Courtyard House: Home Alone

Lin Yifan sat back down in his chair, picked up the slightly cooled ginger tea and took a sip: "Last spring, you made a special trip to Beiping, and we had a very pleasant conversation."

I met the deputy commander-in-chief this summer, deep in the Taihang Mountains. He treated me to a bowl of pumpkin porridge, which was cloyingly sweet.

Kong Jie's shoulders slumped noticeably. He certainly knew about these two meetings—it had been circulated within the Party that "patriotic individuals" had provided crucial material support, but who exactly and how the contacts were made were top secret. And this young man before him was casually saying they "had a pleasant conversation" and "drank a bowl of porridge"?

"Commander Kong," Lin Yifan put down his teacup, his voice tinged with weariness, "I know your Red Army marched 25,000 li north to fight the Japanese. So I'd like to ask you, how many Japanese soldiers have your troops eliminated so far?"

Kong Jie's Adam's apple bobbed, as if something was choking him. He instinctively straightened his back, his voice hoarse yet carrying an undeniable firmness: "The newly formed Second Regiment has been established for less than a year, yet it has engaged in thirty-seven battles, large and small, killing and wounding over eight hundred Japanese and puppet troops, and capturing more than two hundred."

"Over eight hundred." Lin Yifan repeated the number softly, tracing a circle on the table with his finger. "Does Commander Kong know how many men are in a Japanese company in Beiping?"

"One hundred and eighty to two hundred men," Kong Jie answered quickly; this was a basic skill for every commander.

"Do you know how many such companies the North China Expeditionary Army had?"

Kong Jie's lips pressed into a thin line. Of course he knew—or rather, he knew how terrible that number was—but he never dared to mention it in front of his soldiers.

"I'll tell Commander Kong."

Lin Yifan's voice was soft, yet it struck like a hammer on an anvil: "Not counting the puppet troops, the Japanese regular army in North China numbered over 200,000. These 200,000-plus men carried guns three times better than ours, ate food ten times better than ours, and had airplanes, tanks, and heavy artillery. Your Second New Regiment fought for a year, eliminating 800, but how many of your own casualties did you suffer?"

"Casualties..." Kong Jie clenched his fists even tighter, "More than 1,600, of whom more than 900 were killed."

"An exchange ratio of less than two to one is considered good within the Eighth Route Army," Lin Yifan nodded. "But at this rate, how many years would it take to drive 200,000 Japanese troops out of China?"

A deathly silence fell over the hall. Snowflakes outside tapped against the glass, like countless tiny fingers knocking on a door.

Xiao Yifu cleared his throat, trying to break the suffocating silence: "What Young Master Lin means is..."

"What I mean is that 'Ghost' single-handedly, in just over a year, wiped out more than 130,000 Japanese troops around Beiping, including their five successive commanders of the North China Expeditionary Army. He also captured more than 370 Japanese aircraft."

Lin Yifan stood up and walked to the painting of the Great Wall. "Why were your deputy commander and your husband willing to have porridge with me and chat so pleasantly? It wasn't because I'm well-dressed or live well; it's because I can make the Japanese die quickly and in large numbers."

He turned around, his gaze fixed intently on Kong Jie: "Commander Kong, you just asked me who 'Ghost' is. Now I'll tell you—'Ghost' is the one who can make your Second New Regiment go from fighting 800 a year to fighting 8,000 a year."

He's the one who can replace your soldiers wielding broadswords and spears with Type 38 rifles and light machine guns. He's the one who can make you stop using your flesh and blood to block gun barrels and instead use firepower to crush the Japanese invaders.

Kong Jie's chest heaved violently, like a bull enraged but with nowhere to vent its anger. He wanted to say something—to refute, to question, to uphold the last dignity of an old Red Army soldier—but those numbers pressed down on his chest like a mountain, making it hard for him to breathe.

130,000. 370 aircraft. Five commanders.

He had heard these figures before: in the local tabloids, in the whispers of his comrades, and in the encrypted telegrams from headquarters.

He had always thought it was an exaggeration, propaganda needed on the enemy's rear, or a rumor spread by "Ghost" himself. But coming from this boy's mouth, it carried a suffocating sense of reality.

"You…" Kong Jie's voice was hoarse beyond words, "What right do you have?"

"With 'Ghost,' you could terrify the Japanese troops around Beiping, and force them to compromise and withdraw from the Beiping area. Can you, Commander Kong, do the same?"

Lin Yifan's voice suddenly turned cold, like a drawn sword, "With 'Ghost,' the Japanese North China Expeditionary Army Headquarters changed its codes every three days; with 'Ghost,' their Special Higher Police offered a 100,000 silver dollar bounty for a single head, yet they couldn't even catch a glimpse of him. Commander Kong, are you capable?"

Kong Jie's face turned from liver-colored to deathly pale, then flushed with a sickly redness. He opened his mouth, but found that he couldn't even utter a single "no".

Those battle records were like heavy hammer blows, shattering his proud identity as a "veteran Red Army soldier." He led troops in battle for more than a decade, from Hubei, Henan, and Anhui to northern Shaanxi, from crossing the Yellow River to the Taihang Mountains. Every time, he risked his life and gave his blood.

But the numbers this young man mentioned, the achievements he never dared to even imagine, were accomplished by one person and a mysterious force in just over a year.

"I..." he managed to squeeze out half a syllable, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper was being rubbed.

"Commander Kong, there's no need to rush to answer."

Lin Yifan suddenly softened his tone, sat back down in his chair, picked up the now-cold ginger tea, and said, "What I said just now was a bit harsh. But sometimes harsh words are more effective than kind words—at least they make us understand what time, where, and what kind of enemy we are facing."

He looked up at Xiao Yifu, his gaze probing: "Political Commissar Xiao, you're an educated man, you should understand this principle—'A skilled craftsman must first have the right tools.' Are the tools your Second Regiment currently possesses sharp enough?"

Xiao Yifu adjusted his glasses, pondered for a moment, and said, "Young Master's explanation is quite insightful."

Xiao Yifu's voice was not loud, but every word was clear: "To facilitate our infiltration this time, our regiment has less than 30% of its current equipment, rifles, and a company doesn't even have one light machine gun. We haven't brought any heavy firepower."

Lin Yifan's fingers gently traced the rim of the teacup, his gaze fixed on Kong Jie. The regimental commander remained frozen in place, like a stone statue whose soul had been ripped away, only his eyes still burning—not with anger, but with a stubbornness born of pain.

"Political Commissar Xiao is a very honest man."

Lin Yifan nodded slightly, "Then let me be frank—the equipment 'Ghost' gave you wasn't charity, it was a transaction."

"A deal?" Xiao Yifu and Kong Jie looked up at the same time.

"Buying and selling."

Lin Yifan put down his teacup and said, "Old Zhou, go get paper and pen from the old man. I'll write a list for them."

Old Zhou responded and left, his footsteps fading into the distance in the corridor. Only three people remained in the hall, the pungent aroma of ginger tea slowly filling the air.

Kong Jie finally moved. He slowly sat back in his chair, his back ramrod straight, like a bamboo pole that had been bent and then forcibly straightened. His gaze was still fixed on Lin Yifan, but it no longer carried the previous scrutiny and hostility; instead, it was a complex, almost perplexing inquiry.