Courtyard House: Home Alone

"I know that since you joined the Military Intelligence Bureau, you have never thought of betraying them. But do you know that it was our good president and good director who truly betrayed Mr. Sun's last wishes?"

I don't know what your purpose was in joining the Military Intelligence Bureau or the National Revolutionary Army, but I know that when I, Chen Gongshu, abandoned my studies to join the army, it was to expel the Manchus and restore China.

But what about now? The Japanese have occupied half of China, while the President is in Chongqing plotting friction and suppressing the Communists, and Boss Dai is thinking about eliminating dissidents. How many Japanese soldiers and traitors did I, Chen Gongshu, kill in Beiping? What did I get in return? A villa at the foot of Gele Mountain! A forbidden house guarded 24 hours a day!

His voice gradually rose, filled with years of suppressed resentment: "Look at this pharmaceutical factory, look at those sentries outside, look at Brother Zhao Gang—he was originally just Master Tang's apprentice."

Now, both he and his apprentice follow "Ghost," protecting the people of Beiping and defending against the Japanese raids. They live ten times better than we did in the Military Intelligence Bureau!

Xu Zheng lowered his head, the cigarette in his hand already burned down to the filter, burning his fingers before he jerked away. Liu Quande, holding onto the overturned chair, had white knuckles.

"Station Chief," a man sitting in the corner suddenly spoke up. It was Zhou Dayong, a veteran member of the action team, "We've thought about what you're saying. But the Military Intelligence Bureau has strict rules, and defectors..."

"There was no defection."

Chen Gongshu interrupted him, his voice as cold as ice shards outside the window, "What we should be loyal to is China, to the Chinese people, not those who have betrayed their beliefs."

I, Chen Gongshu, stand here today. The Military Intelligence Bureau will only write me as dead, or as a deserter—whatever they say.

He walked back to the octagonal table, placed his hands on the surface, and leaned down to look at his old subordinates: "You are different. You still have families in Chongqing and Chengdu. Whether you stay or leave, I will not force you."

However, as I mentioned, 'Ghost' agreed that if you're willing to follow 'Ghost,' they will find a way to relocate your families and settle them properly.

Silence fell in the room again. The charcoal in the brazier popped again, sending up a few sparks.

Xu Zheng suddenly threw the burnt cigarette on the ground and ground it hard with his foot: "Station Chief, I've served you for five years. When have you ever seen me, Xu Zheng, desert?"

He looked up, his eyes slightly red: "You said I shot down those six sparrows in the cellar. I didn't believe it—not that I didn't believe you, but I didn't believe anyone in this world could do that. But you're standing here, alive and well, leaving me no choice but to believe you."

He turned to Liu Quande: "Old Liu, do you remember last winter? We ambushed and killed that fake police chief at Hademen, but the operation plan was leaked, and the Japanese military police made preparations in advance."

Of the twelve brothers, only four returned, and all of them were injured. What did Boss Dai say? "Glorious martyrdom," but the compensation was delayed for three months, and in the end, the case was closed as "missing."

Liu Quande's face darkened. He remembered that incident all too clearly: disappearance meant no compensation, no status as a martyr, and not even a memorial tablet to be placed in the Martyrs' Shrine.

"I'll go with the stationmaster."

Xu Zheng slapped his thigh, "What Military Intelligence Bureau rules? What CEOs and bureau chiefs? To hell with them! Killing Japanese devils, surviving, and keeping my family safe—only a fool wouldn't take this job!"

Liu Quande didn't say anything, but slowly righted the overturned chair and sat down again. He picked up a "Daqianmen" cigarette from the table, and Chen Gongshu tossed him a match. He caught it, but didn't strike it for a long time.

"Station Master,"

He stared at the flames, his voice seeming to drift from afar, "My father died in the Chongqing bombings last year; they never even recovered his body. My wife and two kids live in a dilapidated shack on the south bank, constantly dodging air raid sirens. The Kuomintang's compensation? I haven't seen a single penny."

He suddenly laughed, a laugh more painful than a grimace: "You mean 'ghosts' can bring people out?"

"I said it myself."

Chen Gongshu sat back in his armchair. "Your families, 'Ghost' will send people to meet them. We have connections all the way from Chongqing to Beiping. Once here, there are pharmaceutical factories, warehouses, and silk shops where you can make a living. Your children can go to school and won't have to hide from bombs."

Zhou Dayong suddenly stood up, walked to the window, lifted the cotton curtain, and glanced outside. Zhao Gang was still guarding the door, his back to the room, as if he hadn't heard anything.

"Station Chief," he turned back, his voice extremely low, "it's not that the brothers don't trust you. But this is a huge matter, we have to... we have to see the real results."

"What true skill?"

"My skills," Zhou Dayong licked his chapped lips, "we didn't see those six sparrows you mentioned with our own eyes. But what if..."

Before he could finish speaking, the curtain suddenly moved. Everyone turned their heads in unison, only to see Lin Yifan standing in the doorway, his cotton robe covered with a few snowflakes, as if he had just come from a snowstorm.

"Young Master!" Chen Gongshu suddenly stood up.

Lin Yifan waved his hand, his gaze landing on Zhou Dayong's face: "What real talent do you want to see?"

Zhou Dayong's face flushed red, and he stammered, unable to speak. Xu Zheng quickly tried to smooth things over: "Young master, Dayong didn't mean it that way..."

"It's alright." Lin Yifan walked into the house and looked at Chen Gongshu, saying, "Mr. Chen, could you do me a favor?"

Chen Gongshu was slightly taken aback, then clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Young Master, please give your orders."

Lin Yifan said with a smile, "Take out your gun, shoot me, and empty the bullets from your magazine."

Chen Gongshu's hand froze in mid-air, the color draining from his face. The air in the room seemed to solidify, the charcoal in the brazier crackling and sparks flying, particularly glaring in the dim light.

"Young Master..." his voice was hoarse, "This..."

"What?" Lin Yifan took off his cotton robe and draped it over the back of the chair, revealing a dark blue short jacket underneath. "Didn't you brothers want to see what I'm capable of? Now, I'll show you."

Xu Zheng and Liu Quande exchanged glances, and the men instinctively shrank back. Zhou Dayong's face turned from red to white, his lips trembling as he stammered, "Young master, Dayong has a foul mouth, please don't..."

"It's none of your business."

Lin Yifan waved his hand, his gaze fixed on Chen Gongshu's face. "Mr. Chen, fire."

Chen Gongshu slowly reached into his robes and took out the Browning M1911. The gun was polished to a gleaming shine, and the walnut grip was wrapped with non-slip rubber—this was his sidearm, which had been with him for twelve years, and whose blades had claimed countless lives.

"Young master,"

His thumb engaged the safety, his voice barely audible, "You gave me life, but this shot..."

"Are you afraid of killing me?"

Lin Yifan suddenly smiled, a smile that seemed particularly strange on the face of an eight-year-old child, possessing both childlike innocence and a chilling composure. He took two steps forward, no more than three feet from Chen Gongshu's gun muzzle.

Chen Gongshu's knuckles turned white. He had witnessed too many life-and-death situations, but never before had his hand holding the gun trembled slightly as he did now.