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

"You've won a battle; now you need to protect a table."

These words, once spoken by the Grand Elder, were transformed into three different colored thumbtacks in the hands of the staff officer.

The next morning, eight people were crammed into the operations room in Yan'an. There were no extra chairs at the table, so those who arrived late had to stand. Three people were in charge of the surrender ceremony in North China and the railways, three were overseeing the takeover of Northeast China, and the remaining two were organizing intelligence on the Chongqing route and negotiations. The kerosene lamp was still burning, the window paper was already white with sweat, and the room smelled of lamp oil, sweat, and leftover millet porridge mixed together.

Zhao Weiguo stood in front of the map, but didn't look at it first.

He picked up the repair slips for two trucks.

The first car had its water tank repaired by welding, and the chassis was still stable. The second car's gearbox made noises twice, and the driver wrote four words in the status bar: "Standard Usable".

How far can Shang run?

The logistics officer was taken aback by the question, scratching his head: "Flat roads are fine. But climbing long slopes, who knows?"

"Then write it like this. Relay on flat ground; if the gearbox makes that noise again, stop and check." Zhao Weiguo circled those four characters with a pencil. "The first vehicle carries people and documents. The second vehicle carries five days' worth of rations, medicine, spare batteries, and tools."

"We only have one set of clutch plates, and we haven't received the spare tire yet."

"Write down anything that's missing."

The logistics staff officer was busy correcting words, muttering to himself that he was turning a maintenance order into a confession. Someone nearby chuckled, but the boss looked up and the laughter immediately stopped.

The two shortwave radios hadn't appeared out of thin air; they were the same two Zhao Weiguo had brought back from Beiping. The Yan'an confidential group resealed them, one for the delegation's liaison and the other for the escort group. The complete frequency list was broken into three parts, with each relay station taking only its own bag. The communications soldier who had a high fever last night was still lying in the medical station; the replacement communications soldier was only responsible for going from Yan'an to the next station, and would be handed over upon arrival.

These things, laid out on the table, looked shabby: two old cars, two captured radios, five days' rations, and twelve guards. But when the commander picked up the first red thumbtack and pressed it against the location of Beiping (Beijing), no one in the room complained about the shabby appearance anymore.

North China.

Tianjin, Baoding, Shijiazhuang, Zhangjiakou—one red nail after another fell. Outside these five cities lay railway nodes, military depots, armories, hospitals, and prisoner-of-war camps. The terms of surrender were agreed upon, but questions remained: who would receive the keys to the armories, who would control the railway lines, and which troops could enter the cities? Some still fought over these questions with guns drawn.

The black thumbtack landed in the Northeast.

"The railways, warehouses, mines, and machinery left behind there are more valuable than a surrender document." The commander's hand never left the map. "Whoever gets people into the city first can turn around and say the takeover is complete."

The last white thumbtack was placed in Chongqing.

The elder stood at the other end of the table: "At the negotiating table, some will say that since there's a ceasefire in North China, both sides' armies should stay put; and since the Northeast hasn't been taken over yet, it's easiest to hand it over to them first. They talk about it, but their hands are already reaching for the railways and warehouses."

Zhao Weiguo took a pencil and traced the North China Railway westward, stopping when he reached Taiyuan.

"The five cities report daily. Warehouse numbers, railway accessibility, troop increases and decreases, wounded evacuations, and prisoner transfers—any changes are reported on the same day. If the main line is cut off, use a secret line; if the radio is cut off, send a courier. If people can't cross, leave two copies on the spot and wait for the next shift."

Eight staff officers gathered around and broke the daily report into six columns: location, original number, increase/decrease, reason, person in charge, and next verification time. For the railway, writing "open" wasn't enough; they had to explain whether stretchers could pass, whether light wagons could go, and whether heavy wagons needed to wait. For the warehouse, writing "sealed" required indicating the number of keys and seals. For the wounded, writing "transferred" required specifying the receiving hospital.

The more a young staff officer wrote, the more distressed he became.

"Sending a telegram this way would require twice as many characters."

Zhao Weiguo pointed to the word "normal" on his original manuscript.

"Cross it out."

"Four words can save a lot of trouble."

"It saves you the trouble of writing. When you get to Chongqing, and people ask which railway line is operating normally, which depot is operating normally, am I supposed to answer with these four words?"

The young staff officer crossed out the line; the ink wasn't dry, and a black mark appeared on the back of his hand. He was still unconvinced: "People in Chongqing don't necessarily check every single receipt."

"Whether they look at it or not is their business. We can't just have one statement." Zhao Weiguo put his pencil down next to the map. "Words can be exaggerated, but warehouse numbers, address plates, and the people involved can't."

The phone on the table rang at that very moment.

The cipher clerk delivered two telegrams from south of Beiping. The first stated that approximately two thousand Kuomintang troops in the area had offered to enter two warehouses to "assist in maintaining order." The second telegram, from a location a dozen miles away, reported that three to four thousand people were moving in the same direction.

The map officer in charge of compiling the data did some calculations and wrote down six thousand in the enemy situation column.

He wrote quickly, and even picked up a thumbtack as he did so.

Zhao Weiguo pressed down on the map first.

"Where did the six thousand come from?"

"Add the two together."

"Were they two groups, or the same group that moved to a different location?"

The map officer opened his mouth. He flipped through the telegrams again and saw that the two messages were only forty minutes apart, the unit numbers were written vaguely, and the routes were close together.

"There may be overlap."

The room fell silent. The young staff officer, who had just complained that the telegram was too long, hid his hand behind his back; the ink mark was still there.

Zhao Weiguo said, "Prepare for alerts based on high numbers. Leave 2,000, 3,000 to 4,000 entries in the summary column, noting that there may be duplicates. We can't start with 6,000 and then scare ourselves with that 6,000."

The boss only said two words: "Re-examine."

The map officer picked up the telegram and went out. He was walking so fast that his hip hit the corner of the table, knocking the box of thumbtacks to the floor. He squatted down to pick them up, his ears burning red. No one spoke up for him, saying, "Young people are prone to this," and no one laughed at him. The note with "six thousand" written on it was still on top of the map, becoming more and more glaring the more he looked at it.

Half an hour later, the third telegram arrived.

The other side actually numbered about 1,800 people, mostly local security personnel. The core personnel who actually requested entry into the warehouse numbered about 400. The first two reports counted the same group of people along the route twice.

The map strategist reached for the eraser.

"Don't wipe it," Zhao Weiguo said.

The hand froze on the paper.

"Draw a line through the original number, and write the verification result, the date of receipt, and who reviewed it next to it. A mistake is a mistake, and a correction is a correction. Everything must be visible."

The commander immediately transferred him from enemy intelligence gathering to line verification. He wasn't put in solitary confinement, nor was he made to write a guarantee. The remaining telegrams were reviewed by another staff officer; the numbers 6,000, 3,000 to 4,000, 1,800, and 400 were all left on the correction sheet.

The staff officer, who had been reassigned, lowered his head and packed his things, even forgetting to leave his enamel mug on the corner of the table. Reaching the door, he turned back, took the mug, and the lid clinked together.

His first task was to map the sending locations of the two old telegrams onto the same map. Once connected along the highway, the so-called second team simply changed the location and sent a new telegram forty minutes later. The error was immediately exposed when the blue pencil made a slight inflection on the paper.

The staff officer stared at the blue line for a long time before signing his name on the correction form.

Zhao Weiguo neither comforted him nor reprimanded him further. He made two copies of the correction sheet, one for the enemy intelligence group and one for the line group. From now on, for the same unit number, similar time, and adjacent location, duplicates would be checked first, and then the results would be summarized.

There were no gunshots or injuries that morning.

The difference between six thousand and four hundred lies in whether the reserve forces outside the two warehouses will be emptied out for nothing.

Zhao Weiguo circled Kumen on the map.

"The original takeover team remains in place. The outer access road can be opened, but the warehouse doors will not be handed over. If the other side wants to enter, they must first provide a list of names, the number of weapons, the duration of their stay, and who is in charge."

Someone asked, "What if we force our way in?"

"Guard the gates, block the roads, and report to Yan'an. Don't chase them into the residential areas." He paused, then glanced at the correction sheet again. "And don't write 4,000 instead of 400, or fire the wrong number."

The telegram from Taiyuan arrived before noon.

Zhao Gang broke down the takeover plan into three layers. The first layer was responsible for guarding the warehouses and railways; the second layer was responsible for the transfer of the wounded and local transportation; and the third layer was for mobile artillery and infantry. Each layer had a person in charge, assembly time limit, and replacement personnel listed, and no one used the word "on standby" to fool people.

On the back of the telegram was Lao Zhou's note, written in thick characters, with several ink dots that looked like pen tips piercing the paper.

Artillery pieces ready for immediate deployment, those awaiting repair, and those lacking spare parts are listed separately. Temporary support orders should clearly state their purpose, route, ammunition load, and withdrawal time. Old Zhou has a right knee injury; he can walk short distances, but his assistant will run longer routes. The last line contains only seven characters: Don't treat artillery like a personal matter.

After reading it, the elder handed it to Zhao Weiguo: "The person didn't come, but his temper followed him into the cave."

Zhao Weiguo smiled and said, "He cursed me even more harshly to my face."

"Are you comfortable leaving these two people in North China?"

"Zhao Gang oversees the general ledger, and Lao Zhou oversees the artillery. They can argue anytime they meet. And when they do, the numbers don't get mixed up."

Footsteps came from outside the door; Zhi Zi had arrived.

She had traveled all night, and there was a thin layer of dust on the shoulders of her military uniform. She carried only a folder in her hand. Upon entering, she first reported to the commander-in-chief, then took out three pages of paper from the folder and placed them next to Chongqing, the stations along the railway line, and the delegation's residence.

Three messages.

The first entry comes from the station registration. The Chongqing military and police have already compiled a list of stations and docks the delegation might pass through. The official explanation is for transportation support, but the form requires the accompanying personnel to fill in their place of origin and original work unit. This information corroborates the original station registration form, making it highly credible.

The second source is a local courier. It's a temporary escort team that changed its designation twice, has a small number of members, and the source of its weapons is unclear. They may have been traveling with the convoy. Credibility is moderate.

The third source came from internal liaison channels in Chongqing. Three high points near the negotiation location were repositioned with guards: military and police on the outer ring, and plainclothes officers on the inner ring. The rotation schedule was checked twice, but no personnel list was available; it could only be written as "pending verification."

Zhao Weiguo first turned over the three pages and looked at the date, recipient, and second source on the back.

"First, check the station schedule. Second, observe license plates and shift changes along the way. Third, verify again upon arrival in Chongqing; the entire route cannot be changed just because of this."

Zhi Zi tucked the folder closer to her chest: "I'm applying to join the mission team, to be in charge of intelligence liaison and evacuation routes."

The monk leaning against the door spoke first: "There are only twelve people in the escort team. The patient from last night was just relieved."

"She doesn't occupy a combat escort slot," the commander said. "Her files are individually numbered and belong to the mission team. She reports information; on-site orders are not issued by her."

Zhao Weiguo added Zhi Zi's name to the outside of the list, and wrote "intelligence liaison" after it.

"You can suggest changing routes. Whether to continue or not is up to me and the section commander. If communication is lost, follow the contingency plan. If you see a suspicious person, first note their location, clothing, license plate, and who they have been in contact with. Don't lead the delegation into an alley where no one will be there just to avoid one person."

Gardenia turned to look at the monk: "Did he chase after him?"

The monk turned his back away from the doorframe: "They've already drawn their guns, and I'm still standing there?"

"Whether you stand guard or not, we'll have a drill tomorrow," Zhao Weiguo said. "If we leave the withdrawal line, who'll cover your position?"

The monk's mouth moved, but he didn't answer.

The three-layer map was laid out until midnight.

The red nails in the five cities of North China have not been removed. The black nail in Northeast China remains a black nail. Next to the white nail in Chongqing, twelve guards, eight staff officers, one intelligence liaison, two old trucks, two shortwave radios, and five days' worth of dry rations have been added.

Gardenia's name was written outside the list of twelve, without a battle number. The monk looked at it twice, then drew a line next to her name with a pencil to remind himself not to miss anyone when counting people, but also not to report thirteen people as thirteen guards.

After seeing it, Zhi Zi didn't wipe it off, but instead added four words at the end: "A bag of documents".

The bag contained three clues about Chongqing: high-level, medium-level, and pending verification, marked with three different colors. If anyone mistook "pending verification" for "confirmed," the mistake made by the map advisor this morning would be repeated once they arrived in Chongqing.

The second vehicle was still honking, and the spare tire still hadn't arrived. The feverish communications officer was sweating profusely at the medical station, while the map clerk had moved from the summary table to the line group. The numbers on the table looked rather unimpressive, even somewhat shabby.

The boss handed the final task list to Zhao Weiguo.

"Protect them from the center; do not stray from the overall situation."

Zhao Weiguo signed his name.

He pressed the edges of the map with both hands. Below his left was North China, burdened with unfinished warehouses, railways, wounded soldiers, and prisoners of war; below his right was Chongqing, with only a segmented route and a few pages of information yet to be verified.

He only relaxed when the paper edges stopped curling upwards.

The telegram from Taiyuan, the clues from Chongqing, and the vehicle inspection report were each put into their own bags. The Grand Elder put away the route map and instructed that a rehearsal be conducted the next day, and that there was no rush to set off.

"Train all twelve of them thoroughly," he said, "who should retreat, who should block, and who should make the final move."

The first leg was escorted by the Yan'an guard force; the second leg was handed over to the Xi'an transportation station; and the third leg, before entering Chongqing, was taken over by the delegation's guard group. Zhi Zi was only responsible for liaison and could not directly mobilize personnel without going through the commanders of these three legs.

The monk glanced down at the holster but didn't touch it.

Zhao Weiguo folded up the escort list.

"Protect people first."

He looked at the line "intelligence liaison" on the paper and added another sentence.

"We'll settle the rest tomorrow."