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

Marine Corps armored vehicles advanced along the main thoroughfares of Tokyo, their tracks churning with a dull thud. The streets on either side were almost deserted, save for a few figures in dark coats flashing past street corners. A white civilian sedan stood in the middle of the intersection, its hood open and the engine compartment empty. About twenty meters ahead, three civilian trucks blocked the road, forming a crude barrier. Two pieces of the windshield were shattered, and there was no one in the driver's seat.

The Marines bypassed the obstacle course and continued their advance along a narrow alley. Several pieces of clothing hung out to dry, swaying gently in the heat of the engines. As they passed an open gate, they saw an overturned bicycle with a plastic bag of vegetables in its basket. They continued forward without stopping.

As the Marines arrived at the Imperial Palace Square, the light was slanting towards the ground. The gray flagstones, bathed in the setting sun, reflected a dark sheen, the grout lines at the edges unlit by the sun, resembling a slowly changing pool of mercury. The mutineers stood at the edge of the square, weapons laid down; some crouched, some stood, their gazes unfocused.

He Yuzhu stopped at the front of the line. There was a thin crack on the surface of the stone slab beneath his feet, like an old engraving. He stood behind that crack, not moving forward any further.

Yang Xiaobing walked over from the flank and stopped two steps to his left. "The soldiers who were deployed have all laid down their weapons." He paused, as if deciding whether to continue. "The flagpole is empty. Their flag has been lowered. When the flag was lowered, two soldiers stood still until it was completely on the ground before moving away."

He Yuzhu didn't answer, nor did he turn to look at Yang Xiaobing. The metal ring atop the flagpole swayed slightly in the twilight; there was no wind, just inertia. He looked up along the flagpole and saw some fine wear marks on the edge of the metal ring, as if left by long-term friction from the flag rope.

There were people watching from behind several windows at the edge of the square. The glass of those windows reflected the setting sun, making it impossible to see the faces behind them.

On the large screen on the side of the square, the live television broadcast was switching between different feeds. A room inside the Imperial Palace appeared in the frame, its light evenly distributed, the wooden tabletop reflecting the television station's lights. The Emperor faced the camera, without a prepared statement. He spoke slowly, as if carefully considering the weight of each word. The contents of the abdication edict were transmitted via television signal to every receiver that was switched on.

He Yuzhu didn't turn to look at the screen. He remained standing in front of the flagpole, listening to the last sentence of the edict fade into the air above the square. The loudspeakers set up around the square carried the sound far, through the empty stone pavement and closed windows, and into the cracks between the bricks of the imperial palace's outer walls.

Just as He Yuzhu was about to turn around, a muffled thud came from the east side of the square. It wasn't an explosion, but the sound of some kind of metal falling from a height. The marines quickly crouched down, aiming their guns in the direction of the sound. The sound came from the roof of a three-story building—a flagpole base that had already been removed had been pushed down and smashed onto an air conditioner unit below. An elderly man with gray hair was standing on the edge of the roof, his hands gripping the railing, as if he were panting. He wasn't looking at anyone; his gaze traveled across the square, landing on the reviewing stand in the distance, where half of the curtain was still hanging.

He Nianhua stood in front of the communications console in the command center, staring at the screen. The Luan Bird's interception array automatically completed its warm-up. Two missiles simultaneously entered the Chinese fleet's predetermined flight path, their altitude decreasing and their direction stabilizing, like a line being straightened.

"The missile is approaching. Estimated arrival time is about one minute." The controller's voice came through the communication link, steady as a reading.

"Interception array locked onto target." Qian Zhiyuan's voice came from the direction of the weapon control console, slightly hoarse at the edges. "But the power hasn't fully increased yet. It's still climbing."

"How far have you climbed?"

"Eighty-seven percent."

He Yuzhu's voice came through the communication link from the direction of the square. "Fire. Fire as many as they crawl."

The Luan Bird's laser interception array fired at that moment. Two beams simultaneously struck the midsection of both missiles. The first missile began to expand from its center and then cracked. The second missile, continuously irradiated by the beam, began to melt its surface metal layer, and a widening gap appeared between the seeker shell and the main structure. This gap then spread throughout the entire missile, severing it in half. Two fireballs burned high in the sky before being dispersed by wind pressure. The debris fell to the sea without exploding.

The Marines had already stood up. He Yuzhu remained standing. He glanced up at the dissipating debris, then looked back at the ground in front of the square. He didn't look at the large screen displaying the abdication edict, nor did he turn back to confirm whether the interception had been successful.

"They're still on their original trajectory," Lin Jianguo's voice came through the communication link, carrying a hint of calm restraint. "After launching their missiles, the two units didn't withdraw. Nor did they reload. They're stuck on that trajectory, as if they've completed some mission and are waiting for the next signal. They're waiting for us to stop."

He Yuzhu didn't answer immediately. He stood in the center of the square, his back to the screens that were being taken down and the televisions that were being turned off. He saw a young soldier squatting on the concrete steps at the edge of the square, carefully taking his rifle sling off his shoulder and placing it on the ground.

"Do you think we should stop or not?" He Yuzhu asked. He didn't say who he was asking.

There was a moment of silence in the communication link. Lin Jianguo did not answer.

He Yuzhu waited a few seconds. "Then tell them we won't stop."

He didn't elaborate after saying that. He stood there for a while longer, until the residual heat from the now-off television screens was carried away by the evening breeze. He turned and walked through the queue back the way he came. Yang Xiaobing followed behind him without saying a word.

On the remaining screen on one side of the square, the last image before the signal source switch was frozen on a blank control panel. The signal lights were off; no one would turn them on again. A technician got up from beside the live television equipment, grabbed his coat, and walked towards the door. His figure gradually shrank in the frame until it disappeared completely at the edge. The door was not pushed open again, as if the final task had been completed. No one looked in that direction again; their gaze shifted from the screen to the darkening sky. On the distant track, the two American units remained stationary, neither approaching nor leaving, like a truncated image still waiting for the next frame, frozen in place, without movement or deviation, as if the final confirmation procedure had been completed. They had not been ordered to evacuate, nor had they been ordered to attack. They simply remained stationary on the track, like a counter that had not yet been turned off, waiting for the numbers to decrease to the end. The numbers would not disappear; they were simply frozen on the screen, no longer moving in any direction.