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

Before dawn, Shi Tou was squatting outside the shed washing spent cartridge cases.

The two Type 65 rifle bullets were found yesterday in the pile of guns delivered by the First Battalion. Shi Tou didn't hand them in; he stuffed them in his sleeve, intending to keep them for fun. When Zhao Weiguo checked the toolbox that evening, he noticed a bulge in Shi Tou's sleeve and immediately recognized it as a bullet.

The copper shell had been soaking in cold water overnight, and its surface had darkened. Stones were wiped one by one with strips of cloth, and then laid out to dry on the stone slab along the edge of the shed. His hands were frozen red, and his fingers could barely bend.

Zhao Weiguo stood at the entrance of the shed watching him.

"Finished washing?"

"I'm done washing."

"Stay there. You can't leave the shed today. You'll have to do all of Shi Tou and Xiao Man's work by yourself."

Stone kept his head down and didn't say a word. He placed the two cleaned bullet casings on the stone slab, stood up, and went into the shed. Xiaoman handed him a piece of bread, half the usual size. Stone took it, took a bite, and chewed slowly.

Chen An squatted in the corner without saying a word. He glanced at the stone, then lowered his head to continue cleaning his gun.

Zhao Weiguo returned to his worktable and sorted through yesterday's gun case papers. The First Battalion had passed thirty-four, leaving thirty-three. Zhang Dabiao said he would deliver the rest early this morning.

He picked up the first gun and pulled back the bolt.

The bolt slid out, emitting a rusty smell. He brought the bolt to his nose and smelled it; there was rust in the chamber. He wrapped a piece of wire with cloth, dipped it in oil, and poked it all over the chamber; the cloth bore dark red marks.

The second gun had an even bigger problem. There was a crack at the base of the stock, running from the buttplate all the way to the grip. The crack wasn't wide, but it was deep. He scratched it with his fingernail and could feel that the crack had seeped through to the other side.

Whose gun is this?

Zhang Dabiao poked his head in from outside. "What's wrong?"

"The stock is cracked. It's cracked from the buttplate to the grip, and it's all the way through. This gun is unusable."

Zhang Dabiao walked over and took a look. "I remember this one; I hit my head on a rock during the last battle."

"Such a serious crack, and no one reported it?"

"I reported it. But since they didn't have a replacement gun for him, he'll have to keep using it."

Zhao Weiguo put the gun aside. "This one's scrapped. Write that on the gun card."

He picked up the third gun. He stopped as the bolt was pulled back.

The locking lugs on the bolt are new.

He flipped the bolt over to examine it. There were file marks on the edge of the lug; it hadn't been properly polished. This wasn't an original part; it had been salvaged from another gun and installed.

"Has the bolt been replaced on this gun?"

Zhang Dabiao thought for a moment. "I don't know."

Zhao Weiguo put the bolt back in and then looked at the stock. The serial number on the bottom of the stock was hand-carved, and the handwriting was crooked. He turned the gun over, and the serial number on the bolt carrier was a different one.

The two numbers don't match.

He wrote a line on the gun card with a charcoal pencil: "The stock number does not match the bolt carrier number. To be checked."

At noon, Zhang Dabiao delivered the last batch of guns. Zhao Weiguo went through them one by one, discovering several guns with mismatched serial numbers, those with illegally possessed ammunition, and those whose guns were registered under the names of fallen comrades but could not be found. He noted each item down on the gun card, then set it aside.

In the evening, the entire group gathered.

It wasn't just a small, secluded area; it was the entire regiment lined up. Three battalions plus the regimental headquarters' directly subordinate units—several hundred people—stood in the open space in front of the encampment. The sky was overcast, and the wind blew down from the mountain ridge, stinging their faces.

Li Yunlong stood at the front. He wasn't wearing an overcoat, just that old cotton-padded jacket, the collar open. He was clutching a piece of paper in his hand.

Zhao Weiguo stood on the side of the line, in a corner. Chen An squatted at his feet, still clutching a strip of cloth used for cleaning guns.

Li Yunlong spoke.

"Everyone, stand in line."

The line fell silent. The wind was still blowing, but no one moved.

Li Yunlong held up the paper in his hand. The paper was small, folded twice, and covered with dense writing.

Do you recognize this?

No one answered.

"Gun clip." Li Yunlong unfolded the paper. "The First Battalion has a Hanyang rifle with a bulge in the barrel. Firing another shot will blow up whoever's holding it. I have the clip for that gun."

He paused.

"This gun almost killed someone. Does anyone know?"

No one in the group said a word.

"You wouldn't understand," Li Yunlong said, putting the paper back in his pocket. "Because nobody checked. Guns are taken, and if they break, they break. Who knows which guns will work and which won't? In a battle, if a gun fires, that's fine; if it doesn't, it's just bad luck."

He held up four fingers.

"The first battalion inspected two hundred rifles. Eight of them had severely worn bolts; if they were fired any further, the bolts wouldn't lock properly and could accidentally discharge."

"All four barrels have old damage; firing another shot could cause them to explode."

"All eleven gunstocks have cracks; they're usable for now, but we have to keep an eye on them."

"Ten guns were hung under the names of fallen brothers, but the guns are missing. They were left hanging."

He lowered his hand.

"Two hundred guns, forty of them are defective. Ten companies don't even know where their guns are. You guys do the math, how many guns in the entire battalion are actually functional?"

Someone in the group muttered to themselves.

Li Yunlong heard him. "Speak up."

A voice came from the front row. "Commander, we've never done this before."

"We've never done this before, but we're doing it now." Li Yunlong's voice was low, but everyone in the open space could hear him. "Guns can break. A person can't be unaware that a gun is broken. To take a broken gun into battle without knowing that's broken isn't bravery, that's suicide."

He pulled a stack of papers from his pocket. The papers were sample gun cards written by Zhao Weiguo, one card per gun, with a uniform format.

"From today onwards, the entire regiment's weapons inventory will be updated. Each gun will have its own card; whoever receives the gun must sign it, and the number fired will be recorded upon return. If a gun breaks, report it for repair; if it cannot be repaired, report it for unified destruction. If a gun is lost, report it to be deregistered. The unregistered inventory must be cleared within three days. Each battalion must find the guns registered under the names of fallen comrades; those that cannot be found must be reported to be deregistered."

He handed the paper to Zhang Dabiao, who was standing next to him.

"The first battalion goes first. The second and third battalions follow. Zhao Weiguo is in charge of writing the cards, and Zhang Dabiao's men are in charge of checking the guns. Whoever owns the gun must sign it; guns that aren't signed aren't allowed to leave the shed."

Someone in the group spoke up again. "Commander, guns are our lifeblood, letting a kid handle them..."

Li Yunlong interrupted him. "This kid's battalion has forty defective guns. How many did you find?"

The man fell silent.

Li Yunlong glanced at the ranks. "Anyone else have any objections?"

No one spoke.

"It's over."

The group dispersed. People walked back in twos and threes, some whispering amongst themselves, others remaining silent. Zhao Weiguo stood still. Chen An squatted at his feet, looking up at him.

"Brother, did you find out everything the commander mentioned?"

"Um."

Chen An was taken aback. He stood up and put the strip of cloth in his hand into his pocket.

After the meeting, Zhao Weiguo returned to the side shed to continue practicing with his gun.

Zhang Dabiao followed him in. "What do you think of the performance today, Commander?"

Zhao Weiguo picked up a gun and cocked it. "I knew he was going to use it when he took the magazine."

"You know that?"

"I don't know how he'll use it. But he won't take it for free."

Zhang Dabiao thought for a moment. "That's true. The regimental commander never takes anything for free."

Zhao Weiguo pulled out the bolt and inspected it. "The bolt is fine, but the magazine spring is loose. It's difficult to feed a full five rounds; it might jam on the third."

He wrote a line on the gun card: "Magazine spring fatigued, replacement recommended."

Zhang Dabiao watched him write. "Your gun roster is more detailed than our company's roster."

"The roster records people, the gun card records guns. Guns, like people, need to be checked for problems."

it's dark.

Zhao Weiguo went through all two hundred guns in the battalion. He stacked the two hundred gun cards one by one on the worktable. The cards for problematic guns had a circle drawn in the corner with charcoal; at a glance, about 20% of them had these circles.

Chen An squatted down beside him and helped him organize them. He picked out the circled gun cards and put them on the left, and the uncircled ones on the right.

"Brother, which ones are on the left?"

Forty sheets.

Of the two hundred guns, forty had problems. Of the first batch of sixty-seven guns, twenty-six were found to have inherent defects, with the majority being inherent flaws in the guns themselves. Of the remaining one hundred and thirty-three guns, fourteen more were found to have problems stemming from a new group of individuals: hoarding ammunition, lending guns, passing off scrapped parts as good ones, and discrepancies between gun registration numbers and actual guns.

Chen An handed over the last gun card. Zhao Weiguo took it and flipped it over. The back was completely covered; there was no space left.

He flipped the gun card back over and looked at the front. The front was also covered with writing, the words crowded together, and in some places the charcoal marks had bled out, making them difficult to read unless you looked closely.

He placed the gun card on the table and pulled out a blank sheet of oilcloth from the side.

"An extra page is needed."

Chen An glanced at the list of guns filled with descriptions. "Are all the guns in the entire regiment like this?"

"I don't know. The First Battalion has only checked two hundred items; the Second and Third Battalions haven't checked yet."

Chen An fell silent. He neatly stacked the filled gun cards and placed them in the corner of the worktable. Next to them was yesterday's gun cards, also a thick stack.

Two stacks of paper. A battalion's worth of guns; more problems than expected.

Zhao Weiguo lowered his head and wrote on the new oilcloth paper. The charcoal pencil scratched softly on the paper. Outside the shed, the withered willow branch swayed in the night breeze.

The doorbell rang again.

Zhang Dabiao lifted the curtain and poked half his body in. "The regimental commander said you're going to the Second Battalion first thing tomorrow morning. Zhou Dahu's guns are all gathered together, waiting for you to come over."

Zhao Weiguo didn't look up. "I understand."

Zhang Dabiao left. The shed fell silent again.

Zhao Weiguo neatly stacked the gun cards for the First Battalion and placed them at the innermost part of the worktable. The guns for the Second Battalion hadn't been processed yet, and the register was empty. He turned to a new page and wrote three words at the top: Second Battalion, 67.

The charcoal pencil paused for a moment.

He was aware of the problems with the First Battalion; the main issue was with the guns, while the personnel problems emerged later. What about the Second Battalion? Zhao Weiguo had met Zhou Dahu twice. He wasn't talkative, always had an enamel mug in his hand, and was relatively lax in managing his soldiers.

He put down the charcoal pencil.

You'll find out when you go tomorrow.