The Courtyard House: The Little Red Devil Returning from the Peninsula

There is an abandoned pawnshop on the outskirts of Taiyuan.

The pawnshop's storefront facing the street was sealed off, wooden planks nailed shut from the inside, and plastered over on the outside, making it seem like it had been abandoned for a long time. However, a secret passage had been dug into the inner side of the backyard wall, leading to the basement of a neighboring house. The basement was small, with brick walls on three sides and a wooden door leading to the secret passage on one side. A military map of the Taihang Mountains was nailed to the wall, its edges stained yellow from oil lamp smoke.

Winter came early in 1940. By the time the first snow of November fell on the pawnshop roof, Yamamoto Ichiki had been sitting in the basement for over forty days without venturing out. The situation outside was tense; the Independent Regiment had fought several more tough battles in the mountains, and the tail end of the autumn counter-offensive had begun again. The outer blockade line had been thickened, making the route in three times more difficult than in early summer. He screened thirty new recruits three times, distributed equipment in batches, and tested their marksmanship in every match.

Yamamoto Ichiki sat at the table, whittling a piece of wood in his hand with a short knife.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered across his profile. He blew the sawdust off the blade and placed the shaved wood on the table. Three photographs lay on the table. The first was a candid shot of Zhao Weiguo from a distance, likely taken from a hillside with a telephoto lens; a short man in a gray military uniform stood before a group of soldiers, his features indistinct, but his posture steady. The second was a blurry portrait of Kong Jie in a battle report. The third was a silhouette of the old brigade commander in profile, taken at a rally.

Yamamoto sheathed his short sword. He didn't look at the three photos, but he knew they were there.

The wooden door to the passageway was pushed open. Tanaka walked in, his boots covered in mud. He went to the table, but instead of sitting down, he stood there and reported on the new team members.

Thirty men, six groups of five. All equipment has been distributed. Two sets of captured Chinese civilian clothing per man, one replica of the Type 24 rifle per man, and one shortwave portable radio per group. It's no longer a purely special operations team configuration. Yamamoto has reorganized the organization into a hybrid structure. Each group consists of one demolition expert, one communications expert, two combatants, and one group leader. Capable of infiltration, demolition, communications, and assassination.

After Tanaka finished explaining the new equipment and the team rosters, he added another piece of information. Several of the new recruits were scouts transferred from the Kwantung Army, who had served in Northeast China for three years. One of them had spent two years fighting against the Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army in the deep mountains and snowfields, and was familiar with mountain warfare. Yamamoto showed no expression when he heard this, but he put down his short sword.

"Did you take them to the shooting range in the back to test the guns?"

"We've tried it. The accuracy of the Type 24 rifle is worse than the Type 38, but they've adapted. When shooting at a stationary target at 200 meters, they average above seven rings."

Yamamoto nodded. He placed the short sword on the table, its tip pointing towards the map.

"Have you reviewed the results from last time?"

Tanaka lowered his voice a little.

"We've reviewed the operation. The conclusion is that Zhao Weiguo's tactical simulation wasn't just guesswork; he completely calculated our standard Japanese operational procedures."

Yamamoto looked up at him. The light from the oil lamp cast half shadow and half light on his profile.

Tanaka did not respond.

Yamamoto did not answer Tanaka. He stood up, walked to a corner of the tunnel, squatted down, and placed the shaved piece of wood on the ground. The wood had been shaped, pointed at one end and flat at the other, like a bullet without explosives.

He squatted there for a while, then stood up and went back to the table.

"No more infiltration from the outside. His outer defenses are too tight. Search from the inside."

Tanaka frowned.

"From the inside?"

"The Independent Regiment expanded too quickly," Yamamoto said. "They incorporated remnants of Black Cloud Village and conscripted local laborers. These men aren't regularly trained soldiers, and their loyalty to Zhao Weiguo is limited. There's always one dissatisfied individual."

Tanaka understood.

"Find a gap."

"Find someone you're unhappy with."

The tunnel door rang again. Nakamura walked in. He was dressed in local clothes, with an old cloth satchel slung over his shoulder, and his gray cloth shoes were splattered with mud, making him look like a peddler selling needles and matches from door to door. He put the satchel down in the corner, walked to the table, and took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. The edges of the paper were frayed, showing signs of repeated folding.

"There's a clue."

Yamamoto took the paper, unfolded it, and looked at it. There were a few lines of writing on it: a name, an original affiliation, and a period of time. The writing was in pencil, the strokes messy.

"Ma Si." Yamamoto read the name aloud.

"He was originally a platoon leader at Black Cloud Stronghold, and a subordinate of Xie Baoqing," Nakamura said. "He wasn't executed during the public trial and was instead assigned to a supplementary company in the Independent Regiment."

"What was his attitude?"

"It's said he harbored resentment towards Zhao Weiguo. During Xie Baoqing's public trial, he stood in the audience, not daring to speak. But afterwards, while drinking with others, he cursed Zhao, saying his elder brother was being persecuted, and he could only watch from the sidelines."

Yamamoto tapped his fingers twice on the table.

"What rank is he?"

"Platoon leader."

How many men do you have under your command?

"A platoon, thirty or forty men. Stationed at Liujiapo, on the outskirts of Baimaling."

How far is it from the regimental headquarters?

"About three miles."

Yamamoto didn't speak immediately. He placed the paper on the table, holding one corner down with his short knife. The blade brushed against the edge of the paper as he looked at it for a few seconds. Then he said something. Nakamura and Tanaka both thought he would say "make contact with him" or "turn him to his side." But Yamamoto said something else entirely.

"There's no need to try to turn him against us."

Nakamura and Tanaka were both looking at him.

"There's no need to make him betray us," Yamamoto said. His voice was steady. "Just manipulate his emotions. Get him to do something small. Something that doesn't seem like betrayal."

Tanaka asked, "For example?"

Yamamoto didn't answer immediately. He stood up from the table and walked back to the map. The map of the Taihang Mountains was yellowed under the lamplight. His gaze shifted from Baimaling to Yangquan, then to the brigade headquarters, and back to the outer perimeter of Baimaling.

"A feint attack on three fronts."

He drew three lines on the map. The first line pointed from Taiyuan toward Yangquan. The second line pointed toward the brigade headquarters. The third line pointed toward the outskirts of Baimaling.

"We'll create the illusion of military supplies being transported along the Yangquan route, making Zhao Weiguo believe our target is the arsenal."

Tanaka nodded.

"We conducted reconnaissance activities along the way towards the brigade headquarters, making Zhao Weiguo believe that our target was his former brigade commander."

Nakamura nodded.

"We've been conducting small-scale harassment raids around Baimaling, making Zhao Weiguo think we're going to attack from the outside, just like last time."

He paused for a moment.

"Once he sees messages from three different sources simultaneously, his attention will be divided in three directions. He'll start to wonder which one is true. Then he'll deploy defenses in all three directions. Once his forces are dispersed..."

He pulled his fingers off the map and clenched them into a fist.

"The real blade goes in from the inside."

Tanaka stood there, glanced at the three lines on the map, and then at the piece of paper on the table that read "Ma Si". He didn't speak, but he already understood what Yamamoto meant by "knife's edge".

"What was that little thing that happened to Ma Si?" Tanaka asked.

Yamamoto did not answer. He returned to the table and sat down, pushing the oil lamp a little closer to the map so that the light shone on Liujiapo, the outer edge of Baimaling.

"He'll find out in time. He just needs to do what he believes is right."

Nakamura didn't press the matter further. He walked to the wall, took a small cloth bag from his satchel, untied it, poured out a few dried dates, and popped them into his mouth to chew. Tanaka stood in front of the map, glancing at the three lines and the location of Liujiapo.

Yamamoto sat back down at the table, picked up his short knife, and began whittling a second piece of wood. The sound of the blade scraping against the wood was clearly audible in the basement. Tanaka and Nakamura remained motionless. The only sound in the air was the soft rustling of the blade cutting through the wood.

Yamamoto made a few cuts, then stopped and blew the wood shavings off the blade. He glanced at the piece of paper on the table with Ma Si's name written on it.

"I don't need to beat him."

He placed the dagger on the table and picked up the new piece of wood. Ma Si's name was on this piece of paper.

Three lines and a name were laid out on the map in the dim light. The rustling sound of a blade scraping against wood rang out again.

Yamamoto lowered his head and continued whittling his wood.

Tanaka glanced at Nakamura. Nakamura finished chewing the date, spat the pit into his palm, squeezed it, and put it in his pocket. The two looked at each other. Yamamoto's scheme was complete; all that remained was to wait. Wait for Zhao Weiguo to see the news about the three lines. Wait for Ma Si's little incident to happen. Wait for Baimaling to crack open from within.

Yamamoto placed the second, shaved piece of wood on the table, next to the first. The two pieces of wood were identical in shape, like a pair.

He reached out and turned the oil lamp up a little brighter.