocked him again. Lin Yifan was standing outside calmly.

Chen Gongshu's hand was still resting on the edge of the ladder, his knuckles white from the force. He clearly remembered that the boy was still in the cellar, just two steps behind him, but when he looked up, he saw Lin Yifan standing in the open space outside the shack, looking up at the gray sky, with half a piece of malt candy still in his hand.

"Young Master..." Chen Gongshu's voice was somewhat hoarse, "You are..."

"Yes." Lin Yifan popped the candy into his mouth, patted the crumbs off his hands, and said, "I am 'The Ghost.' So far, you're the only one who knows I'm 'The Ghost.' Even Grandpa Tang doesn't know who 'The Ghost' really is."

Chen Gongshu climbed out of the cellar, his movements much slower than when he went down, as if each step was a recalibration of his understanding of the world. He stood on the frozen ground, his gaze sweeping over Lin Yifan several times before finally settling on that still-childish face.

"Ghost..." he repeated the code name in a low voice, suddenly recalling the unbelievable records in the Military Intelligence Bureau's archives.

In just six months, five commanders of the North China Expeditionary Army were captured or assassinated. Nanyuan Airport and Xiyuan Airport were emptied overnight, and the Japanese consulate in Beiping, the military police, and the headquarters of the North China Expeditionary Army were also slaughtered overnight.

Especially the 1st, 4th and 118th Divisions in Tianjin, which numbered more than 70,000, were wiped out overnight.

Chen Gongshu's Adam's apple bobbed; those numbers felt like a hammer blow to his chest. More than 70,000 people, overnight.

He had led an action team before and knew how much trouble it took to kill someone—reconnaissance, tracking, timing, and cleanup. But the kid in front of him was talking as if he were telling a story.

"How did you do that?" He regretted asking as soon as the words left his mouth. Such a secret was not something he could ask so casually.

Lin Yifan smiled, his eyes curving into crescents: "What does Mr. Chen think?"

"Poisoning?" Chen Gongshu probed. "Or...explosion?"

"We have to thank the Japanese for this."

Lin Yifan said calmly, "They brought a lot of poison gas bombs, but I found it troublesome to carry them, so I can only let the Japanese use them themselves."

Now that you know I'm the 'ghost,' do you feel wronged to follow me?

As soon as he finished speaking, a small flock of six sparrows flew over the yard. With a thought, Lin Yifan released six bullets from the spatial freeze warehouse, each smashing the head of one of the six sparrows, which then fell into the yard.

Six sparrows fell to the ground almost simultaneously, making soft thuds on the frozen earth. Chen Gongshu's pupils suddenly contracted—he saw clearly that the heads of all six sparrows had been smashed. Lin Yifan, on the other hand, stood still the entire time, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his cotton robe, not even swaying his shoulders.

"I'm not wronged."

Chen Gongshu heard his own voice, hoarse yet resolute. He suddenly knelt on one knee, his right fist pressed against his left chest—the most solemn pledge of allegiance within the Military Intelligence Bureau. "From this day forward, my life belongs to me."

Lin Yifan looked down at him, the morning breeze ruffling the hem of his cotton robe. In the distance came the sound of mule cart bells going to the early market, mixed with a few sporadic crowings, making this absurd scene seem even more unreal—a Kuomintang assassin in his thirties was kneeling before a teenager, swearing allegiance.

"stand up."

Lin Yifan reached out a hand to help him up, "I don't do that. If you want to work with me, you have to understand one thing—"

He paused, his gaze falling on the frozen river outside the shantytown. The arch of the Gaoliang Bridge was faintly visible in the mist, like a half-open mouth.

"What I did was not for the Party and the country, nor for any ideology, but solely to get the Japanese devils out of China."

He withdrew his gaze and looked at Chen Gongshu, who was still kneeling on the ground. "All your Military Intelligence Bureau rules and Boss Dai's orders mean nothing to me. Can you do that?"

Chen Gongshu raised his head and met those deep, well-like eyes. He suddenly remembered the calligraphy in Boss Dai's study—"The world belongs to all"—the strokes were vigorous, yet they exuded an indescribable superficiality.

The child in front of me said, "Let the Japanese devils get out of China," a few light words, but they were more real than any ideology.

"It's possible."

He stood up, brushed the dirt off his knees, and said, "Having worked in the Military Intelligence Bureau for so many years, I've long seen through it all—all that talk about the Party and the State, all that ideology, is just empty promises from above. The real deal is killing Japanese devils."

Lin Yifan's lips twitched slightly, as if he was satisfied with the answer. He turned and walked towards the car, his cotton robe fluttering in the morning breeze: "Let's go then, there's still one more thing to do today."

Where to?

"Pharmaceutical factory." Lin Yifan opened the car door.

"Go meet your men and see if they can be of any use to me. Tell them that as long as they follow 'Ghost,' they'll live a life of luxury. Most importantly, their chances of survival are ten times greater than if they followed the Military Intelligence Bureau."

Also, remember this: don't tell anyone that I am the 'ghost'.

With its engine roaring, the Ford sedan rolled over the icy dirt road toward the pharmaceutical factory.

"Young master," he suddenly spoke, his voice even lower than the engine's roar, "how...did you do that?"

Lin Yifan was gazing at the withered trees flashing past the window when he heard this and turned around. The morning light shone through the frosty car window, casting dappled patterns of light on his face.

"Mr. Chen," he said calmly, as if discussing the weather, "some things are better left unsaid. You only need to understand what I can do, and that's enough."

Chen Gongshu tightened his grip on the steering wheel, no longer pressing for answers. Those in their line of work know the rules best—you only look at what the host reveals, and don't even glance at what you shouldn't.

Soon, the Ford arrived near the pharmaceutical factory. From a distance, Lin Yifan spotted the sentries lying in ambush by the roadside. Without stopping, he instructed Chen Gongshu to drive towards the factory entrance.

Before I even reached the door, I saw Zhao Gang running out from inside. Good, it seems the sentry got word of his arrival; the ten-kilometer walkie-talkie seems to be working quite well after all.

At Zhao Gang's signal, Chen Gongshu drove the car directly into the gate. The two got out of the car, and Zhao Gang had already run to the side of the car.

"Young master, what brings you to the pharmaceutical factory today?"

"Brother Zhao, you've worked hard. Is everything going smoothly at the pharmaceutical factory?" Lin Yifan asked.

Zhao Gang rubbed his hands, which were red from the cold, and grinned: "Thanks to me, everything is going smoothly. The newly produced penicillin has been packaged, and in two days we'll have enough for the first batch of transactions."

His gaze shifted to Chen Gongshu standing behind Lin Yifan, and he paused slightly, "And this is...?"

"Chen Gongshu, Mr. Chen," Lin Yifan introduced casually, "From now on, we'll be colleagues."