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

The overall map of the Zhengtai Line was laid out on the square table in the main hall of the ancestral hall, with teacups and map rulers placed at the four corners. The oil lamp on the table had been refilled with oil once, and the wick had been trimmed, making the light more stable.

The ancestral hall was cold. The incense table in the main hall was still there, the ash in the incense burner hardened, and the wooden candlesticks on the table were covered with a layer of dust. No one had come to burn incense in this ancestral hall for a long time; the scent of wood was suppressed by the dry cold of winter, leaving only a chilly air seeping up from the cracks in the blue bricks. Zhao Weiguo had been standing in this chill for a while, his enamel mug resting on the table, the water inside already cold; he hadn't drunk from it.

He stood by the table, a red and blue pencil clutched in his hand, the tip pointing towards the red circle marking the Shouyang East Outpost in the center of the map. He didn't sit down. Those who came today didn't need to sit. The people he was waiting for hadn't all arrived yet. A breeze blew outside, causing the door panel to gently bump against the frame before bouncing back.

Li Yunlong was the first to arrive. The black mule was tied to a locust tree outside the ancestral hall. As he climbed down, he wrapped the reins around his fingers and casually tied a slipknot. Entering, he saw the drawing on the wall, and first brushed the dirt off his clothes, the dust billowing up and floating in the sunlight for a while before settling down. Only after he finished did he speak: "Zhao Weiguo, what trick are you up to this time?"

"Shouyang East Outpost." Zhao Weiguo tapped a spot on the map with his pencil. "The first target of the general offensive. It controls the branch road from Yangquan to Shouyang. Take it, and the flank of the Zhengtai Railway will be torn open."

Li Yunlong walked up to the map, bent down to look at it, and touched his chin. His stubble grew quickly; after just two or three days without shaving, a layer of green stubble had appeared, making a rustling sound when touched. He didn't speak. He reached out and compared the size of the stronghold on the map, his finger lingering on the paper for a few seconds before withdrawing it.

Ding Wei arrived shortly after. He twirled a pencil stub in his hand, and upon entering, he didn't look at anyone, his gaze sweeping over the drawing on the wall. He found a corner to sit in by the door, tucked the pencil behind his ear, and reached into his pocket to pull out a crumpled cigarette, putting it in his mouth. He struck the match twice without lighting it, and it finally ignited on the third strike, the flame flickering on the tip. He didn't utter a single word from beginning to end. He took a drag, the smoke slowly escaping from his nose, his eyes still fixed on the location of the drawing.

Kong Jie was the last to enter. His right leg was dragging, making his pace much slower than before. It took him quite a while to walk from the doorway to the table; he stopped once to shift his weight before continuing. Upon entering and seeing the room full of people, he leaned against the doorframe, caught his breath, and waved his hand: "Don't call me Commander, I'm not now." He walked to the table, braced himself against the edge with one hand, and straightened his body after pausing for a moment.

Zhao Weiguo waited until the three of them were standing still before re-dotting the red and blue pencils in the center of the picture.

"Shouyang East Outpost, the first target," he said, his voice neither too loud nor too soft, so everyone in the room could hear him clearly. "It controls the branch road from Yangquan to Shouyang. Take it, and a gap will be torn in the flank of the Zhengtai Railway. Connecting it to Liujiapo and Xiangyuan ahead, this area will be alive."

A moment of silence fell over the room. A gust of wind blew in through the crack in the door, lifting a corner of the drawing. Zhao Weiguo reached out and pressed it down. He held his fingers on the edge of the drawing for a few seconds, only releasing them when the corner stopped curling up.

"Li Yunlong, you attack from the north." He moved his pen to the north side of the map without looking up. "Ding Wei, you're stuck. Kong Jie, you block the escape to the south."

The pencil moved back to the center of the stronghold: "The main force of the Independent Regiment will act as the spearhead, with Lao Zhou and Duan Peng leading their battalions to press forward. When they converge from all sides, not a single Japanese soldier in the stronghold will escape."

Zhao Gang chimed in from the side, "I'll lead the political work, accompanying the army to stabilize the new area. We'll collect grain, expand the base, and ensure this place gains a foothold."

Li Yunlong stroked the stubble on his chin, neither arguing nor resisting, and simply said one word: "Okay."

Ding Wei nodded, took the pencil off his ear, and drew a line on the west side of the map to mark his card slot. After finishing, he put the pencil stub back in his pocket and tapped his fingers twice on the edge of the table.

Kong Jie took a half-step forward. His right leg was a bit uncooperative, and he had to brace himself against the edge of the table to maintain his balance. He looked at the south side of the map for a moment, then said, "Zhao Weiguo, leave the south entrance to me. My leg may not be the best, but I can still block the road."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him, his gaze lingering on his leg for a moment before he paused in his speech.

"Lame as I may be, it's not broken," Kong Jie grinned, revealing a row of teeth stained yellow from smoking. "Give me two companies, and I'll block your escape route south."

Zhao Weiguo looked at him for two seconds and didn't try to persuade him further. He tilted the arrow on the south side of the map slightly towards Kong Jie, and drew an arc on the paper with his pencil.

The room was filled with generals, all gathered around a young man to devise a plan.

Li Yunlong was in his early thirties, and Ding Wei and Kong Jie were also around thirty. Each of them had been through countless battles. Yet, standing in this ancestral hall, listening to a young boy assign tasks, not one of them felt anything was amiss. The flood at Liujiapo, the inundation of Xiangyuan, the feigned disturbances east of Shouyang—each and every one of these events was laid bare before them. This young man's moves were more precise than anyone else's.

Li Yunlong leaned against the edge of the table, glanced at Ding Wei, and muttered something. Ding Wei didn't reply, but simply took the cigarette out of his mouth and tapped the ash on the corner of the table. His gaze remained on the map, sweeping over the line indicating the checkpoint again.

When Zhi Zi entered from outside, her footsteps were very light. She held a folded piece of paper in her hand and handed it to Zhao Weiguo. Zhao Weiguo unfolded the paper, glanced at it, frowned slightly, and then relaxed. He looked at it carefully, his gaze sweeping across the paper from beginning to end, then going back to look at the middle line.

"There's been unusual activity from the Japanese troops in Taiyuan," Zhi Zi said, her voice low but clear. "A battalion is moving south, faster than expected."

Zhao Weiguo read the note again. The words on the paper were written by Zhi Zi herself, each character written hastily, as if she had rushed, the strokes not flowing freely. The edge of the paper still carried the chill brought in from outside, lingering between his fingers for a while before being warmed by his body heat. He folded the note and placed it on the table next to the map ruler, tapping his knuckles twice on the ruler.

Several people in the room were looking at him.

"General offensive order, three days from now." He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the three men. "Take your positions within three days. Once the battle begins, encircle from the north, west, and south, with the Independent Regiment leading the charge from the front."

After listening, Li Yunlong stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and went to untie the mule's reins from the locust tree. Reaching the door, he turned back and said, "Meet me in three days, to the north." He mounted the mule, which snorted, pawed at the stone slabs twice, and then trotted away. The sound of the mule's hooves faded into the distance along the village road until it could no longer be heard.

Ding Wei put the pencil stub in his pocket, nodded to Zhao Weiguo, turned and went out the door, then mounted his horse. The sound of hooves drifted in from outside the ancestral hall, growing fainter and fainter. He didn't look back from his horse.

Kong Jie straightened up, leaning on the edge of the table, his right leg lurching as he regained his balance. He walked to the door, turned back, and said, "Don't worry about the south entrance." He walked out more slowly than he had come, his right leg dragging on the ground, making a soft squeak on the blue brick floor. Once he was outside, the squeak stopped.

All three of them left.

Only Zhao Weiguo and Zhao Gang remained in the room.

Zhao Weiguo stood back in front of the map. The overall map of the Zhengtai Railway stretched from in front of him to the edge of the table, with red and blue arrows pointing in all directions to the Shouyang East Outpost, like a clenched fist. He stared at the map for a long time without moving. The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, casting a swaying shadow on the map.

The force numbered seven thousand. The main force, the iron four corners (comprising artillery and cavalry), and he was increasingly adept at orchestrating this whole operation. However, the large contingent detached from Taiyuan was still en route, and the three-day window of opportunity was precisely what he needed. Not a day more, not a day less.

He traced another red circle around the Shouyang East stronghold. The sound of the pencil gliding across the paper was so soft it was almost inaudible.

"Send orders to all battalions," he said, without turning around, "to prepare for battle."

Zhao Gang responded from behind and his footsteps headed towards the door. He paused at the doorway, glanced at the darkening sky outside, and then stepped out.

Zhao Weiguo was the only one left in the ancestral hall. He put down his pencil, stood for a while, and then reached out to touch the note from Zhizi that was pressed against the ruler. The edge of the paper was crumpled, but he smoothed it out and ignored it. The words on the note gleamed with a dim yellow light under the kerosene lamp, the strokes tight and forceful, as if the writer had gripped the pen with great strength. He remembered Zhizi's fingers when she handed him the note; her knuckles were white with cold.

Outside, someone was untying the mule's reins, and someone was calling for the communications soldier. Dusk fell from the courtyard, darkening the red arrows on the map. Zhao Weiguo stood motionless in front of the map, his fingers still pressed against the creases of the paper strip, only letting go when the creases were smoothed out by his body heat.

Dusk had fallen. A wick had formed on the lamp wick; he reached for his scissors and trimmed it, and the flame flickered back to life, illuminating the thick red circle on the map. He put the scissors back down, stood by the table for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the red circle.

Three days. He mentally went through the numbers. The water at Liujiapo was still soaking the walls of Beiguan, the grain from Xiangyuan had already been distributed to the people's pots, and this pass east of Shouyang was the next wedge to be pried open. Every step he took was in the footprints of the previous one, footprints upon footprints, and he hadn't gone around in circles. He remembered Li Yunlong's words before leaving, "See you to the north," the pencil stub on Ding Wei's ear when he nodded, and the way Kong Jie's right leg sank as he leaned on the edge of the table and said, "Leave the south to me." Three men, all a year older than him, had taken their respective passes, and none of them asked him why.

He adjusted the lamp wick, and the light became more steady. The sound of the messenger's horses' hooves outside the door had long since faded away; only the oil lamp and the spread-out map remained in the ancestral hall. Zhao Weiguo reached out and traced another red circle around the Shouyang East Outpost; the sound of the pencil gliding across the paper was almost inaudible.