Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

When Old Sun came in, he was clutching a telegram, the edges of which were crumpled from his grip. His footsteps were heavier than usual, as if something was pressing down on his shoulders, forcing him to step harder to maintain his balance.

"The Japanese government announces its unconditional surrender." He placed the telegram on He Yuzhu's desk, his voice low but his words clear. He Nianhua turned his head from behind the control console, his gaze sweeping over Old Sun's profile before returning to He Yuzhu.

Old Sun's hand paused at the edge of the telegram. He didn't immediately say "yes," nor did he refute it; he simply stood there, as if confirming what he had heard.

"Director He, if we bring up this condition, the other party may not continue the discussion."

"Fine, we won't talk. Let's keep fighting."

Old Sun picked up the telegram, turned, and left. He Nianhua remained watching He Yuzhu. He spoke a sentence, not loud, but clear enough: "Dad, if the other side is using civilians as cover, how can we tell if they're hesitating or just stalling for time?"

He Yuzhu glanced at him. "They will give you a reply within three days. If there is no reply after three days, it means they are stalling."

He Nianhua didn't ask any more questions. He turned back, marked the time on the monitoring system's timeline, highlighted the start of the fourth day in red, then closed the window without glancing at it again.

Within three days, five telegrams were exchanged. In the third telegram, the Japanese tentatively proposed a compromise of "retaining the symbolic status of the Emperor," which He Yuzhu rejected with the statement, "Symbolic status is also a system." The fourth telegram did not mention the Emperor, only inquiring about "the specific procedures for disarmament." He Yuzhu did not reply to that telegram. He waited six hours for the fifth telegram—a formal reply from the Japanese Cabinet, consisting of only one paragraph, worded much more cautiously than the previous four: "The Cabinet is conducting final discussions on the relevant clauses, which are expected to take another two days."

"They won't reply." He Nianhua stared at the telegram; the line of text on the screen remained there for a long time, without any sign of the cursor moving. "There are people within their ranks who don't want the Emperor to be deposed."

"The right-wing faction won't sit idly by and wait for the documents to be signed. If they feel that negotiations will cause them to lose control, they will act before the negotiations are over," He Yuzhu said.

News of the mutiny arrived in the early hours of the next day. When Lao Sun ran out of the telegraph room, his slippers rattled all the way down the corridor. He pushed open the door to the command center, clutching another telegram in his hand, the paper damp with sweat in one corner.

"A portion of the Eastern Army of the Self-Defense Forces, approximately two regiments, is assembling around Tokyo. They are declaring 'defending the Emperor system' and are advancing towards the government office area."

He Yuzhu stared at the moving markers around Tokyo on the nautical chart, remaining silent for three seconds. "Then let's attack. Attack until they stop hesitating."

He Nianhua has already located the position of the Xuan Nu formation. "The Xuan Nu is currently located west of Yokosuka, about forty kilometers from Tokyo. The Marines have taken control of the Yokosuka port area and are advancing towards Kawasaki. If we move the Xuan Nu forward to the airspace over Tokyo Bay now, we can suppress the assembly area within thirty minutes."

"First, have the Marines establish forward positions. Xuan Nu will maintain air cover and not launch an attack. If they advance towards the government office area, then we'll engage."

He Nianhua entered the command and sent out the coordinates. He didn't say "understand" or confirm again. He just sent out the command, glanced at the screen, and confirmed that the moving marker had changed direction and started to move towards the predetermined forward position before proceeding to the next step.

The frontline report came back four hours later. The Marines encountered a makeshift defensive line of mutinous troops on the outskirts of Tokyo. The line consisted of old anti-tank guns and roadblocks made from civilian vehicles, positioned at the intersections of several main roads. The mutinous troops neither attacked nor retreated, as if awaiting a signal. The Marine Corps' formation flew low, without dropping bombs, but released a directional sonic wave in front of the line. The frequency of the sonic wave fell precisely within a range that was perceptible but intolerable to personnel, causing the mutinous troops on the line to begin retreating, converging behind the defensive perimeter.

After reading the frontline report, He Yuzhu said to Lin Jianguo, "The Americans aren't coming. Their orbital module is still being rebuilt." He paused for a moment, then added, "Tell the frontline commander that I need to see live footage of the Imperial Palace Plaza before nightfall."

Lin Jianguo didn't press further. He walked to the communications station, sent instructions to the frontline commander via an encrypted channel, and then stood there, waiting for confirmation that the signal had been received. He Yuzhu stood in front of the main control console, not receiving any confirmation signal, and remained silent.

Before nightfall, live footage of the Imperial Palace Plaza was transmitted back to the command center. The plaza was deserted. The flagpole's rope swayed gently in the wind; the sound of the metal ring striking the flagpole at its tip couldn't be heard through the screen, but it could be seen that it bounced slightly with each strike before settling back into place. The setting sun was moving from the west side of the plaza toward the horizon, casting the flagpole's shadow as a long, thin gray line across the entire open space, extending to the railing at the edge of the plaza. The image remained still for a while, until the shadow gradually lengthened, faded, and disappeared. Then, night completely enveloped the open space, leaving only a few streetlights lit at the edge of the plaza, casting motionless beams of light on the ground.

Yang Xiaobing stood at the entrance of the command center, still holding the sealed bag he had brought back from Yokosuka. The bag's opening was folded three times and secured with a clip. He glanced at the empty square on the screen, then looked down at the bag in his hand. "Things from three years ago, only arriving today." He didn't look at anyone, as if talking to the bag.

He Yuzhu heard those words. He didn't turn around, nor did he look at the screen. "Then let them remember that what lands on the ground isn't a thing, but a result."

He Nianhua remained seated behind the control console. He closed the display window for the Imperial Palace Plaza, opened another, and pulled up a map showing the defense layout of the entire Japanese mainland. He began marking the Marine Corps' advance route and the airspace allocation for the Xuan Nu support for the next phase. He didn't ask "What's next?" nor did he wait for instructions. His fingers moved continuously across the keyboard, as if performing a series of operations that had been repeatedly practiced.

Yang Xiaobing was still standing in the doorway. He unscrewed the clip on the sealed bag, pulled out the appendix to the agreement signed three years prior, flipped to the last page, glanced at the faded signature, then put the document back in the bag and clipped it back together. When he looked up, his gaze fell on He Yuzhu's back. "Should we lay this out on the table at the formal negotiation table?"

He Yuzhu turned around. "Wait until they're seated before revealing the documents. If we reveal them now, they'll just say the documents are forged." He glanced at the sealed bag. "Keep it for now. Take it out when we no longer need translations and explanations."

Yang Xiaobing tucked the sealed bag under his arm and turned to walk into the corridor. He Nianhua called out from behind the control console, "Uncle Yang, there's a handwritten note on the label of the prototype aircraft captured by Yokosuka: 'Receptor adaptation not yet complete'—they hadn't even finished the experiment when they left."

Yang Xiaobing stopped in the corridor but didn't turn around. "So their next batch of recipients may never come."

He Nianhua didn't reply. He closed the defense layout diagram, moved the cursor back to its original position, then got up and left his seat. The area marked "covered" on the screen was slowly expanding, gradually covering the edge of the screen. The mark wouldn't be removed.

There was no moon or wind outside the window. The distant horizon was devoid of light, save for the streetlights and launch site indicator lights, which resembled a slow-moving streak of fire burning on the horizon. He Nianhua stood by the window, watching the dimming light, his gaze fixed on it. On the screen behind him, the area marked "covered" continued to expand, steadily covering its farthest edge. That edge would never change.