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

Baimaling cannot accommodate 50,000 people.

In late December, only the main force of the Independent Regiment and representatives from various directions were actually lined up in front of the main platform. The eastern mining area was still repairing tracks, draining water, and transporting coal, the western neighboring areas were guarding the railway and villages, and the people guarding prisoners and caring for the wounded in the south had not come.

Zhao Gang placed the four ledgers under the main table.

Officially employed personnel number 15,500. Training and replenishment personnel number 14,500. Local armed forces number 8,000. Cooperative personnel from neighboring countries and external lines number 12,000. Total for all four categories: 50,000.

The first line of the report emphasized: 50,000 was a campaign deployment, not the official size of the Independent Regiment.

One of the clerks copied too quickly and missed the "battle scheduling" section. When Zhao Gang saw this, he drew a big X next to that line.

"Rewrite it."

The clerk seemed reluctant to part with the piece of paper: "It's just missing four words."

"Missing just four words will result in 34,500 more regular soldiers tomorrow. Where are you going to get uniforms, rations, and unit numbers for them?"

The monk stood to one side, still clutching Wang Donglai's mission token in his hand.

"They've already called for a regimental commander of 50,000 men."

"The grain distribution isn't handled outside," Zhao Gang said. "The accounts can't be kept up with the calls."

The monk looked down at the wooden sign and did not take it.

Duan Peng leaned against the main pillar, a straw in his mouth.

"Fifty thousand people, that sounds pretty impressive."

"What's the use of intimidation?" Zhao Gang folded the rewritten report neatly. "It might intimidate the Japanese, but it won't intimidate their stomachs. If 50,000 people need three days' worth of food, you can calculate how many cartloads of grain that will take."

Duan Peng took the straw out of his mouth: "Then what's the point of the inspection?"

"The inspection isn't just for show," Zhao Gang said, closing the four ledgers. "It's to let people in all directions see how many men, how many guns, and how many gaps are in their respective columns. Only when they see this can they know how to fight the next battle."

The inspection began with the artillery.

The barrels of the six reloaded mountain guns were cleaned, and the iron hoops from the repairs at Liujiapo were still on the wheels of two of them. Of the four captured Japanese infantry guns, only one was brought over; the remaining three were missing parts, deformed, or had not been cleaned properly, and were not allowed to be displayed for show.

Old Zhou stood beside the artillery barricade, his left shoulder unsupported. The mountain wind seeped into his old wound, and he would switch legs every now and then, but his hand remained firmly on the gun wheel.

A young gunner asked in a low voice, "Should we cover the iron hoops with a cloth?"

Old Zhou glanced at him: "Why are you covering it up?"

"Looks old."

"It was damaged before. It still spins, it still fires, the parameters are still there, it's not shameful to just leave it there. What the hell are you trying to cover up? Does covering it up make it less old?"

The young gunner fell silent and bent down to wipe the gun wheel clean.

Behind the artillery was the communications unit.

Telephone exchange, cable reels, spare batteries, and cavalry messengers passed by in turn. No one marched in step; the column was spaced out according to the actual starting intervals. The cable reels were too heavy, so two people took turns carrying them. One of the messenger horses had a scabbed-over scratch on its front leg and only walked a short demonstration before being led away by a veterinarian.

Duan Peng's mobile forces entered the field from the west slope.

The cavalry led the way, followed by engineers and infantry, with the transport wagons bringing up the rear. Each usable car, short-term repair vehicle, mule cart, and handcart displayed a wooden plaque indicating mileage, load capacity, fuel level, and any malfunctions. Someone wanted to remove a truck that emitted black smoke when started, but the mechanic refused.

"It can travel sixty li today. Record the smoke on the sign and take it back for repairs. If you remove it, you won't have another good cart in your inventory."

The medical team did not carry an empty stretcher while shouting slogans.

A soldier, posing as a wounded soldier in the abdomen, was transported from the front line on the western slope to the battalion-level aid station, and then transferred to a mule cart to go to the rear medical station. At each stop, the medics recorded the time, pulse, and reason for the transfer. During the journey, a stretcher rope came loose, and the exercise was immediately paused until it was properly secured before continuing.

The people on the main stage waited for seven minutes.

No one was urging us.

Liujiapo has already proven with 174 lives that the seven minutes saved by the wounded on the road may have to be paid for with a life.

The eastern route reported the air defense drill in the mining area by telephone.

After the enemy aircraft alarm was sounded, the mine tracks stopped first, and the machine tool samples, reference gauge blocks, and blueprints were transferred separately into the tunnel. Local and trained forces were responsible for guarding, mine clearance, transportation, and production restoration. More than 5,000 people did not appear at Baimaling, but they all had places in the four tents.

The restoration time was also reported over the phone. After the alarm was lifted, the mine track was not opened immediately. The engineers first walked along the line to confirm that there was no new damage to the switches, bridges, and power lines. Gauge blocks had to be inspected and sealed by two people when they returned to the reference room, and drawings were put away in cabinets according to their numbers. Even a missing page could not be explained away as "the chaos of the drill".

The neighboring countries on the western front only sent liaison officers and representatives.

The battalion flag of the 358th Regiment was not displayed in the independent regiment's ranks. The reply slip delivered by the liaison officer listed the arrival time, seven days' worth of rations and ammunition, and the road mission. As for the appointment and removal of the battalion commander, military discipline, and internal orders, Chu Yunfei was still in charge.

The southern route is quieter.

The 1,000 prisoners of war from the 1st Regiment were held in separate sections, with the wounded separated from the regular soldiers. The guards rotated shifts, and no one emptied the prisoner yard just to watch a parade. Not all of the 19 men the monk brought back were present; those suffering from choking, frostbite, and foot injuries were still at the medical station.

The hospital's receipt was tucked into Zhao Gang's ledger. Of the 496 injured, some were already able to get out of bed, some were still waiting for surgery, and some would never be able to return to their original posts. The list was not reset to zero due to the 50,000-point milestone. Those who could be transferred to communications, warehousing, or local work were reassessed, while those still requiring treatment continued to occupy medications, beds, and nursing staff.

A squad of engineers remained at the abandoned mine entrance. Rocks were still falling from the section behind where Wang Donglai's body lay, and the scaffolding had to be checked every few hours. The monk had gone there once that morning; he had wiped the frost off the wooden sign, but the entrance remained closed. The collapse was unstable; no one could record the search as complete just for the sake of a review day.

The visible queue on Baimaling is less than 50,000.

Those unseen people guarded the mines, the railways, the wounded, the prisoners, the grain carts, and the telephone lines.

When Zhao Weiguo stepped onto the main stage, someone in the audience shouted, "The commander of a regiment of 50,000 men!" The sound traveled from the main stage to the east slope, only to be dispersed by the mountain wind.

He raised his hand, and the signalmen went silent one by one.

"Fifty thousand doesn't mean fifty thousand guns."

The four columns of numbers were read aloud by the messenger, one by one.

"15,500 officially employed. 14,500 trained and supplemented. 8,000 local forces. 12,000 friendly and neighboring forces. Everyone must be accounted for: who is under whose command, where the provisions come from, and where the wounded are sent."

"The unit designation is still Independent Regiment. The highest official unit designation among its subordinate units is the battalion. It's a temporary operational group, formed during combat and withdrawn afterward."

"The enemy fears 50,000 men, fine. But if we ourselves believe we have 50,000 main force, we'll suffer losses in the next battle."

There was no prolonged cheering from the audience.

The iron hoops on the gun wheels, the cars billowing black smoke, and the stretcher ropes that had come loose during the drills were all laid bare before us. Whether 50,000 people could be mobilized depended not on shouts, but on whether the roads, food supplies, telephone lines, cadres, and factories could handle the situation.

Zhao Gang then read out the battle report.

The first item is casualties.

Our army suffered 174 dead and 496 wounded. The First Regiment actually committed about 3,800 men, with about 2,700 confirmed dead, about 1,000 captured, and about 100 deserting. The regiment's organization was destroyed.

The list of the dead was read aloud by battalion.

When Wang Donglai's name was read, the monk flipped the task card over. There was a new crack on the back of the wooden card, caused by a mine tunnel collapse. He didn't look up, nor did he put the card away.

The second item is the 50,000 scheduling nodes.

The third item is the gap.

There was a shortage of mountain guns and infantry guns, less than 60% of the vehicles were operational, there was a lack of telephone exchange equipment, mortar shells needed to be replenished, and winter boots, horse feed, stretchers, and medicine were all in debt. As Zhao Gang read out each item, someone from the corresponding unit in the audience lowered their head to take notes.

The repair depot also delivered a queuing list. The wheel rims of two mountain guns needed to be re-inspected, three captured infantry guns were missing breechblocks, sights, or recoil parts, and only six of the fifteen captured ammunition wagons could be put on the road immediately. The remaining vehicles were placed behind machine tools, drainage pumps, and mine rail parts; they could not be rushed to be repaired before industrial equipment just because they had won a battle.

There were four other monthly tables on the logistics table. Food, ammunition, coal, and medicine were each accounted for separately. If the 50,000 troops were mobilized simultaneously for three days, the daily rations and horse feed would overwhelm the transportation system; if only the main attack battalion was mobilized, local defense and neighboring units would have to make up for the shortfall according to their own accounts. Zhao Gang didn't read out a string of impressive totals, but simply had the representatives from each direction collect the gaps in their respective areas.

The congratulatory telegram from the brigade headquarters was read at the end.

The telegram acknowledged that the Independent Regiment had organized its main force, trained troops, local armed forces, and neighboring units across multiple counties, confirming the First Regiment's achievements, and also requested that it continue to hold the mining areas and transportation lines. There was no "formal expansion of 50,000 troops," nor was there any division or brigade designation created out of thin air.

After the congratulatory telegram was read, Zhao Gang did not allow the battalions to celebrate their victory on the spot. The frontline rotation schedule remained unchanged. The artillerymen went back to check their gun wheels, the transport teams split into different routes according to the condition of their vehicles, and the medicine trucks needed by the hospital left the mountain pass first. The wooden planks dismantled from the main platform were to be sent in the afternoon to repair stretcher frames and warehouse doors.

The 25,000 merit points in the system remain unchanged.

Technology, equipment, communications, transportation—everything was lacking. Zhao Weiguo didn't redeem it on the day of the inspection. Merit could unlock permissions, but it couldn't tighten artillery wheels for a repairman, nor could it carry a wounded soldier across a frozen ditch for a stretcher bearer.

This section is still stamped "Under Discussion," and no one has filled in the exchange items.

The inkpad isn't completely dry yet. The ledger isn't closed either. It's still early.

After the inspection, each team returned to their original mission.

The artillery went first, followed by the transport teams half an hour later to avoid getting stuck at the mountain pass. Representatives from neighboring areas left with their respective receipts. A phone call from the mining area brought a list of drainage pump parts, which Zhao Gang approved the transfer order right there at the main console.

In the evening, Gardenia delivered two messages.

A document from Tokyo. Discussions within the Japanese military began regarding the redeployment of forces in North China, the possibility of drawing troops from the Kwantung Army and Central China, and Okamura's future role in handling a wider range of affairs. The discussions were still on paper; no formal orders had been issued, and no reinforcements had yet arrived at the front.

The intelligence report was stamped with the words "Discussion Draft." Someone had circled Okamura's name twice, but there was no date or execution number next to it. Zhi Zi listed it in the warning column, not in the "occurred" column. If the Kwantung Army and the troops in Central China were to actually move, it would require orders, assembly, and transportation; before that, the front line could neither take the arrows on paper as real reinforcements nor pretend they didn't exist.

The other one is closer.

A part of the 358th Regiment entered Lijiapo and set up a sentry post.

Zhao Gang pulled out the old map. The map showed the villages and towns to the south, the mountain road to the north, and the mining railway station, but it didn't clearly mark the intersection at Lijiapo.

"Chu Yunfei's men stopped two empty cars," Zhi Zi said. "They didn't fire. They said they were acting on orders from above to control north-south traffic in the mining area."

The monk looked up: "Are you going or not?"

Zhao Weiguo folded the old map neatly.

"First ask for the order, then see who forgot to draw that line."

The camp flags at Baimaling haven't all been taken down yet.

The first problem for 50,000 people is that they are stuck on a road that is not clearly marked.

Zhao Weiguo pressed the old cooperation map against the corner of the table, using Wang Donglai's task board to keep it in check. The cracks on the wooden board faced the doorway, like an unclosed gap.

The checkpoint at Lijiapo is still standing there. Chu Yunfei's men didn't fire, but the trouble caused by not firing is often more complicated than that caused by firing.

Duan Peng leaned closer and glanced at the picture.

"What is Chu Yunfei trying to do?"

"He didn't know," Zhao Weiguo said. "His men couldn't explain it either. The higher-ups ordered traffic control, but nobody marked out the lines. Since they couldn't define them, they just kept pushing forward. When they reached our line, they crashed."

"What should we do then?"

"Draw a clear line." Zhao Weiguo put down his pencil. "Draw it tonight. Once it's drawn, no one is allowed to cross it."

Duan Peng picked up the straw and asked, "What if Chu Yunfei doesn't acknowledge it?"

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him.

"He'll acknowledge it," he said. "He's a soldier. A soldier's words, if written down, are accepted."

Duan Peng thought for a moment and then spat out the straw.

"Then I'll go get the pencils."

"Go ahead," Zhao Weiguo said. "Take a few more. If you make a mistake, you can always correct it."

Duan Peng turned and left. But as he reached the door, he turned back: "That Wang Donglai sign, are you still using it on the map?"

Zhao Weiguo didn't answer. He looked down at the wooden sign; the crack faced the doorway, like an unclosed gap.

He reached out and flipped the wooden sign over. With the back facing up, the crack was no longer visible.

But the cracks are still there.