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

Snow stopped.

The wind shifted for about half an hour in the latter half of the night, and the snow thinned out, leaving only a finger-thick layer of white stubble on the rooftops by dawn. The snow in the Taihang Mountains is different from that in Beijing. In Beijing, the snow falls softly, spreading like cotton on the tiles. The snow in the Taihang Mountains is trapped between the cliffs, pressing against the rocks and freezing into a hard crust.

Li Yunlong stood outside the shack, rubbing his hands together. The snow was dazzling, and he squinted at the top of the cliff.

"Damn it, once the snow melts, the roads will be even harder to travel," he muttered to himself.

Zhang Dabiao was cleaning the gun beside him. A thin layer of frost had formed on the barrel, and the cleaning cloth creaked as it was pushed across it.

"Commander, could the brigade headquarters be stuck on the road due to snow?"

"We can't stop them. Those horses at the brigade headquarters, those mules pulling the carts, they've all been raised in the mountains." Li Yunlong paused, "But their pace will definitely be slower. We originally estimated they'd arrive this morning, but with this snow, it might be past noon."

He put his hands in his sleeves and looked towards the side shed.

At the entrance of the shed, Zhao Weiguo was already up. His right hand, wrapped in bandages, hung at his side, while his left hand held a rough bowl. The bowl contained hot water, from which wisps of steam rose. The scratches on his face had scabbed over, dark red, and somewhat dazzling against the snowy light.

"How's your hand?" Li Yunlong walked over.

"I can move." Zhao Weiguo clenched his fist, a little fresh blood seeping through the cloth strip.

"If you can move, wrap it up tighter." Li Yunlong didn't say much, took out the Mauser pistol from his waist, weighed it in his hand, and then put it back.

He wasn't given the gun back. Zhao Weiguo didn't ask.

After noon, the sentry on the cliff top shouted.

"There are people down the mountain! Not Japanese soldiers! They're wearing our gray cotton-padded jackets, two people!"

Li Yunlong crawled out of the shack, still holding half a cornbread in his hand. He chewed for a while, then stopped and put the cornbread on a stone.

"They're here."

Zhang Dabiao put away his gun and stood up.

In less than half an hour, two figures rounded the last bend on the ridge, trudging through the snow and mud to the entrance of the camp. The one in front was older, wearing a pair of cotton gloves, with his left index finger sticking out. It was red from the cold, the finger that gripped his gun, the kind that had been repeatedly bandaged and unwrapped. Behind him was a young soldier, carrying a briefcase, his lips white from the cold.

"The new regiment?"

Li Yunlong went up to greet them: "Li Yunlong from the New First Regiment. I've been waiting for you all morning."

"Luo Zhang, operations staff officer at the brigade headquarters." The older man took off his gloves and shook hands with Li Yunlong. His hands were bony and calloused, with a callus on his thumb joint. Only someone who had held a gun for many years could develop such a callus.

"Is the road difficult to travel?"

"After crossing Eagle's Beak Ridge, the snow buried half the road, and we had to cross two ridges to get around it." Staff Officer Luo surveyed the encampment. "The brigade headquarters heard the gunfire last night. What happened?"

Li Yunlong stopped laughing.

"Go inside."

A brazier was lit in the shack. The fire wasn't big, but the smoke was choking. Staff Officer Luo moved a long bench and sat down. The young soldier put his briefcase on the table and leaned against the door, rubbing his ears.

Staff Officer Luo didn't rush to ask questions. He placed his gloves by the brazier to warm them, then warmed his right hand after warming his left. The snow on the gloves melted and dripped onto the charcoal with a hissing sound.

"Commander Li, let's get down to business. Last night, the brigade headquarters counted at least ten gunshots. There were rifles and pistols. What happened? Did you encounter the enemy?"

Li Yunlong said, "Yes, we encountered a small enemy reconnaissance squad. They fired about a dozen shots and tied up five people alive. We originally planned to send them to the brigade headquarters that night, but it was snowing and the mountain roads weren't safe, so they locked us up first."

One of them was shot by that doll, with just one bullet.

Staff Officer Luo didn't laugh. His eyes changed. He stopped heating the gloves and placed them on his knees.

"baby?"

"Twelve years old."

Staff Officer Luo remained silent for a moment. Then he stood up and walked to the other side of the brazier.

"Bring it over here so I can take a look."

When Zhao Weiguo entered the shack, Staff Officer Luo didn't look at his face at first glance, but noticed his hands, which were wrapped up like rice dumplings.

The right hand is wrapped in bandages. The bandage at the base of the thumb is wet. Blood is seeping out. There are old injuries on the knuckles of the left fingers. The hand is not large, but the knuckles are strong.

Then look at the face. An old scar, and a new one. The new scar runs from the cheekbone to the earlobe, scabbed over, and hasn't fallen off yet.

"Your name is Zhao Weiguo?"

"Yes."

"From Beiping?"

Yes. Nanluoguxiang.

Staff Officer Luo pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. The paper was old, folded several times, and the edges were frayed. He spread the paper out by the brazier.

"You left Nanluoguxiang in Beiping last December?"

"Last August. Before the Japanese invaders entered the city."

"From the 29th Army?"

"Yes. 29th Army Ordnance Depot."

Staff Officer Luo turned the paper over. There were a few words on the back. Zhao Weiguo couldn't see them clearly, but he could see the ink marks. They were old, not recently written.

"Zhang Kexia. Do you know him?"

Zhao Weiguo's heart skipped a beat. But he didn't hesitate.

"The scroll of paper from the Jincha examination. It was given to me by Commander Zhang."

After saying that, he turned his cotton-padded coat inside out. The seams were still there. The rolled-up paper was gone. He had hidden it under the straw mat in the shed.

Staff Officer Luo didn't take the paper roll. He only looked at the stitches. The stitches were dense, and the thread wasn't broken. It was sewn into the lining of the cotton-padded jacket, all the way to the end and then folded back. It was clearly not sewn by an experienced hand; it looked more like it was carefully sewn by a child who knew nothing about needlework, with several extra stitches for added strength.

"How did Commander Zhang give it to you?"

"Before the 29th Army withdrew from Beiping, at the army headquarters, he handed me the scroll of paper."

"You?"

"Just me. In the middle of the night. At the military gate."

Staff Officer Luo nodded. He neither said he believed him nor he didn't. He folded the paper back to its original shape and put it back in his pocket.

Then he looked at Zhao Weiguo's hands.

A strip of cloth was wrapped around the base of his thumb. The cloth was wet, seeping blood. His left hand wasn't bandaged, and there were several old scars on his knuckles, chafed over time.

"Hand out."

Zhao Weiguo spread his hands out.

Staff Officer Luo examined the right hand first. Without touching the wound, he gently pressed the relatively intact skin next to the web of the hand with his thumb. He pressed down, released, and the skin bounced back faster than usual. This hand had been repeatedly injured and repeatedly healed. A twelve-year-old shouldn't have hands like this.

"Fresh wound. From being bitten while dismantling a gun?"

"Li Yunlong's Mauser pistol. The receiver spring. It got bitten when we were taking it apart a couple of days ago," Zhao Weiguo said. "It snapped open again yesterday after firing it."

Staff Officer Luo turned his hand over. Look at his left hand. Old scars on his knuckles.

"Was this hand injured before?"

"It was inevitable to get injured when you spent a lot of time near metal objects in the arsenal."

"How long did you stay?"

"It was more than a year, but I don't remember the exact time."

"Who will take you?"

"Zhou Shichang, Company Commander Zhou."

Zhao Weiguo didn't pause when he said the name. Even faster than when he answered Zhang Kexia. It was as if his mouth moved before his brain.

Staff Officer Luo withdrew his hand. He didn't ask any more questions; that was enough.

I won't ask anymore.

The last piece of charcoal in the brazier collapsed. The ash settled completely.

Staff Officer Luo stood up and took a few steps in the shack.

The shack wasn't big. It was just three steps to the end. He walked to the door, pushed open the wooden door, and the bright sunlight from the snow outside pierced through, making everyone inside squint. He left the door ajar, turned around, and leaned against the doorframe.

"Commander Li."

"explain."

"What did you say about this kid when you reported it? 'He's capable of fighting'?"

"They can fight," Li Yunlong said, standing up as well. "They can also repair guns."

"How do you perform the ritual?"

"Three Hanyang rifles, one Zhongzheng rifle. Disassembled and reassembled, reassembled and disassembled. Reassembled with eyes closed." Li Yunlong paused. "Now that you've finished questioning and confirmed his origins, it's my turn to speak. The North Cliff waistline—I camped there for a month, passing by it every day without noticing anything wrong, but he pointed it out after just one walk. A morning later, the Japanese reconnaissance team sneaked up there. Isn't that a skill?"

Staff Officer Luo didn't respond to that. He looked at Zhao Weiguo.

"Bring me the gun."

Li Yunlong pulled the Mauser pistol out of his waist.

There was still blood on the gun handle. Zhao Weiguo's blood. It had been filled with the anti-slip texture of the grip, dried overnight, and turned dark; it couldn't be peeled off.

Staff Officer Luo didn't mind the dirt. He turned the gun over and looked at the bolt.

"Did you call him last night?"

"Yes."

"One bullet?"

"Yes."

"Forty steps?"

"From the rocky platform to the rocky hollow. About forty steps."

"Striking the right shoulder socket?"

"Strike the right shoulder socket."

Staff Officer Luo placed the gun on the table.

"Not simple." He used these three words. He didn't say "impressive" or "remarkable." Li Yunlong understood the weight of those three words.

"The gun only has one bullet, and you chose the safest method. A pistol shot to the chest from ten paces away might miss, and a pistol shot to the shoulder from forty paces away will still hit the shoulder." Staff Officer Luo paused. "Who taught you that?"

"Nobody taught me," Zhao Weiguo said. "He gave me the gun. I'd handled it before. I'd fired it."

"We've fought a few battles before."

"There have been more than a dozen, large and small, incidents along the way, including those in Wanping City."

Staff Officer Luo looked at him for a while, then put the gun back on Li Yunlong's table.

"You can fix guns? You mean you can fix guns too?"

"meeting."

"To what extent?"

"The parts can be disassembled and reassembled. The assembly can be adjusted."

"The assembly is adjustable." Staff Officer Luo repeated these four words. He then took something else out of his pocket.

A strip of cloth. Not paper. A cloth strip hastily sewn together by the brigade headquarters, with half a stamp on it.

"Commander Li, the brigade headquarters' message is: now that Zhao Weiguo's identity has been confirmed, he should show off his gun-repairing skills."

"Three days. In these three days, find him a batch of guns that need repair. Repair those that can be repaired, and report why those that can't be repaired." He placed the strip of cloth on the table. "Repair as many as you can. When they're finished, I'll take a look."

"If the guns are good, the man stays. If the guns are bad, the man can't leave either. He stays at the brigade headquarters."

Li Yunlong took the strip of cloth, looked at it once, and folded it neatly.

Three days. That's enough.

Staff Officer Luo turned to Zhao Weiguo.

"I'm not here to make things difficult for you. The brigade headquarters needs to know what kind of person the new regiment has. There are plenty of people who can fight, and enough people who can repair guns. But remember this: a twelve-year-old kid who can both fight and repair guns is bound to be investigated. Once the investigation is complete and your identity is confirmed, you should earn your living based on your abilities. That person described you as someone unparalleled in the world."

Zhao Weiguo placed the hand wrapped in cloth on his knee.

"I'll take this job."

Staff Officer Luo got up and walked out. Reaching the door, he glanced back at Zhao Weiguo's face. Those two scars, one old and one new, and the look in his eyes—a resolve that didn't belong to a young man.

He pushed open the wooden door and went outside. The sunlight filtering through the snow cut his silhouette into a shadow, which then slowly faded into the white.

In the afternoon, Staff Officer Luo was leaving.

He called the young soldier over, took a notebook from his briefcase, wrote a few words, tore it out, folded it neatly, and handed it to Li Yunlong.

"Record it at brigade headquarters. I'll come to inspect it in three days. If the gun is repaired, you can stay. If not, I'll take it away. That's the brigade headquarters' final word." He paused, then added, "Personally, if I may say something I shouldn't: I hope it can be repaired. These days, people who can repair guns are more valuable than those who can kill the enemy."

Li Yunlong accepted the note.

"The road is difficult to walk on. It's still early, would you like to sit a while longer?"

"No. We have to get past Eagle's Beak Ridge before dark. If it snows again, the road will be closed."

Staff Officer Luo put his gloves back on, pulling them up to his wrists. He still hadn't mended the part of his finger that was sticking out. He rubbed his hands together and looked towards the top of the cliff.

"Oh, right. The fragments of the signal from last night. Shall we take them back?"

"Take it back. It's already packed." Zhang Dabiao pulled a cloth bag from his pocket. The cloth was old, but it was wrapped tightly. Inside were half of the signal book and a torn page of the map.

Staff Officer Luo took it but didn't open it. He put it directly into his briefcase and zipped it up.

"Yamamoto Kazuki."

"What?"

"The name you reported. Yamamoto Ichiki." Staff Officer Luo slung his briefcase over his shoulder. "The brigade headquarters has heard of him. It's not the first time. This name appeared about six months ago. In the Shanxi-Northwest region, in a place called Yangcun, they lost a platoon, and now Kong Jie's Independent Regiment has been transferred there to be stationed."

Li Yunlong's face twitched.

"The Japanese special forces?"

"Let's wait until the brigade headquarters finishes its analysis. Don't talk about this around yet." Staff Officer Luo fastened the belt buckle on his briefcase. "Get the gun fixed first. Once the gun is fixed, the man will stay with you. If the man stays, someone will hold the fort if the sky falls."

He paused as he passed the side shed. The door was open, and Chen An was moving ammunition boxes. The boxes were heavier than him, and he was moving them erratically, panting heavily.

Staff Officer Luo looked at him for a while.

"Did this child come with Zhao Weiguo too?"

"Yes. There are three more. They all fled from Beiping," Zhang Dabiao said.

How old are you?

"The youngest is ten years old, and the oldest is thirteen."

Staff Officer Luo didn't speak. He took off his gloves and reached out to help Chen An steady the suitcase. Just once. After he finished, he put his gloves back on and left.

Chen An was stunned. The box had already been placed securely.

As evening fell, only a golden rim of the sun remained perched on the cliff top. The reflection on the snow shifted from white to grayish-blue. The wind on the cliff face ceased.

Zhao Weiguo stood at the entrance of the side shed. Seven guns were stacked inside the shed.

Three Hanyang rifles. One Zhongzheng rifle. One Type 38 rifle. One pistol. A captured handgun. And a Mauser C96 pistol missing its firing pin. It wasn't his; it was another one, which he had acquired from some soldier, he didn't know.

Chen An squatted down and watched.

"Brother, do all of these need to be fixed?"

"Um."

"Can it be repaired in three days?"

"We have to fix it, even if it's not finished." Zhao Weiguo picked up the first Hanyang rifle. The bolt was stiff and wouldn't move. It was clogged with grease. The bolt needed to be disassembled, the spring cleaned, and the barrel wiped clean.

His hand still ached. The cloth strip was constricting him, and with each pull, blood seeped from the base of his thumb. But he didn't stop.

The sound of the bolt being disassembled was very soft. A click. Then came the sound of the spring popping out. Then the sound of the parts being laid out one by one on the wooden crate. It was metal hitting wood, not the sound of metal hitting metal, but a muffled sound, yet it could be heard clearly in the shed.

Chen An squatted down beside him, wanting to lend a hand, but unsure which part to touch. Zhao Weiguo slapped his hand away.

"Watch first. Understand it before you touch it."

"How long will that take?"

"We'll continue until you can tell us which part is in which place with your eyes closed."

Chen An pulled his hand back. He bit his lip again. This was the third time he had bitten his lip. Zhao Weiguo's hand was wrapped in bandages, and he was also uncomfortable.

There were footsteps at the door.

It's Li Yunlong.

He glanced into the shed. Seven guns. Disassembled parts were scattered all over the floor. Zhao Weiguo's hands were covered in grease and grime. The strips of cloth were blackened.

"I'll have someone send you a lantern. Would you like to keep it lit tonight?"

"want."

Li Yunlong turned to leave. Then he stopped.

"When Staff Officer Luo left, he said something."

"What?"

“A person who can repair guns is more valuable than a person who can kill enemies.” After saying this, Li Yunlong looked at Zhao Weiguo and said, “If you can’t fix it in these three days, he’ll take you away, and I can’t stop him. Once you’ve fixed it, we can talk about other things.”

Zhao Weiguo did not look up.

"Let's talk about it in three days."

Li Yunlong nodded and left.

It was completely dark. The kerosene lamp was brought over and hung on the wooden beam of the shed. The light was dim, just enough to illuminate the worktable. Under the light, the shadows of the seven guns stretched very long.

Chen An hadn't left yet. Shi Tou and Xiao Man entered the shed. The two little ones crouched in a corner, afraid to make a sound or touch anything.

Zhao Weiguo lowered his head and disassembled the third gun. The sound of parts falling was rhythmic and continuous, like stepping on something, moving forward step by step.

The oil in the kerosene lamp had burned down to half a finger's width.

Outside the window, the snow started falling again. It was very fine. It fell silently on the roof, but the wind brought in snowflakes that landed on the parts, which Zhao Weiguo wiped off with his sleeve.

The strip of cloth in his hand belonged to Zhang Dabiao. It was yellowed and frayed at the edges. Now it was black.