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

The oil for the kerosene lamp was added twice.

The first time was late at night. Zhao Weiguo heard footsteps outside the shed, crunching on the snow. When he looked up, all that remained by the door was an oil can and a line of footprints. The footprints were large and led towards the shed.

Li Yunlong didn't even go inside.

The second time was just before dawn. Old Zhong brought breakfast over and saw that the flame of the kerosene lamp was so low that it was barely a bean's worth. He cursed, "These brats don't even know how to add oil to the lamp," and filled it up with oil. Zhao Weiguo was asleep on the workbench, still clutching half a firing pin spring in his hand.

Chen An was the first to wake up.

He was crouching in the corner wrapped in a tattered blanket, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the back of Zhao Weiguo's head. His hair was covered in grease, and his shoulders swayed up and down. The parts that had been disassembled on the workbench were the same as those from last night, but their arrangement had changed. The bolt action of the third Hanyang rifle was already half reassembled.

Chen An draped a section of the mattress over Zhao Weiguo's back. As he did so, he noticed the strip of cloth on the back of Zhao's hand; it had been dark gray last night, but now it was stained a dark red.

Chen An bit his lip.

Daylight broke. A ray of sunlight pierced through the gap in the cliff top, shining on the eaves of the shed. Icicles dripped water, drip-drip-drip.

Li Yunlong came over after breakfast and glanced into the shed.

Seven guns. Three were disassembled and not put back together. One was assembled but couldn't be pulled. One's bolt was stuck halfway. One hadn't moved at all.

"How many have been repaired?"

"Not a single one." Zhao Weiguo picked up the bowl of porridge that Old Zhong had placed beside him. The porridge had cooled completely and formed a skin. He poked it open with his chopsticks and took a sip.

"Not even one?" Li Yunlong's eyebrows furrowed. "Didn't they dismantle six last night?"

"Disassembling doesn't mean it's fixed. The seventh one, that Mauser C96 pistol, is missing its firing pin. We need to find a replacement."

Where can I find it?

"In the pile of wrecked guns. Or wait for them to be captured."

Li Yunlong tilted his head and gestured with his chin toward the northwest corner of the camp. There was a storage pit over there, usually filled with broken guns, scrap metal, and broken blades.

"Go look it up yourself."

The clutter pit is deeper than it appears.

A layer of frozen soil covered the area, and after prying it open with a shovel, underneath lay scrap metal buried last autumn. There was a rotten gunstock, a rusty gun barrel, an empty magazine, several bent cleaning rods, and a command sword with a broken handle and two chips on the blade.

Zhao Weiguo squatted by the pit, passing the broken guns out one by one. Shi Tou and Xiao Man caught them outside the pit.

"When did this pit appear?" Zhao Weiguo asked.

"Last autumn, we launched an ambush and captured a bunch of broken guns. We took the usable ones and left the rest here." Li Yunlong stood by the pit, his hands in his sleeves. "You're looking for the firing pin?"

"Um."

"The firing pin of the small gun is short. Check if there's any shattered bolt action," Li Yunlong pointed to the bottom of the pit, "those kinds. The bolt action exploded, and the firing pin might still be inside."

Zhao Weiguo climbed to the bottom of the pit. Half of the bolt was embedded in the frozen soil; the bolt was gone, and the receiver was broken in two. But the firing pin was still in the firing pin hole.

It was broken in half.

The firing pin of the Mauser pistol is shorter than that of a rifle, and the remaining half can be ground down and used.

"Found it."

"That's it?" Li Yunlong stared at the half-rusted piece of iron. "Is this considered repairing a gun?"

"Sure." Zhao Weiguo wiped it on his sleeve. "Repairing a gun doesn't necessarily require new parts. As long as it can fight the Japanese, that's fine."

Li Yunlong glanced at him but didn't say anything more.

Back in the side shed, Zhao Weiguo used a fine file to trim the end face of the broken firing pin. Without measuring tools, he cleaned it with kerosene and examined it against the light. The end face couldn't be too flat, nor too slanted; it had to be perfectly aligned with the edge of the primer.

The experience from a past life is etched in your fingertips. You don't need to measure; you can feel the deviation just by touching your hand.

Chen An squatted down beside him, holding a bowl of kerosene.

"Brother, how do I know if it's been smoothed out?"

"Look at the reflection." Zhao Weiguo pointed the shovel at the lantern. "The flat side reflects light evenly. The angled side reflects light on only half of it. Try it."

Chen An took it, looked at it under the light for a long time, and then shook his head.

Zhao Weiguo turned his hand at a different angle. Light shone from the side, illuminating half of the firing pin's end.

"You saw it?"

"I saw it!" Chen An's eyes lit up. This was the first time in two days that he smiled without biting his lip.

He returned the firing pin to Zhao Weiguo, his hands still wet with kerosene, which he wiped on his pants.

"Are you going to change the strip of cloth you're holding?"

Zhao Weiguo looked down at the tiger's mouth. The old blood had dried, and so had the new blood.

"It doesn't hurt. Let's get back to work."

"That's a lie."

Zhao Weiguo didn't reply. He inserted the firing pin into the bolt of the Mauser pistol, locked it, and pulled the trigger.

Aerial attack.

*Snap.* A crisp sound. The firing pin was in place.

Chen An glanced at the gun, then at Zhao Weiguo.

"Is it fixed?"

"Hmm." Zhao Weiguo placed the Mauser pistol on the side of the worktable, moving it a little more gently than usual.

The gun is repaired. The first of seven.

That afternoon, Old Zhong moved a long bench outside the shed. It was cold, but the sun warmed the stones. Zhao Weiguo moved his worktable to the doorway, where the light was stronger than from the kerosene lamp.

The boys were divided into three groups.

Stone was in charge of cleaning the gun barrel. He wrapped an old cloth around a long cleaning rod, dipped it in kerosene, and pushed it all the way down from the muzzle. He would pull it out, change the cloth, and repeat until there were no black stains on the cloth. When he was cleaning the third rod, his hand got tired, and the cleaning rod got stuck in the barrel and he couldn't pull it out.

Zhao Weiguo took it, turned it half a turn in the opposite direction, and it worked.

"Don't pull straight up. Walk around in a circle; the barrel has rifling."

"What is rifling?" Stone asked.

Zhao Weiguo took out a broken gun barrel and held it up to the light for him to see. The inside of the barrel wasn't smooth; it had four spiral grooves running from the bottom to the top.

"The bullet spins out along these four lines. The faster it spins, the straighter it goes."

Stone leaned his face closer and stared for a long time.

Who carved it?

"It was pulled out. It was pulled out with a knife."

"What are you taking?"

Zhao Weiguo didn't know how to answer for a moment. Li Yunlong had appeared behind him at some point.

"They pulled it out with a knife more valuable than our lives," he said. "There aren't many places in the entire border region that have that kind of capability."

Stone stopped asking.

Xiaoman's job was to separate the parts. He separated the disassembled springs, strikers, clips, and screws according to size, using broken bowls for each person. His foot wasn't fully healed, so he worked sitting down. His small fingers actually made the separation easier.

Zhao Weiguo only corrected him once. "The magazine tray and the handguard gasket are not the same thing, don't confuse them."

Xiaoman held the two things up to her eyes and looked at them, then touched them with her hands. One was thick, and the other was thin.

"I've got it."

After that, I didn't miss it again.

Zhao Weiguo finished assembling the second rifle before evening. It was a Hanyang rifle. He replaced two parts of the bolt, and took a deformed magazine plate from a scrap rifle and hammered it back in. After assembling, he locked the bolt, ejected the spent cartridge, and fired a blank shot three times without any problems.

But there was no live-fire testing. Ammunition was precious at the garrison, and only guns that were confirmed to be repaired could be tested. This was Li Yunlong's rule.

"Take it and try it out tomorrow." He handed the gun to Li Yunlong.

Li Yunlong took it, pulled the bolt smoothly, ejected the bullet, and fired into the air.

"OK."

One word. But as he said it, he switched the gun from his left hand to his right. Zhao Weiguo noticed.

On the morning of the third day, Staff Officer Luo arrived.

There were still two people. And the same cotton gloves that exposed his left index finger. This time, he didn't warm his hands in the shack; he went straight to the door of the side shed and glanced at the worktable.

There were four guns on the stage. Two were usable, two were not. One gun had a crack at the base of the barrel, and Zhao Weiguo drew a horizontal line next to the crack with a charcoal pencil and wrote two words: "Scrapped." The other gun was missing its extractor, and no replacement could be found, so a horizontal line was drawn next to it, and it was written: "Pending Parts."

Staff Officer Luo picked up each of the four guns and examined them slowly. He pulled the bolt back on each one.

When he saw the broken one, he touched the crack with his finger.

How do you determine if something is beyond repair?

"The barrel is cracked at the base," Zhao Weiguo said. "If it's cracked at this location, it'll either leak gas or explode. Repairing guns can't be a gamble with lives."

Staff Officer Luo neither nodded nor shook his head. He put the scrapped gun back in its place and tapped the line of charcoal writing with two fingers.

Who wrote this?

"I."

Have you ever attended school before?

"No. I learned how to write down parts names in the arsenal myself."

Staff Officer Luo turned his head and glanced at him. This time, he didn't look at his hands, but at his eyes.

"Four. Two will do. Three Hanyang rifles plus one Mauser pistol, that's seven in total." He paused, "Where's the last one?"

"Inside the house. A Type 24 rifle. Too many parts are missing; we need to disassemble two old guns and assemble it. We should be able to finish assembling it tonight."

"tonight?"

"It'll be tested tomorrow morning after it's installed. Once it's tested, that's the fifth one."

Staff Officer Luo walked past him into the side shed. Inside, Chen An squatted in front of the parts of the Type 24 rifle, separating the springs and latches according to the simplified diagram drawn by Zhao Weiguo. His hand trembled slightly; it was freezing cold.

Staff Officer Luo watched for a while.

Who drew this picture?

"Brother Zhao."

Staff Officer Luo remained silent.

He paused at the doorway as he came out of the shed. Facing the light outside, he bent his exposed index finger twice, then put his hand into his cotton-padded coat pocket.

At noon, Li Yunlong called the men down the cliff.

He stood empty-handed in front of the ammunition box, with three Hanyang rifles behind him. The three that Zhao Weiguo had repaired.

"You all saw it, didn't you?" His voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard him.

"A twelve-year-old boy repaired three guns in three days."

"Not a single new one. They were all salvaged from the junkyard. Broken firing pins, missing bolts, deflated magazines. We washed them with kerosene, filed them, and wiped them with rags. We fixed them."

No one answered. Old Zhong stood behind, holding the pot of porridge; he almost forgot to put the pot down.

Li Yunlong turned around and shouted towards the side shed.

"Zhao Weiguo."

Zhao Weiguo stood up from the entrance of the side shed.

"come over."

Zhao Weiguo walked over.

Li Yunlong picked up a Hanyang rifle from the ammunition box. It was the newest of the three, and the cracked part of the stock had been reinforced with wire. It wasn't pretty, but it was sturdy.

He handed the gun to Zhao Weiguo.

"This gun is yours from now on."

Zhao Weiguo did not answer immediately.

"Where are the bullets?"

"Three rounds. One magazine." Li Yunlong pulled three rounds from his waist pouch and placed them on top of the ammunition box. "I'm not sending you to fight the Japanese. I'm sending you to test the gun. Come back for more when you're satisfied."

Zhao Weiguo took the gun. The wire hoops on the stock were uncomfortable against his hand.

evening.

Staff Officer Luo was leaving. His cotton gloves were stained with kerosene, which he didn't wipe off. He handed the note from the brigade headquarters to Li Yunlong.

"Inspection: Seven units awaiting repair, four and a half units repaired, one unit scrapped, and one unit awaiting replacement. Inspection opinion: Qualified."

"Four and a half? Didn't we agree to make two?"

"The number of guns repaired isn't the point," Staff Officer Luo said, tightening the belt buckle on his briefcase. "The point is, from now on, you can repair guns here."

He turned to look at Zhao Weiguo.

"Youth Repair Team. Not a formal establishment, but approved by the brigade headquarters. You'll be the team leader. You'll be in charge of disassembling guns, cleaning parts, replacing parts, and assembling them. Loading ammunition and testing guns are not your responsibility; those are handled by the New First Regiment. The rules are all written on this note."

Zhao Weiguo took the strip of cloth. It was a strip of cloth with a new thread sewn on it.

Beside them, Chen An gave Shi Tou and Xiao Man a wink. The three boys huddled at the entrance of the shed, not daring to approach, but their eyes held something. It wasn't excitement; they had been waiting for those words for a long time.

Li Yunlong tucked his gun back into his waistband and patted Zhao Weiguo on the shoulder.

"The Junior Mechanic Repair Team. A name alone isn't enough. There need to be rules."

He turned around to face the side shed.

"You guys, stand over here."

Chen An, Shi Tou, and Xiao Man exchanged glances, then stepped forward one by one and stood in front of the ammunition box. They stood crookedly. Xiao Man's foot wasn't fully healed, so she leaned to one side.

Li Yunlong pointed to the ground.

"Hold your ground."

Xiaoman straightened her feet.

"Rule number one. Every gun you repair will eventually be used by your comrades on the battlefield. If a gun explodes, it's your own people who will die. So, if you don't know how to repair it, just say you don't know how. No pretending. Do you understand?"

"I heard you." The three voices overlapped.

"Rule number two. Ammunition is off-limits. Disassembling a gun is not allowed without disassembling ammunition. Whoever touches it leaves. I don't care how old you are."

No one said a word. Xiaoman gripped the broken bowl tightly in her hand.

"Thirdly. Zhao Weiguo is your team leader. If he says not to fix it, you stop. If he says it's ruined, you throw it away. Don't tell me you think it can still be fixed. What you think is useless, he thinks is useful."

Chen An raised his hand slightly.

"Commander, what if we think it can't be repaired?"

"You think it can't be fixed, but he says it can. Listen to him. Do you understand?"

"Understood."

Li Yunlong lowered his voice.

"One last thing. You guys all came all the way from Beiping. You've crossed mountains and valleys; it's a miracle you didn't die. From now on, in this camp, if you're hungry, go to the kitchen and find Old Zhong; if you're cold, go to the shed and wrap yourself in a blanket. Don't freeze to death on my turf; that wouldn't sound good."

Chen An bit his lip. This time, it wasn't fear or cold.

Staff Officer Luo left before dark. The snow began to fall sparsely again.

A kerosene lamp was lit in the side shed. On the workbench, the scrapped Hanyang rifle had been moved to the corner. The rifles awaiting repair were placed on the top shelf and marked. The four repaired rifles were lined up next to the ammunition box, with numbers written on the buttstocks in charcoal: one, two, three, four. Written by Zhao Weiguo.

Chen An squatted down next to Zhao Weiguo and used half a charcoal pencil to trace his words on the wooden board.

"Brother, your handwriting is better than mine."

"Your hands are smaller than mine. Charcoal pencils are inherently harder to write with."

"Could you teach me to write?"

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him.

"What do you want to write?"

"I want to learn how to write the character '修' (xiū)."

Zhao Weiguo took the charcoal pencil from Chen An and wrote a crooked "repair" on the wooden board. The board was uneven, and the pencil broke twice.

"This character has the 'person' radical. It depicts a person standing next to a knife. It's the 'repair' in 'gun repair'."

Chen An stared at that character for a long time. Then he picked up a charcoal pencil and wrote an even crooked version next to it.

Zhao Weiguo didn't laugh at him.

There were footsteps at the door.

Zhang Dabiao carried over a bundle of discarded guns, which he had just dug out of a ditch. There were four of them, covered in rusted iron and frozen soil.

He left it by the door.

"The commander said that from now on, all scrap guns and junk should be sent here. Our new First Regiment," he patted the rust off his hands, "has a repair team now. It's just a few kids, but it's better than nothing."

Zhao Weiguo looked at the bundle of broken guns.

"Put it by the door. We'll take it down tomorrow."

Zhang Dabiao turned to leave, but then stopped.

"Zhao Weiguo."

"Um?"

"The regimental commander told me to tell you. Those three bullets were approved by the brigade headquarters. He didn't give them to you privately." Zhang Dabiao paused, "He said you can use them without worry."

Zhao Weiguo ran his fingers over the wire band on the butt of the gun.

"knew."

Zhang Dabiao is gone. The snow has covered the pile of discarded guns in white. The light from the kerosene lamp shines through the side shed, casting a small patch of warm yellow light on the snow.

A black cat, which had appeared out of nowhere, was perched on a rock. It glanced at the shed and then left.

Inside the shed, Chen An was still tracing the character "修" (xiū, meaning "to repair"). His tongue was sticking out from the corner of his mouth, as if he were biting something.