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

The rice water was still bubbling in the pot.

The pot lid bounced back and forth from the steam. No one bothered to lift it. The soldiers who had just been eating their dry rations around the stove had put their bowls on the ground, cocked their rifles, and dragged ropes out of the woodpile.

On the north cliff, when Xiao Tang's shouts echoed back, Li Yunlong had already thrown the Mauser pistol to Zhao Weiguo.

A bullet.

I checked the magazine. There was only one bullet left in it, swaying inside, the sound of the copper casing hitting the iron wall was so faint it was like the chirping of an insect.

Zhao Weiguo gripped the gun.

His hands were numb with cold. The December wind of the Taihang Mountains blew in through the cracks in the cliffs, cutting his face like a dull knife. He had an old wound on the web between his thumb and forefinger. Yesterday, when he was disassembling a gun, he was bitten by the receiver spring; the skin was torn open and hadn't scabbed over. When he gripped the gun, his web stretched open, and blood seeped from the crack again.

He wasn't looking at his hands. He was looking at the north cliff.

When Zhang Dabiao reached up the cliff ridge, the five gray figures had already passed the middle of the waistline.

He shuffled along the rock face. His shoes were wrapped in cloth, so his footsteps were silent. His gun was slung over his back, and besides the ammunition pouch, he had two other things hanging from his waist: a small flag and a string of climbing ropes.

Zhang Dabiao lay prone at the edge of a crevice on the cliff top, only half his face showing. His breath blew the soil from the crevice down.

Five. Two scouts ahead, one in the middle, and two behind. They are spaced about ten paces apart.

The one in the middle stopped. He pulled a small flag from his waist and waved it three times towards the north of the cliff. His movements were unhurried and rhythmic.

Someone was waiting outside the cliff.

Zhang Dabiao shrank back. His voice was lower than his breathing.

"Commander. There are more than five."

Li Yunlong lay down next to Zhang Dabiao, looked down, and his face changed. They'd been camping there for a month, passing by every day, and nobody had noticed it was a crack. A twelve-year-old had pointed it out. Less than a morning later, the enemy had crept up.

"I just happened to touch it," Zhang Dabiao said.

"Just a coincidence?" Li Yunlong gritted his teeth. "Damn it, just a coincidence that I touched this crack?"

He fell silent after he finished yelling.

The Japanese scouts' habit: follow the ridgeline, climb up the cliff line when they encounter it, and follow any natural path they find. This ridgeline was perfectly straight, running from the north side of the cliff all the way to the west side, where the ammunition depot of the new regiment was located.

Were they targeting the New First Regiment? No. They were just passing through on a routine reconnaissance mission. But the New First Regiment deliberately set up camp right on the enemy's reconnaissance line.

After living in the same place for a month, a newcomer spotted his illness at a glance. Li Yunlong was embarrassed, but he didn't care about saving face.

"To fight or not to fight?"

"Fire." Li Yunlong lowered his voice. "Don't fire at the waistline. The waistline is narrow; if they get shot and fall, they won't die, and they can get up and run. Wait until they reach the west side of the cliff, go down the cliff, and get within fifty paces before you fire."

"Down the cliff to the west are piles of ammunition."

"I know. We can't fire from over there at the ammunition depot."

"Then who will block it?"

Li Yunlong glanced down.

Beside the pile of ammunition, Zhao Weiguo stood motionless by the pot, holding the Mauser pistol with only one bullet left.

"That doll."

"Him? What can he do with just one bullet left?"

"I didn't let him block them. I let him watch from below. In case the Japanese come down first, at least someone will know." Li Yunlong shoved Zhang Dabiao. "You take three men and circle around to the west of the cliff to block their retreat. I'll hold the line of fire from the top. Remember..."

"I understand, leaving survivors is something I'm good at."

"Yes. Scouts carry maps, signal books, and mission logs. Dead ones are useless."

Zhang Dabiao led his men westward, clinging to the cliff ridge. The loose rocks hurt their knees, but no one uttered a sound.

Zhao Weiguo looked at the cliff.

A preliminary deduction unfolded in my mind. Five gray dots were clearly visible on the waistline of the northern cliff.

Two men had passed the middle section and were moving towards the west side of the cliff. One was clinging to the cliff face, while the other was crouching low. Another man stopped at a crevice in the middle section, his body pressed against the rock face, looking down to observe the new regiment's encampment. Two others remained at the eastern entrance of the cliff. One faced north, staring outwards, while the other's hand was on the small flag at his waist, as if trying to relay information. The five men had clearly defined roles.

The distance between the five people remained unchanged. About ten steps. They had received professional training.

The wooden door to the side shed was ajar. Chen An peeked out, revealing half his face.

"elder brother…"

"Close the door." Zhao Weiguo didn't turn around. "Lie down on the ground. Don't make a sound."

The door closed. The dry wooden hinge made a soft creak.

Zhao Weiguo mentally measured the distance to the bottom of the cliff. The ammunition was piled up to the base of the cliff, less than eighty paces away. At eighty paces, from the top of the cliff, the target was clearer than a target sheet. If the Japanese came down first, there was no need to fire. A single match thrown into a cargo box would send half the camp flying.

But he couldn't shout towards the top of the cliff. If he did, the people on the cliff would know there were people below.

On the cliff top, Li Yunlong raised his hand. Two soldiers lay prone on either side of him, their rifles aimed at his waist. The distance was far. At this distance, a Hanyang rifle would have to be raised two fingers to barely reach it. Whether it hit or not was up to fate.

Li Yunlong wasn't in a hurry. He was waiting for the enemy to come down on their own.

The first two Japanese soldiers arrived at Yaixi.

One of them crouched down, untied the rope hook from his waist, and swung it towards the cliff face. The iron claw gripped the crevice with a crisp snap. He wrapped the rope around his waist twice, pushed off the cliff face with his feet, and began to slide down. He moved quickly, his body pressed against the wall, making almost no sound.

Zhao Weiguo saw the gray figure fall down the cliff.

Sixty steps.

Fifty steps.

He raised his Mauser pistol.

The gun was light. The Hanyang rifles and Type 38 rifles he'd handled at Lugou Bridge were all heavier. The Mauser pistol had a thin grip, just the right size for his twelve-year-old hands. But the feeling of a single bullet bobbing in the magazine was different from a full magazine. A full magazine felt heavy and stable. A single bullet felt like having only a coin left in his pocket.

He didn't rush to button it up.

His eyes swept across the base of the cliff. The Japanese soldiers had landed in a boulders hollow. Next to the hollow was a shallow ditch, and along its edge was a rocky platform about half a person's height. The platform faced the cliff face, about forty paces away. He could lie down behind the platform and use it as cover. He could also see the second person sliding down the cliff.

He gasped for breath and crouched down to run over.

On the cliff top, Li Yunlong's eyeballs almost popped out.

"What is he doing?!"

The soldiers nearby also saw it: "Commander! That kid is running towards the bottom of the cliff!"

"Damn it! Tell him to come back..."

It was too late. Zhao Weiguo had already crouched behind the rock platform. He rested his pistol on the rock, aiming the muzzle at the boulders.

The first Japanese soldier landed. His feet touched the gravel, his knees slightly bent, and his right hand reached behind his back to pull out a Type 38 rifle. The movement was swift and fluid.

Then he looked up.

Behind the rock platform, there was a black protrusion—the muzzle of a gun.

Before he could react...

boom.

The recoil wasn't great, but Zhao Weiguo already had a cut on his hand, and the shock tore it open completely. Blood dripped down the gun handle onto the stone.

He didn't feel any pain.

The bullet struck the Japanese soldier in the right shoulder socket. It wasn't a fatal shot, but it did manage to disarm him. The Type 38 rifle fell from his hands onto the gravel. The Japanese soldier groaned, clutching his shoulder socket as he crouched down.

On the cliff face, the second Japanese soldier heard the gunshot and stopped sliding down. He grabbed the rope with one hand and drew his gun with the other.

"Clifftop! Fire!" Li Yunlong roared.

Both soldiers fired simultaneously. The sound of the Hanyang rifle was crisper than that of the Mauser pistol; the two shots in succession sounded like tearing cloth.

The Japanese soldier on the cliff was forced to sway by the bullets. The rope scraped against the crevice in the rock, sending sparks flying. He didn't fall. He suddenly loosened the rope, his body plunging half a meter downwards, but he braced his feet on a protruding rock, regained his balance, and raised his gun to return fire.

Bang, bang.

The bullets hit the rocks on the cliff top, and sparks splattered all over a soldier's face.

The soldier ducked his head, and the gun almost slipped from his hand.

"What are you cowering for!" Li Yunlong slapped him on the helmet. "He's dangling on the rope, you can't aim properly! You two rifles can't hold down his one pistol?!"

The soldier gritted his teeth and readjusted his rifle.

Zhao Weiguo watched everyone's position from behind the rock platform.

The one in the rocky hollow, shot in the right shoulder, dropped his gun. He's done for.

The person hanging on the cliff face was pinned down by the fire from the top and couldn't get down.

The one in the middle of the waistline has emerged from the crevice, waving a small red and white flag repeatedly towards the north of the cliff. He's not giving orders; he's giving signals.

Looking at the eastern section of the midline, the remaining two are retreating. They haven't withdrawn; they're tightening their formation.

"Signal flag!" Zhao Weiguo shouted from the top of the cliff, "He's calling for help!"

Li Yunlong saw it too. The Japanese soldier had half his body sticking out of the rock platform, his small flag bobbing up and down rhythmically.

"Shoot the one carrying the flag!"

Two soldiers adjusted their guns. However, a rocky platform blocked their view in the middle of their waistline, so they could only see the hand waving the flag and half of the shoulder. They fired two shots, sending stone chips flying, and the Japanese soldiers retreated.

The flag didn't stop.

Zhang Dabiao's voice came from the west side of the cliff: "Commander! We're in position!"

"Don't wait! Block the west entrance of the waistline! The one coming down..."

Before he could finish speaking, the Japanese soldier on the cliff changed his posture.

He stopped exchanging fire with the cliff top. He suddenly released the rope and plummeted downwards. He wasn't fleeing. He was launching an attack. He was using the momentum of his descent to land, find cover, and counterattack before Zhang Dabiao could circle around him.

Zhao Weiguo saw it. His pistol was empty. He glanced down at his feet. Gravel, fist-sized, with sharp edges. He bent down and picked one up.

It crashed down onto the cliff face.

The Japanese soldier thought it was a grenade being thrown, his hand gripping the rope slipped, and he lost his balance on the rope, stopping his slide.

Just this one meal.

Zhang Dabiao rushed out from around the corner on the west side of the cliff. He pressed his pistol against the Japanese soldier's lower back.

"Don't move."

The Japanese soldier slowly loosened the ropes. His feet touched the ground. Two soldiers pounced on him, disarmed him, and tied his hands behind his back.

On the cliff top, Li Yunlong aimed his gun at the remaining three men at waist level.

"Surrender and you will not be killed!"

The three Japanese soldiers exchanged glances.

The one in the middle tucked the signal flag into his pocket. When he stretched his hand out again, he was holding a short knife.

They had no intention of fighting to the death; their original objective was merely reconnaissance, and once they were surrounded, their fate was sealed.

He pointed the knife at his chest, intending to destroy the map book and signal book.

"He's going to destroy things!" Zhao Weiguo shouted.

Bang! A gunshot rang out.

Li Yunlong fired the shot. The bullet struck the Japanese soldier's wrist. The dagger fell onto the rocky platform, clattering as it rolled into a crevice. Two soldiers circled around from the east side of the cliff and cornered the remaining three.

ended.

From the moment Zhao Weiguo fired the first shot to the moment Zhang Dabiao pressed the last one down, it took less than the time it takes to smoke half a pipe.

The one who slid down the cliff was disarmed by Zhang Dabiao, his hands tied behind his back and pressed against the rubble, the rope still in place. The one in the boulders had been shot in the right shoulder; two soldiers dragged him out and held him down. The one in the middle had been shot in the wrist; his short knife had been kicked aside, and another soldier was bandaging his wound. The two men on the eastern side of the cliff were disarmed and squatted on the edge; their guns had been taken away.

They were all captured alive.

The spoils piled up next to the ammunition boxes: three Type 38 rifles, two pistols, a signal flag, a torn page of a map, and a climbing rope. The signal book had been torn in half by the Japanese, and the remaining half was painstakingly pried out of a crevice in the rock by Zhang Dabiao.

One of our soldiers was wounded; he was cut on the forehead by a flying rock. It was a superficial wound.

Zhao Weiguo stood up from behind the rock platform.

My legs felt weak. After being tense for so long, the sudden relaxation caused my hands to tremble. My tiger's mouth was split open, revealing the raw flesh beneath; blood seeped through the cloth strips, trickling down my fingers. My cheek burned. It was a fresh cut from rock debris that had splashed from the cliff face. Next to the old wound from yesterday, I began to wonder if God was jealous of my face.

Ignoring the blood on his face, he looked at the Japanese soldier in the center, who had a map on him and was probably the leader of the reconnaissance squad.

The man had been shot in the wrist and was being bandaged by soldiers. He gritted his teeth, remaining silent, his eyes fixed on Zhao Weiguo. He was trying to figure out who this person was, the one who had wiped out their entire reconnaissance team.

Zhao Weiguo did not avoid his gaze.

Li Yunlong came down from the top of the cliff.

He first looked at Zhao Weiguo's hands. His thumb and forefinger were split open, blood still flowing. Then he looked at his face. Old wounds hadn't faded, and a new one stretched from his cheekbone to his ear. Finally, he looked at the Mauser pistol. The grip was covered in blood, the anti-slip grooves completely filled with it.

"Where are the bullets?"

"It's over."

"One?"

"One."

Darkness fell slowly. The pot had boiled dry. Old Zhong poured half a ladle of cold water into the stove, and a puff of steam rose with a hiss. No one spoke.

They saw it all. A twelve-year-old boy, a bullet, forty paces, disarmed a mountain scout. Then he used a rock to buy time, giving Zhang Dabiao time to encircle him.

Give me the gun.

Zhao Weiguo handed over the gun.

Li Yunlong took it, but didn't put it away immediately. He examined it several times, turning it over and over, and then looked at Zhao Weiguo's hand. Blood from the tiger's mouth dripped onto the ground, seeping into the dry soil, turning black in color.

Do you know what you just did?

"Know."

"you say."

"One bullet shot one down, and a rock held one back. The remaining three are yours and Zhang Dabiao's."

Li Yunlong stared at him.

"One thing was missed."

"What?"

"You gave me a real fright."

The soldier next to him couldn't help but chuckle. Li Yunlong didn't laugh. He took out the magazine and weighed it in his hand.

"One bullet. Forty paces. Disarmed the mountain scouts. I've seen this kind of marksmanship before."

"Where have I seen you before?" Zhang Dabiao asked.

"A veteran who's fought for ten years, crawled out of piles of corpses more than once." Li Yunlong tucked his pistol behind his waist. "You're twelve this year. You said you fought at Lugou Bridge. It's been more than half a year since Lugou Bridge. Half a year. Can a kid develop this kind of marksmanship?"

Zhao Weiguo did not answer.

I cannot answer that.

His past life's gun sense, the enhanced reflexes from the system, and his rudimentary distance judgment—all these combined to fire that shot. But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"I won't force you to talk if you don't want to," Li Yunlong said, putting his gun away. "But you need to know that the better you are at fighting, the more people will want to investigate you."

"What are you investigating me for?"

"We're checking if you're even human."

Zhang Dabiao interjected, "Commander, he's a person. I've verified it."

"You've done nothing. You only checked if he can repair guns." Li Yunlong paused. "He can do more than just repair guns. He can also calculate defensive lines and choose firing positions. With all these skills combined, the brigade headquarters won't let him just stay there."

Zhao Weiguo understood. They didn't mean to send him away. They wanted to report it. A twelve-year-old with such abilities—if Li Yunlong didn't report it, he couldn't bear the responsibility if something happened later. If it was reported, the brigade headquarters would investigate. What would happen after the investigation, he didn't know.

"You report it."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"I have nothing to be afraid of. I have a clean record. From Nanluoguxiang to the 29th Army's arsenal, everyone knows me." Zhao Weiguo wiped the blood from his tiger's mouth. "Besides, even if you're afraid of the Japanese, you wouldn't be able to walk this far from Beiping to Taihang."

Li Yunlong looked at him. His gaze changed, from initial suspicion to later admiration, and now to acceptance. He decided to trust him halfway for now.

"Zhang Dabiao".

"arrive."

"Register the seized items. Send the map fragments and signal book to brigade headquarters. Interrogate the prisoners separately. The signal has been sent out; the reinforcements outside the cliff may arrive tonight. Send the entire Third Company out on patrol tonight."

"Yes."

"And another thing," Li Yunlong said, looking at Zhao Weiguo's hand, "bandage it up for him."

"No need. The crack isn't deep. Just press it down..."

"I don't care if you're in pain or not. Just don't let your blood drip onto my gun."

Zhang Dabiao pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket. It was yellowed and frayed at the edges. He tossed it to Zhao Weiguo.

"Wrap it yourself."

Zhao Weiguo took it, bit one end of the cloth strip with his teeth, and wrapped it tightly around his hand. The coarse cloth pressed against the wound, making him shudder in pain. He didn't make a sound.

After the gunfire stopped, the base was no longer as quiet as it had been.

Old Zhong divided the ammunition boxes into four piles, muttering to himself. The cooks relit the fire. The two sentries were relieved of their posts; Li Yunlong personally reassigned them and gave each of them five extra rounds of ammunition.

Chen An ran out from the side shed. His face turned pale when he saw the blood on Zhao Weiguo's hands.

"elder brother…"

"It's alright." Zhao Weiguo put his hands behind his back. "Help Lao Zhong move the ammunition boxes. Handle them gently."

Chen An glanced at his hidden fist, then at the ammunition box. He bit his lip and went to leave.

Zhang Dabiao pulled out the half-finished signal book from the pile of captured goods. The paper was torn, and the edges were uneven. He flipped through a couple of pages, frowning. He walked over to Li Yunlong, his voice low.

"Commander, look at this."

Li Yunlong took it. He couldn't recognize all the writing on it, but there were a few Chinese characters that he could clearly see.

Yamamoto.

"Yamamoto?" Li Yunlong looked up.

"Yamamoto Ichiki. Japanese special forces." Zhang Dabiao handed over the half-page of tattered paper. "This thing is much more troublesome than the Type 38 rifle."

Li Yunlong took the paper and examined it against the light. There was blood on the paper. It wasn't the blood of his own men. He folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

There was a long silence.

"A twelve-year-old kid playing so well, and so capable... I've seen plenty of so-called geniuses in all my years, but I've never seen anyone like him." He muttered to himself, "This time, the brigade headquarters isn't just doing a verification; they're probably going to tear a hole in the sky."

Zhao Weiguo sat at the entrance of the shed. His right hand, wrapped in a strip of cloth, rested on his knee, while his left hand pressed a tattered cloth against the wound on his face. The shed was dark, without a light. Several cracks appeared in the wooden door behind him, through which the wind hissed.

In the initial simulation, a few more gray dots appeared outside the cliff north.

The support team has arrived. The reconnaissance team lost contact; the support team's only response is to withdraw, report back, and await orders. This is tactical protocol.

No fighting tonight.

But the brigade headquarters personnel will arrive faster than the backup.

He looked up at the sky. The sky in the Taihang Mountains in December was a pale gray. There was no sun. The clouds hung low, like an overturned pot.

The first snowflake landed on the back of his hand. It was cold. Then it melted.

It's going to snow.

Li Yunlong walked over, stood by the side shed, and also looked up at the sky.

It's going to snow.

"Um."

"It's good that it's snowing. With the snow, the people at the brigade headquarters will move slower." He paused, "You can stay for a couple more days."

"What are you going to do staying for two days?"

"Wait for the people from the brigade headquarters to arrive." Li Yunlong looked down at him. "I won't kick you out. But I can't control what the brigade headquarters says."

Zhao Weiguo nodded.

"What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?"

"have."

"What?"

"Repair the gun," Zhao Weiguo said. "When you went around from the east side of the cliff just now, one of the Hanyang rifles sounded wrong. The bolt was stiff, and the firing pin was returning slowly. If you don't clean it soon, it will jam in the next battle."

Li Yunlong stared at him for three seconds.

Then he grinned.

It's that kind of laugh that says, "Maybe I really did find it."

"You'd better not be a ghost."

"no."

"Alright." Li Yunlong stood up, brushed the dirt off his legs, and said, "When the brigade headquarters arrives, we'll show them what we've got."

He turned and walked towards the shack. After taking two steps, he stopped.

"Zhao Weiguo".

"Um?"

"Where did you shoot that bullet just now?"

"Right shoulder socket."

"Why not shoot him in the chest?"

Zhao Weiguo said, "I can still distinguish between the merit of capturing five scouts alive and the merit of killing a Japanese squad."

Li Yunlong didn't turn around. But the back of his head twitched slightly, as if he were nodding, genuinely acknowledging the 12-year-old boy.

The distant mountain ridges were turning white. The snow was falling heavily. One snowflake after another landed on the cliff face, on the waistline, covering all traces of the battle that had just taken place. Shell casings on the rubble, bloodstains on the rocky platform, the rope that had been touched was now frozen solid.

It was completely dark.

Two lanterns were lit at the outpost. The sentries changed shifts on the cliff top, their shadows cast long shadows on the stone wall by the lanterns.

Zhao Weiguo clenched his hand, which was wrapped in bandages, then loosened it. Clenched, then loosened. He confirmed that his fingers could still move.

People from the brigade headquarters will probably be coming tomorrow.

His gun-repairing skills were what truly allowed him to stay in the New First Regiment.

The magazine was empty. But the person on him wasn't.