Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

As the guests in the main room gradually dispersed, the counter area finally lost attention. Xingbao seized the opportunity to sidle up to his father, tilting his little head up and whispering, "Dad, is that a letter from Uncle?"

The father, who was staring blankly out the window, stiffened abruptly upon hearing the words "Uncle," then whirled around. Xingbao then saw that his father's eyes were bloodshot, and his previously suppressed emotions seemed to ignite instantly, releasing a murderous aura that seemed to freeze the surrounding air. This aura came and went quickly, disappearing in an instant, but in that brief moment, Xingbao felt a chill run through him, as if he were being stared at by a ferocious beast, and even his breathing became rapid.

The father quickly regained his composure, looked at Xingbao who was standing there in a daze, and hurriedly stepped forward to take his little hand, hugged him, and gently stroked his head, his voice trembling slightly: "Xingbao, it's Dad's fault. I couldn't control myself just now and scared you, didn't I?"

Xingbao calmed himself down, reached out and hugged his father's leg, his little face still showing signs of shock, and asked softly, "Dad, are you thinking about the past again?" He had never seen his father like this before. His eyes were filled with madness and ruthlessness in that instant, completely different from his usual gentle father, which really frightened him.

The father was silent for a moment, then sighed softly and said in a low voice, "It's a letter from your uncle." He paused, as if to calm himself down, "He said they're ready to leave at any time to go to the front lines... He's very scared and hopes I can teach him something to save his life." As he said this, the father's hands clenched slightly, his eyes filled with complex emotions—worry, helplessness, and a trace of lingering past pain.

"Dad, isn't Uncle in Xi'an? Why is the letter from Xiangxiang County?" Seeing that his father was in a bad mood, Xingbao quickly changed the subject.

"Your uncle was lucky this time. Their division commander is from Yongfeng in Xiangxiang County and even shares the same surname as our family. The person their division commander sent to deliver the letter happened to be acquainted with their company commander, since they were both from Xiangxiang. When he saw the company commander writing a letter, he wrote one too and begged the company commander to put in a good word and help bring it back to be sent together! Their company commander saw that your uncle was from the same hometown and that he usually did a good job firing artillery during drills, so he helped out!" Dad's emotions had calmed down, and he even sighed with gratitude.

"Dad, what are you planning to teach my uncle?" Xingbao was about to entice his father to think in the direction he knew.

"We've taught them everything we need to know. You can't get through the battlefield by just hiding!" Dad said helplessly.

"Then, Father, do you know the Japanese's methods of attack?" Xingbao asked calmly, continuing to steer the conversation.

Father's gaze drifted outside, his expression growing distant, as if lost in memories of the past: "During the early years of the National Protection War, our side employed Japanese tactics against the enemy. The core of Japanese tactics lay in 'speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness,' coupled with offensive methods such as flanking maneuvers and fire suppression. Their commanders were mostly graduates of the Tokyo Army Academy, possessing extremely high tactical skills. At that time, the National Protection Army was weak, and supplies of food, pay, and ammunition were frequently interrupted. Even though the soldiers fought bravely and employed tactics effectively, the disparity in strength ultimately prevented us from achieving our expected operational objectives. The ferocity of the battle remains unforgettable to this day."

"Father, I remember you often mentioned to us that when the General was young, he rode on your shoulders to take the imperial examination in the county town. The county magistrate gave him the first line of a couplet, 'The son uses his father as a horse,' and the General replied with the allusion, 'The father wishes his son to become a dragon.' But you never let me ride on your shoulders like Guixiang did!" Seeing his father lost in memories again, Xingbao quickly interrupted to pull him back to reality. "The most important thing right now is to figure out how to inform Uncle about the Japanese army's tactics and countermeasures. After all, Qianjin is leaving tomorrow morning, and we need to prepare the letter as soon as possible."

The father then snapped out of his reverie, looked down at Xingbao's earnest little face, a faint smile playing on his lips, and reached out to ruffle his hair: "You little rascal, you're even more anxious than I am." He paused, then composed himself and began to think seriously, "The Japanese tactics are actually somewhat similar to those of the National Protection Army back then, emphasizing 'speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness,' especially adept at concentrating firepower to break through. They first bombard with artillery fire, then send infantry to charge, and after the infantry retreats, another round of artillery fire is used to stop the pursuit. Now, our men often can't withstand that wave of artillery fire and lose their composure."

Xingbao's eyes lit up, and following his father's train of thought, he said, "In that case, could we have my uncle and the others dig deeper trenches in advance? I heard you mention before that deep trenches can effectively block shell fragments; if we dig additional small shelters inside the trenches, and take refuge in them when shells come, could we further reduce the risk of casualties?" In fact, Xingbao knew all these tactical points from his previous life, but he mentioned them under the pretext of "hearing my father mention them" to avoid revealing his own abnormality.

Father paused slightly, then his eyes lit up: "Your idea has given me a good idea. Indeed, trenches should not be shallow; they should be dug to a depth of more than one person. And every few steps, a horizontal 'bomb shelter' should be dug. When shells fall, soldiers can take shelter in them, which can greatly reduce casualties. In addition, after the Japanese artillery fire, the infantry usually advance in dense formation with their rifles at the ready. Uncle and his men can wait until the enemy gets close enough to their effective firing range before concentrating their firepower to counterattack. They should not waste ammunition too early."

"There's one more thing!" Xingbao hurriedly added, "If my uncle and his men are equipped with grenades, could they wait until the Japanese troops rush to the front of the trenches before throwing them? This would improve the accuracy of the explosion and also save ammunition. I once heard someone say that you have to pull the pin before throwing a grenade and wait a few seconds before throwing it, otherwise it's very easy for the enemy to pick it up and throw it back." These old-fashioned details were things Xingbao had found interesting in TV shows or documentaries in his previous life and had specially memorized. Now they might become key to survival on the battlefield, and he was telling them all now, just to provide more help to his uncle.

The father listened with growing surprise, his gaze towards Xingbao now filled with admiration: "You child, you know quite a bit about the battlefield. You're absolutely right, grenades do need to be pulled back and delayed slightly before being thrown. Also, if you run out of ammunition and are forced into close combat, never engage the Japanese in bayonet fighting—Japanese soldiers have generally received systematic bayonet training, making it difficult for our troops to gain the upper hand. In this situation, you can use farm tools like shovels and pickaxes as weapons to launch an attack when they are off guard, making it easier to protect yourself."

Father rose and paced slowly around the room, his thoughts gradually becoming clearer: "I also need to remind my uncle in the letter that on the battlefield, he must look after his comrades and never act alone; if a comrade is wounded, he should offer assistance within his capabilities, but he must not put himself in danger to rescue others—only by living can he continue to fight the Japanese invaders and have a chance to return home safely. Furthermore, he must not act rashly; when it is time to retreat, he must retreat decisively. Preserving our strength is far more important than pointless sacrifice. Your grandparents and we are waiting for him to return home."

Seeing that his father was considering things more thoroughly, Xingbao felt a little relieved, but then he remembered something else: "Father, my uncle is an artilleryman, and his artillery skills are superb. Shouldn't we let him focus on protecting the cannons he operates? As long as the cannons are still intact, they can bombard and disrupt the Japanese formation before they launch their attack; even during the attack, they can bombard the enemy's central area to cut off their reinforcements and reduce the pressure on their comrades."

"Absolutely right!" The father nodded heavily. "As heavy weapons, artillery will inevitably be a key target for the Japanese army to seize or destroy. Uncle, you must take good care of the artillery. If the battle situation becomes critical and it is difficult to preserve, it is better to destroy it than to let it fall into the hands of the Japanese army. In addition, when firing artillery, you cannot hold onto one position. After firing a few shots, you must quickly move to a new position. If possible, even equipping a wheelbarrow to assist in the movement can greatly improve mobility. This is the key to the survival of artillerymen and can effectively avoid the Japanese army's artillery counterattack."

"Father, we learned from the note left by Township Chief Liu yesterday that the Japanese army is equipped with tanks and planes. Do we have any countermeasures?" Xingbao changed the subject and raised a new question.

As the father and son exchanged questions, the sky outside the window gradually darkened. The mother came out of the kitchen and called the two to eat. Only then did the father stop thinking and gently pat Xingbao's head again: "Thanks to your reminder, I was able to think of so many solutions. Tonight I will write these key points into a letter and have Qianjin take it with me tomorrow morning."

Xingbao nodded vigorously, silently praying that these methods would help his uncle safely overcome the danger and reunite with his grandmother and parents soon after defeating the Japanese invaders. At the dinner table, his father did not mention his uncle or the war again, only occasionally putting food on Xingbao's plate, but his eyes held a newfound certainty—he knew that the words in the letter might become his uncle's "lifesaver" on the battlefield.

After dinner, the father went into the inner room and lit the oil lamp. By its dim light, he meticulously wrote down, line by line, the key points of the Japanese tactics he had discussed with Xingbao that day, in a letter. Every word was imbued with his concern and hope for his younger brother. Xingbao quietly leaned against the doorway, watching his father's back as he wrote, and prayed again in his heart: May the letter reach his younger brother soon, and may his brother, with these methods, remain safe on the battlefield.

However, when Xingbao saw that his father had written "Xi'an" as the mailing address on the envelope, he was immediately anxious. It would take a month for a letter to reach Xi'an from there, and his uncle's 36th Division would have already moved to Shanghai. By the time the letter arrived, it would be too late. He hurriedly stepped forward and said, "Dad, this letter can't be sent to Xi'an. It should be sent to Jiangsu, where my uncle and his unit were previously stationed!"

"Why send it to Jiangsu?" The father's hand holding the pen suddenly stopped, and he looked sharply at Xingbao, as if trying to find out the reason for his suggestion.

Xingbao's eyes darted around, and he said confidently, "I saw a map of the Republic of China in my elder brother's geography book a few days ago. Based on my judgment, if my uncle's unit needs to be transferred, it will either return to its original location in Jiangsu or head to Shanghai. I'll go get the book for you to see right now." With that, he quickly ran to his elder brother's room to get the book.

When Xingbao returned, he was followed by his eldest brother, second brother, Ding brother, and Qianjin brother—all the men in the family were present. Xingbao pointed to the Shanghai area on the map and analyzed to his father and the others: "Father, if I were the Japanese commander, I would definitely choose to launch the attack from Shanghai. You said before that the artillery on warships is far more powerful than land-based artillery. Would the Japanese army leave such powerful weapons idle? Moreover, going up the Yangtze River from Shanghai is not far from Nanjing. As a strategically important location, the Japanese army would never let Nanjing go easily."

Upon hearing this, the father and his brothers all gasped in shock, as if the perilous scene of Nanjing being captured by the enemy army had already appeared in their minds, and the atmosphere in the room instantly became heavy again.

"Father, is there really no way to deal with the tanks and planes mentioned in yesterday's note?" Xingbao brought the topic back to the core issue of battlefield response.

The room fell silent instantly upon hearing this. The father's hand, holding the pen, froze in mid-air, his brows furrowing even more, and his eyes filled with a heavy weight—tanks and airplanes were the toughest obstacles for ordinary soldiers on the battlefield, and even regular troops found them extremely difficult to deal with, let alone ordinary farmers.

He put down his pen, walked to the table, and unconsciously ran his fingers along the edge of the table before slowly speaking: "I haven't seen any of these either. Judging from the information on the note, the tank must be a heavily armored combat vehicle equipped with a cannon and machine gun. Ordinary rifle bullets would have no chance of penetrating its armor. Since it's a vehicle, we can use the same approach as dealing with vehicles to find a breakthrough point—the wheels, ventilation vents, fuel tank, engine, and roof should be its weak points. As for the aircraft, with our current conditions, we have no effective means of counterattack. The only option is to dig air-raid shelters in advance and quickly take shelter inside once we detect an approaching aircraft. After all, only aircraft can fight against aircraft; we ordinary people don't have many other options."

"Dad, what if we put kerosene in a bottle, light it, and throw it onto the tank to let it burn? Would that work?" Xingbao pressed on, adding, "What if we added some gasoline and glue to the kerosene so the burning material could stick to the tank's armor and continue burning? Maybe that would destroy its parts faster! Or, what if we dug a trench wide enough so the tank would accidentally get stuck and be unable to move forward?"

The eldest brother also offered suggestions, his tone thoughtful: "We can also water the roads where the tanks might pass, making the ground slippery and causing the tank wheels to slip and make it difficult for them to move; we can also dig some pits of varying depths to delay their progress by filling the pits, giving us more time to prepare."

The second brother chimed in immediately, joining the discussion: "We can also make some hidden traps, designed in a style where 'people step on them for safety, but tanks get stuck,' so that when a tank runs over it, it falls into the trap; if there are explosives, we can bury them underground and detonate them when a tank passes by, destroying it directly."

Brother Qianjin nodded in agreement, adding, "Building a ramp is also feasible. For example, constructing a steep ramp on the road surface would make it difficult for tanks to climb, or even cause them to tip over due to instability, thus hindering their progress."

Listening to everyone offering their suggestions, Xingbao secretly breathed a sigh of relief and felt secretly pleased. Most of these traps and countermeasures were practical. If someone was resourceful, they could even replace the explosives with the anti-tank mines already available to the Nationalist government, and the slope could be narrowed and modified into triangular cones to hinder the tanks' progress. Moreover, these methods were the result of everyone's joint discussion, and letting his uncle and the others try them on the front lines was much better than simply risking lives in a head-on battle.

At this moment, Qianjin also spoke up: "Uncle Dawei, if the letter mentions these things, I will remind the people at the township post office to forward it as quickly as possible when I deliver the letter tomorrow. Maybe it can be delivered before my uncle and the others encounter these weapons."

The father looked at Qianjin gratefully: "Then I'll have to trouble you. Every minute counts, and every second counts."

Then, the father sat back down at the table, picked up his pen, and added instructions to the letter regarding how to deal with tanks and airplanes—though there was no effective way to retaliate, every word was filled with concern for his younger uncle. Xingbao stood by watching, thinking to himself that he would do his best and leave the rest to fate, silently praying that these reminders would help his younger uncle and that he could survive the threat of gunfire, tanks, and airplanes.

After the father finished writing, he carefully folded the letter, put it in the envelope, and rewrote the address in Jiangsu before finally letting out a sigh of relief. The night outside the window grew darker, and the oil lamp inside flickered, illuminating the solemn faces of everyone, as well as a letter carrying their worries and hopes—it would travel a long way, carrying the family's expectations, to the war-torn front lines.