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

On the morning of the fifth day, gunfire was still being received at the Chiyabao surrender line.

None of the 3,790 people awaiting disposal walked out of the core area together. One group was at the southeast fort, another at the northwest corner, and the underground fortifications were divided into several locations. Each group fired shots first, then crossed the white line. The wounded and those who could walk were separated, and officers, signalmen, and artillerymen were registered separately.

After a Japanese soldier put down his rifle, he pulled a thin piece of metal from his shoe. The guards immediately subdued him, and the rest of the column halted for twenty minutes. The body searches resumed, and those already searched were not spared.

Zhao Gang was looking at the handover form at the front desk; the edges of the paper were covered with muddy handprints.

How many cores are left?

"The current estimate is 3,790. Each batch that comes out reduces the number, so the number of people in the underground fortifications doesn't match up."

Write down the current amount. Do not settle accounts in advance.

At 10 a.m., the reconnaissance team on the west side delivered a statement.

Last night, a one-armed Japanese officer led four men away from the core area, heading west through the old drainage ditch. The prisoner who was speaking had only seen his back from a distance and did not know his name.

After hearing this, the monk was about to lead the people away.

Zhao Weiguo stopped him.

"First, check the road."

The reconnaissance team found a right boot print along the drainage ditch, followed by a trail of a sack being dragged across it. Only muddy marks from a right hand gripping the ditch wall remained; there were no signs of support on the left side. Six hundred meters away, two spent Japanese pistol cartridges lay in front of an abandoned charcoal kiln.

Testimony, footprints, and bullet casings can only indicate that someone entered the kiln; they cannot directly identify Yamamoto Ichiki.

Zhao Gang placed the three items separately on the wooden box.

"One-armed, right hand usable, officer, familiar with the old drainage ditches."

"Find more people who have seen him."

Two prisoners in the surrender area said they had seen Yamamoto. When questioned separately, they both said that Yamamoto was missing his left arm from the elbow down, that he served as a training and anti-infiltration advisor, and that he had inspected the hidden lines, drainage ditches, and decoy posts after entering Chiya Fort.

The two statements were not allowed to be heard by each other.

At 1 p.m., the monk led the guard team to the outside of the charcoal kiln. Old Zhou guarded the outer slope, and the machine gun blocked the ditch behind. The medic and the translator stayed behind the wooden bunker, and no one allowed Zhao Weiguo to enter the kiln alone.

"There are five inside," the monk said. "Two are still, one is coughing, and one is guarding the corner. The one furthest inside has an empty left sleeve."

"gun?"

"One kiln site. At least two inside."

The translator shouted into the kiln, demanding that everyone lay down their weapons and that the wounded be allowed to leave first.

There was no response the first time.

After the second search, a pistol slid out from the darkness, followed by two rifles. One Japanese soldier with a leg injury walked out, leaning against the wall; the other, wounded in the chest, could only crawl out. The guards searched him first, then the medic took over.

The monk pushed a door panel around the corner. No gunshots were heard. He went inside with his gun, first searching the man to the right of the innermost man for the hand grenade and pistol, then checking his clothes, the pile of charcoal, and the walls of the kiln.

"Safety."

Zhao Weiguo then entered the kiln, followed by a guard and a medic.

Water dripped from the top of the charcoal kiln, and the ground was covered with damp charcoal ash. The man leaned against the kiln wall, his left sleeve folded back from the elbow and tucked into his belt. The old wound on his severed arm had healed, the skin and flesh wrinkled together, but his left arm had not recovered.

The new injury is on my right lower back.

The shrapnel wound was black, the surrounding area was swollen and shiny, and the uniform was stuck to the skin with pus and blood. When the medic cut the fabric, the man tried to support himself with his right hand, but still couldn't stand up.

He looked up at Zhao Weiguo.

"You've grown up."

"You're getting old."

The translator had to relay the information, so Yamamoto repeated it in broken Chinese.

"I remember you."

The identity verification process did not end with that sentence.

The first item is the prisoners' confessions.

The second item was identification. The monk found a training consultant pass in the hidden compartment of Yamamoto's underwear. The photo was old, but the name and affiliation were still identifiable. He handed the number to the front desk for verification.

The third item is the injuries. The left arm is missing above the elbow, consistent with the old records from Coffin Ditch and the descriptions of the two prisoners; the right waist wound is a recent shrapnel wound and cannot be used to prove the identity from four years ago.

The fourth item is handwriting. Yamamoto has an anti-infiltration training notebook with notes on sentry handover and decoy lines written in the corners. His signature is found in the old training materials sent by Zhizi, with the two "wood" characters ending in the same way. The handwriting is only used as supporting evidence.

The fifth item is a Q&A session with myself.

Zhao Weiguo asked, "Which way did you leave from that night in Coffin Gully?"

"Dry riverbed. Head east first, then turn north before dawn."

"How was your left arm severed?"

Yamamoto glanced at the empty sleeve.

"I cut it myself. You guys got too close."

Who saved you?

"Patrol team. Noon the next day."

These details corroborated the old confessions, patrol records, and injuries. With all five pieces of evidence in hand, Zhao then wrote "Yamamoto Ichiki" in the identity section.

The old records also filled in the details of Yamamoto's whereabouts after his disappearance.

During the incident at Coffin Gully, he severed his left arm and crawled out of the dry ditch. He was discovered by a Japanese patrol the next day at noon. He survived after his wound was treated, but his left arm was permanently missing. After the original special forces team was wiped out, he never led another team like that. He later became a training and counter-infiltration consultant, teaching the outposts how to detect informants, set up false sentries, and guard drainage ditches.

Several decoy lines at Chiya Fort, the narrow ditch cans, and the repeated passwords all bore similar patterns in his training notes. Zhao Weiguo didn't attribute all the fortifications to Yamamoto because of this. The notes could prove his involvement in the defense; however, who laid out which line would be determined by specific prisoners.

When Zhi Zi brought the old signature, the paper had already yellowed. She placed the two signatures side by side on the wooden board, only pointing out the ending strokes and turns, without saying "definitely." Zhao Gang asked another clerk who was unaware of the matter to take another look. Only when the two judged in agreement did they mark the handwriting as matching.

"Is it that complicated?" the monk asked.

"The living can lie, and the dead can admit their mistakes," Zhao Gang said. "If one of the five items is missing, just write down one less item."

The monk glanced at Yamamoto but didn't urge him any further.

Yamamoto leaned against the wall of the kiln, breathing heavily.

"Four years," he said. "You walked here from the scrap yards of Beiping."

Zhao Weiguo did not follow his story and tell the legend.

"Many people have died in these four years. Beishankou, Heisonggou, Shiyao, Chiyabao—the names are all out there."

"You win."

"Red Cliff Fortress hasn't been cleared yet."

Yamamoto reached for his waist with his right hand, and the guard immediately raised his gun. His hand only touched the cut-open uniform; there was no weapon inside.

"You're still wearing that thing?"

Zhao Weiguo knew he was referring to the Little Bronze Star. He didn't remove the collar insignia, nor did he show it to Yamamoto.

"That's my own stuff."

Yamamoto chuckled, but coughed halfway through, blood staining his lips.

"You laid out 100,000 people on the road, and I thought you'd come here to brag."

"One hundred thousand and several hundred is a general ledger. Those guarding the road, carrying the wounded, repairing carts, and watching the warehouse all have their places. Only a few people are going into the kiln today, because only a few are needed here."

Yamamoto tried to sit up. His right hand slipped in the charcoal ash, and he sat back down. The medic checked his wound and told the translator that the infection was severe and he needed to be transferred immediately.

"Take him out," Zhao Weiguo said.

Yamamoto refused the stretcher, and the guards did not argue with him. They searched the other two people in the kiln first, then secured Yamamoto to the door panel. The stretcher ropes were wrapped around his right shoulder and waist, avoiding his wounds.

As the light from outside the kiln fell in, Yamamoto closed his eyes for a moment.

He was not taken to the surrender line, but directly sent to the Shiyao health station and placed under separate guard. His identification documents, notes, bullet casings, and interrogation records were sealed separately, and the identity verification form was signed by Zhao Gang, the monk, and the translator.

In the afternoon, the core area of ​​Chiyabao was cleared out.

The gun receiving point reported its numbers periodically. Artillery positions, ammunition depots, wounded soldiers' quarters, and ordinary prisoners' quarters were separated. The seals on civilian houses remained in place, and the granary was jointly guarded by local representatives. No one stopped the surrender process simply because Yamamoto was found.

At 6:40 PM, the Shiyao health clinic reported that Yamamoto had a high fever, was unconscious, and his right lumbar infection continued to worsen. Two medical workers cleaned his wounds, gave him fluids, and wrote everything they could on the treatment form.

At 7:15 PM, Yamamoto stopped breathing.

A medic checked breathing and pulse, while another checked pupils and heartbeat. Guards were present throughout. All three signed the papers, and the time of death was recorded as 7:15 PM, the end of July 1944.

Cause of death: Infection from shrapnel wound to the right waist.

The permanent loss of the left arm is listed as an identifying characteristic, but not as a cause of death.

Zhao Gang delivered the record to the front desk. After reading it, Zhao Weiguo signed the permanent death form.

What happens to the body?

"Following the procedures for the death of prisoners of war, their numbers, photographs, personal belongings, and burial locations were all documented."

Yamamoto's name was moved from the list of prisoners to the list of deaths without being confirmed, and he was not executed by firing squad.

I counted very few of my personal belongings.

A training advisor's badge, a damp notebook, a stopped watch, a few coins, and a right-handed pistol holster. The weapon had already been recovered from the charcoal kiln and couldn't be counted again in the inventory.

The medic attached a numbered tag to the body, and the guards checked the missing arm and right waist wound. Photos were taken of the front, side, and the numbered tag, and the burial site was marked on a map by the takeover team. Yamamoto's belongings, evidence, and body records were all sealed, and no one was allowed to take the watch as a souvenir.

The monk stood outside the health clinic and asked Zhao Weiguo.

"The person who tormented us for four years, just like that, gone?"

"The wound festered, the person died. What else could happen?"

"I also thought we'd have to fight another match."

Zhao Weiguo looked towards the surrender area. There, people were still firing their guns in batches, and the registrar's voice was hoarse from calling out names.

"The fight I had with him was four years ago. Today is for verifying his identity and collecting his body."

The monk scratched his head, feeling neither satisfied nor resentful. He went back to continue investigating the entrance to the underground fortifications.

At night, the first round of clearing and the division of the surrender area at Chiyabao were completed.

When the last batch of captured guns was delivered to the warehouse, the bolts and ammunition were still kept in separate boxes. The night watchmen counted them in front of the soldiers, and the day shift registrar signed off on the handover before leaving. The entrance to the underground fortifications remained sealed, and was to be re-inspected by engineers and the takeover team at dawn.

Underground fortifications remain to be investigated, and personnel awaiting disposal continue to be called upon. The battle tent was not closed simply because one archenemy had died.

Zhao Weiguo touched the small bronze star on the inside of the collar insignia; the stitches were still there.

He released his grip and told Zhao Gang to bring the vacancy lists for each battalion.

The dead have already been brought into the tent.

Those who are still alive will begin reorganization tomorrow.

Zhao Gang spread the vacancy list on the table. The first line still asked the same old question: How many cadres are needed? How many guns are needed? How many combat-ready soldiers are needed? Zhao Weiguo read through the list line by line, marking each number with a pencil.

The page about Yamamoto has been turned. But the ledger has another page.