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

That night, Lao Wei didn't lead Zhao Weiguo to force his way through the blockade ditch.

There were pursuers behind them, and watchtowers ahead; it wasn't completely dark yet. Old Wei led him into a narrow crevice at the bottom of Huangya Gully. Half a dead tree was pinned down outside the crevice, looking from a distance like rotten firewood washed down by a flash flood. The two of them squatted inside all night, unable to light a fire, unable to cough, and even turning over required moving their bones one by one.

In the middle of the night, someone sneaked over to the outside of the ditch twice.

The first time it was by puppet troops; the sound of their shoes crunching in the snow was faint, and they were cursing. The second time it was even quieter; someone spoke a few words in low Japanese, and Old Wei's hand immediately went to his wood-chopping knife.

Zhao Weiguo did not move.

He tucked his pistol into his chest, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, listening to the footsteps passing through the cracks in the rocks. Most recently, the footsteps stopped beside a withered tree, and a bayonet stabbed twice into the pile of firewood, the tip of the blade no more than a foot from Zhao Weiguo's knee. Old Wei's breath caught in his throat. Zhao Weiguo simply pressed the muzzle of his pistol down, but didn't fire.

One shot, and both ends will be blocked.

It wasn't until the evening of the next day that the two of them managed to crawl out of the crevice.

Zhao Weiguo's legs were so numb they didn't feel like his own; the surface of his shoes was as hard as ice, and taking a few steps felt like crushing shards of glass under his feet. Old Wei wasn't much better off; his old injury in his left leg was frozen stiff, making each step even harder, yet he still led the way.

As the sun was about to touch the western mountain ridge, they arrived at the blockade ditch.

Old Wei pushed Zhao Weiguo behind a half-collapsed stone house, then lay down by the crumbling wall and pointed forward.

"See that? That's a ditch."

Zhao Weiguo looked out through the gap in the wall, and after just one glance, his heart sank.

A trench stretched across the ravine, a little over three feet wide and about six feet deep. The bottom of the trench was pitch black, as if it had abruptly cut off the mountain path. The freshly turned soil had frozen into a hard crust, and barbed wire was stuck along the edge of the trench. Several shallow openings were piled with rocks and dead branches. Whether there were any landmines inside was impossible to tell from this distance.

Every few hundred steps across the ditch stood a wooden watchtower. The watchtowers weren't tall, but their positions were strategically advantageous, with gun ports pointing towards the ditch entrance and the mountain path. Even before the searchlights were turned on, the lamp bases were already angled in this direction. As soon as the lights were on, the ditch entrance, the stone house, and the frozen vegetable patch in front of it were all illuminated.

There's a puppet army outpost on this side of the ditch.

Six puppet soldiers were gathered around a fire. Two were dozing off with their rifles, two were overturning a large cart, and the other was squatting by the fire warming his hands. The most conspicuous was the puppet soldier leader, wearing a leather hat, with a pistol tucked into his waistband and a bag of salt clutched in his hand, which he was slapping repeatedly on an old man's face.

Seven or eight people were kneeling beside the truck.

An old man carrying a load, a woman holding a child, and four teenagers. The teenagers' faces were purple from the cold, and their clothes were tattered, but their shoes were out of place. They weren't local coarse cloth shoes, but city shoes with layered soles; the uppers were worn out, but the style was still there. One of them had a piece of fleece peeking out from the collar, like an old cotton overcoat worn by students in Beijing.

Zhao Weiguo's gaze paused for a moment.

Children who fled from Beiping.

Old Wei saw it too, and his face turned black.

"These lackeys have been cracking down harder these past two months. Seven out of ten people smuggling salt, cloth, or medicine into the mountains are detained. If they don't find any tickets, they rob the goods and release the person; if they find something, they just haul it away."

Zhao Weiguo did not respond.

The man in the leather hat held the bag of salt up to the firelight, his voice shrill.

"Salt! Sending salt to the mountains? Tell me, which village is it for? To the Eighth Route Army, right?"

The old man's lips trembled, and all he could do was shake his head.

The man in the leather hat was kicked in the chest. The old man fell backward, his head hitting the frozen ground with a dull thud. The woman holding the child flinched in fright; the child was huddled in her arms, too afraid to even cry.

A boy suddenly leaned forward, but was pulled back tightly by the person next to him.

I saw the leather hat.

"You little brats, stand up!"

Nobody moved.

The man in the leather hat walked over, grabbed the hair of the boy at the front, and pulled him up from the ground. The boy gritted his teeth, his lips cracked from the cold, and blood seeped out, but he didn't utter a sound.

"Where did it come from? Where's the travel permit?"

The boy remained silent.

The man in the leather hat slapped the boy across the face with a backhand motion. The sound was crisp as the boy's face turned to the side, blood dripping from his chin onto the snow. He swayed for a moment, then turned his head back, his eyes fixed on the leather hat.

The man in the leather hat pulled a crumpled piece of paper from inside his cotton-padded coat and brought it to the fire to look at it.

His expression immediately changed.

"Police from the border region? You're from the Eighth Route Army!"

Zhao Weiguo's hand touched the gun.

Old Wei grabbed his wrist, his five fingers gripping it like an iron hoop.

"Don't be reckless. There are two pillboxes across the ditch, and a bridge behind the sentry post. If you fire, the lights will come on, and those kneeling men will die first."

Zhao Weiguo couldn't shake him off.

His eyes scanned back and forth between the sentry post, the bridge, the pillbox, the bonfire, and the frozen vegetable field.

The leather hats were meant to project authority; the two puppet soldiers by the campfire kept their guns close at hand, while the two men whose vehicles had overturned were far from their weapons. There was another group of soldiers waiting to change shifts on the other side of the bridge. The real danger was the pillbox. Once the searchlights swept across, everyone at the mouth of the ditch would be exposed.

Where is the bridge?

"Three hundred paces to the east. The person changing shifts needs to cross the bridge and go around to this side of the post."

How often should it be changed?

"Change clothes before dark and again in the middle of the night."

Zhao Weiguo whispered, pressing himself against the crack in the stone, "It's almost time for the next group before dark."

Old Wei stared at him.

Zhao Weiguo raised his chin and pointed to the two puppet soldiers by the fire.

"The one on the left has his gun slung over his shoulder, and the one on the right keeps staring at the bridge. The two who overturned the vehicle are preoccupied with their belongings; the one in the leather hat is eager to interrogate people, wanting to secure credit before his shift ends. The replacement hasn't even arrived yet, and their desire to be laid off has already vanished."

Old Wei followed the gaze, his face darkening inch by inch.

He couldn't explain why Zhao Weiguo's judgment was wrong.

Sure enough, a muffled shout came from the other side of the bridge in the distance. Someone was calling for a gathering, the sound fragmented by the mountain wind, drifting over intermittently.

"That's all the time we have," Zhao Weiguo said. "If we miss it, the guy in the leather hat will drag those boys away."

"How do you want to fight?"

"It's not about setting up a checkpoint, it's about clearing a path."

"A shot must be fired to clear the way."

"If a shot is fired, everyone should run. Don't leave them kneeling there waiting for the lights to come on."

Old Wei's Adam's apple bobbed. He had been working in transportation for three years, and he had seen people swallowed by blocked ditches, and he had also seen tragic incidents where a whole string of wires was lost trying to save one person. Zhao Weiguo's method was risky, as risky as cutting a rope with a knife, but if they didn't act now, those teenagers and the old man wouldn't live much longer either.

"I'll lead my men to retreat to the dry ditch on the right," Old Wei finally whispered. "There are no barbed wire ditches there, but it's narrow; only two people can cross at a time. Don't linger."

"I'll take out the three with guns first. The ones in leather hats, and the two puppet soldiers by the campfire. Once the gun fires, you shout for people to run to the right ditch."

"Where's the pillbox?"

"Lights will illuminate the ditch ahead. Whoever remains in the open after the lights are on will die."

Old Wei cursed, his voice so low it sounded like it was being squeezed out between his teeth.

"If you die here, I won't be able to face Mr. Zhang."

"Live first, then we'll talk about what to say."

Zhao Weiguo drew his pistol, cocked it, glanced at it, and then pushed it back. His movements were slow, not to show off the gun, but to avoid making a mistake with his stiff, cold fingers. He didn't touch anything in the system space, nor did he consider using any inexplicable contraptions to salvage the situation. Old Wei, the civilians, and the watchtower were here; anything that appeared out of nowhere would become another problem.

Gun, terrain, gap.

These are all that's available right now.

At the checkpoint, the man in the leather hat had already stuffed the border area notice into his pocket, and his other hand reached for his holster.

"I'll kill you today, hang you at the gully entrance tomorrow morning, and see which little brat dares to venture into the mountains then."

The puppet soldiers by the campfire chuckled twice. One of them, halfway through his laugh, turned to look across the bridge, as if annoyed that his replacement was taking too long.

Zhao Weiguo stood up.

The first shot hit the man in the chest, who was wearing a leather hat.

The gunshots exploded along the mountain valley, harsher than the sound of the wind, more piercing than the cracking of rocks. The man in the leather hat swung his right hand violently, the pistol and its holster tilting to one side, and he stumbled half a step.

He could no longer utter a word; he fell backward, his fingers still hooked on the holster, the pistol still undrawn.

The second shot hit the upper body of the puppet soldier on the left side of the campfire.

The man was pulling his rifle into his arms when he jolted, the rifle crashing into the woodpile, sparks flying all over his face.

The third shot followed the muzzle of the puppet soldier on the right.

The man had just dragged the gun off his knees when he suddenly felt a heavy weight on his chest, causing him to knock over half of the wooden basket, scattering salt bags and rags all over the ground.

After the three shots were fired, the checkpoint was thrown into chaos.

Old Wei rushed out from the other side of the stone house, his voice breaking through the wind.

"Run to the right ditch! Run if you want to live!"

The kneeling person was stunned for a moment.

The boy who had been beaten was the first to react. He kicked his companion in the leg and yelled in a hoarse voice, "Let's go!"

Four teenagers scrambled and stumbled towards the right-hand ditch mouth. A woman carrying a child stumbled after them, while an old man, having been kicked in the chest, tried to get up twice but couldn't. Old Wei rushed over, grabbed the old man, and dragged him towards the dry ditch.

Two puppet soldiers remained behind the fire, their cart overturned. They froze for a moment, then scrambled to hide behind the sentry post. One of them shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Fire! Fire! Watch the pillbox!"

Someone in the pillbox across the ditch heard it and suddenly turned on the searchlight.

A white light cleaved down from the opposite hillside, first sweeping over the bonfire, then the cart and the salt bags scattered on the ground, before sweeping across towards the stone house. Just before the light reached the corner of the wall, Zhao Weiguo tumbled down the crumbling wall and rolled along the frozen vegetable patch into a shallow ditch.

The bullets quickly caught up.

The first volley struck the crumbling stone walls, shattering the earth and rocks. The second volley swept towards the mouth of the dry ditch, causing the snow along the ditch to fall in a flurry. Old Wei pushed the old man into the ditch, then rolled down himself, his back struck by the falling rocks.

Zhao Weiguo lay prone in the ditch and fired another shot.

It wasn't about attacking the pillbox.

The distance was too great, and it was too dark; attacking the pillbox would be a waste of bullets. He shot at the wooden basket filled with salt and miscellaneous items next to the campfire. The basket was overturned, and salt packets, rags, and broken pot shards were scattered all over the ground. Half of the campfire was also crushed, and as the firelight dimmed, chaos immediately ensued at the outpost.

Taking advantage of the chaos, the last boy slipped into the dry ditch.

Zhao Weiguo got up and left.

Instead of running towards the main entrance of the dry ditch, he sprinted diagonally towards the section of stone embankment that Old Wei had pointed out earlier. It was covered with withered grass, and there was a gap at the bottom that was only half a person wide. You could slide down into the ditch through the gap, but if you were a fraction of a second too slow, you would be caught by the searchlight.

A white light swept across his back.

Zhao Weiguo lunged forward, crashing into the gap. His shoulder slammed into the rocks, the pain making his vision blur, and he nearly dropped his gun. He gritted his teeth, gripped the gun, and slid down the gravel for about two meters. When he reached the bottom of the ditch, his knees buckled, and he almost knelt down.

Old Wei was downstairs and reached out to pull him up.

"Are you out of your mind, kid?"

"Walk."

Zhao Weiguo only replied with one word.

The dry ditch was as dark as a well. Ahead were Old Wei and the others who had escaped; behind were blind spots beyond the reach of the pillbox lights. The ditch walls were narrow, and the stones on both sides scraped against their cotton-padded coats. Women carrying children couldn't run fast, and an old man was being supported by two teenagers, his chest heaving like a broken bellows.

A chorus of whistles sounded behind them.

The changing of the guard had arrived. Some were shouting at the bridgehead, some were cursing at the sentry post, and a puppet soldier was crying out, "They've run into the ditch!" To make matters worse, Zhao Weiguo heard a few more steady military boots amidst the chaotic footsteps.

The Japanese devils arrived too.

Old Wei clearly understood as well, and his face turned very ugly.

Are there any villages nearby?

"Yes, there's a small village at the foot of Laoyaling Ridge, with about ten households."

"Is it an online location?"

Old Wei didn't answer.

Just don't answer.

Zhao Weiguo glanced at the increasingly chaotic light and shadow behind him.

"Then let's go to the village. First, hide the wounded and the civilians, then cut off the pursuers outside the village."

Old Wei grabbed him.

"Do you know what that means? If they search the village, the whole village will be killed."

"They're catching up now." Zhao Weiguo looked at him, his voice as cold as ice in a ditch. "If we don't enter the village, these people will die first; if we recklessly enter, the whole village will die. Only by turning the village into a trap will there be a sliver of hope."

Old Wei slowly loosened his grip.

Ahead, the boy who had been slapped helped the old man turn around and glance back. The blood on his face had frozen, but his eyes were frighteningly bright.

"I can move stones," he said.

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him.

"First, get to the village alive."

The flashlight beam behind us had already caught up to the mouth of the ravine, the light spots flickering on the stone wall.

Old Wei gritted his teeth and turned around.

"Follow me! Don't fall behind, or I won't come back to help you!"

No one speaks.

The group ventured deep into the dry ravine, running towards Laoyaling, their footsteps treading on loose stones and remnants of ice. Behind them, the whistles and gunshots of their pursuers amplified segment by segment through the ravine, like a group of iron hooks, firmly grappling with their backs.

Saving lives is not the end.

The gunshots rang out, and they led the enemy into the mountains as well.