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

The flagpole in Taipei Square stood in the morning light, a scratch still visible on its surface, as if it had been scraped by a metal object. He Nianhua arrived forty minutes early, standing on the side of the viewing platform, his feet wet. The night rain had stopped not long ago, and water still lingered in the cracks between the paving stones. He glanced down at the tips of his shoes; a layer of light gray mud clung to the edges. He didn't move. The area around the flagpole had been swept beforehand, but rain streaks remained on the surrounding concrete, and a few fallen leaves clung to the edges of the paving stones. A middle-aged man in gray-blue overalls pushed a tool cart past the base of the flagpole, bent down to check the joint of the flag-raising rope, glanced at the pulley, and then continued pushing the cart. At the top of the flagpole hung an empty rope, swaying slowly in the morning breeze, making a soft rubbing sound, like someone plucking a violin string without pressing the strings.

He Nianhua saw his father standing at the foot of the flagpole, his hands not in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the empty rope at the top of the flagpole. He noticed his father's hands hanging at his sides, fingers slightly curled but not clenched. He remembered the graph paper in his notebook, its edges curled, the creases faded, but the ink hadn't faded. He wasn't sure how long he would need to be there, nor why he had chosen to stand on the side instead of in the front row. There were empty seats in the front row; someone had gestured for him to go over, but he shook his head. He Nianhua didn't look away.

As the flag was unfurled, a gust of wind blew from the east side of the square, causing the edges to flutter briefly before settling back into place. He Yuzhu gripped the flag rope, his arm not raised high, as if performing an action he didn't need to think about. The flag began to rise. The pace was slow; the edges were pulled to one side by the wind, then straightened again, the fluttering becoming much slower after the wind subsided. He switched hands as the flag passed the middle of the flagpole, the movement continuing without interruption. The sun had already risen above the rooftops of the buildings on the east side of the square, its light falling on the metal ring at the top of the flagpole, reflecting a brief flash before disappearing, covered by the flag itself.

He Nianhua noted the time the light appeared, not because he needed to remember the exact moment, but because he noticed a detail at that instant—a thin, elongated crack near the base of the flagpole, as if worn away by long-term wind and sun. He watched the light for a while, calculating how the crack would alter the flagpole's structural strength over long-term use, then his gaze returned to the rising flag. The flag was nearing the top, the wind had subsided somewhat, and the flag's trembling frequency was slowing. He noticed a detail—a thin, elongated crack near the base of the flagpole, as if worn away by long-term wind and sun. He watched the crack for a while, calculating how it would alter the flagpole's structural strength over long-term use, then his gaze fell back to the top of the flagpole, where the flag had stopped, its edges still trembling slowly.

He Yuzhu released the flag rope and took half a step back. The flag had stopped at the top and was slowly adjusting its relationship with the wind. He Nianhua heard someone speaking in the front row; the voice wasn't loud, but he understood: "Waited for over a hundred years."

He Yuzhu turned to the audience. He spoke less than expected. "We've waited over a hundred years, but today we don't have to wait any longer. From today onward, Taiwan has only one name—Huaxia Taiwan Province." After saying this, he didn't pause for long before turning his gaze away from the audience. He Nianhua noticed that he didn't look at anyone, nor did he try to find any face. His gaze seemed to pass over everyone, landing on the thin crack at the base of the flagpole, and then moving away.

An elderly man stood in the third row of the audience, wearing an old-fashioned dark gray Zhongshan suit without any badge on his chest. He didn't sit down or applaud throughout the ceremony. While those around him clapped, he simply stood, his hands hanging at his sides. He Nianhua noticed him. As the crowd began to disperse, he remained standing, his fingers slightly curled, holding nothing between them, just hanging at his sides. A staff member in a gray jacket walked over and whispered something to him. The old man nodded but didn't leave. He kept his gaze fixed on the flag.

He Nianhua didn't wait for the old man to leave. He tucked his notebook under his arm, turned, and walked down from the viewing platform. He stopped at the parking lot entrance and flipped to the page in his notebook where the graph paper was tucked. The corner of the paper was already a little curled, but the creases hadn't deepened. He closed the notebook and continued walking.

He Yuzhu stood under the flagpole for a while longer, until the last few rows of spectators had left. He reached into his pocket, touched the fallen leaf, and ran his fingertips along the edge to confirm it was still there. Then he took his hand out and walked westward along the edge of the square. In the distance, the indicator lights at the end of the airport runway were changing colors, and a transport plane was adjusting its course.

He Nianhua didn't look back at the flag; he knew it wouldn't fall. He walked through the parking lot and saw several people discussing routes around a gray sedan covered in mud, as if trying to figure out how far it had traveled to get there. A faded pass was tucked into the edge of the window. He didn't know which direction they would eventually go, but he slowed down as he passed the car and glanced at the date on the faded pass. Then he continued on his way.