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

Only when the shovel was handed to him did Chen An realize its weight.

What sank wasn't iron, but the words Zhao Weiguo had told him during the day: "The pit is only considered properly buried when it's filled so tightly that it's invisible."

Chen An gripped the shovel handle tightly, his palms damp with cold sweat.

The snow in the yard had long been trampled into a hard crust, making a crunching sound when you stepped on it.

The procession set off: Stone carried six sleds on his shoulder; Xiaoman held not only a bag of white stones in her arms but also half a hemp rope; Shuanzi led the six soldiers of the Independent Regiment at the rear, their weapons tucked into their waistbands, all remaining silent; Old Ma led the lame mule, a wooden box steadily resting on its back. The lantern was covered with a black cloth, revealing only a faint, yellowish glow on the snow.

Zhao Weiguo led the way. He carried a cloth bag slung across his shoulder, containing blueprints, detonating rope, and a roll of fuse. The bag was held close to his side, so it didn't wobble as he walked.

"Follow the light," he whispered, "step in the footprints of the person in front of you, and don't make any new ones."

Chen An lowered his head and carefully slipped his feet into the snowdrifts he had made by stepping on the stones. The group stretched out in a single file across the snowy field, their shadows stretched and shortened by the yellow light.

After walking about a mile, Shuanzi suddenly stopped. He squatted down and rubbed his fingers on the snow: "Someone has walked here."

Zhao Weiguo turned around. He saw that the snow crust had broken, revealing the black soil underneath, with a small clump of ash and a stranger's footprint beside it.

Zhao Weiguo squatted down, picked up a pinch of ash, rubbed it between his fingers, and brought it to his nose to smell—it was cigarette ash. Looking at the shoe print, the forefoot print was deep, and the heel print was shallow, clearly the mark left when he squatted down to rest.

"Someone sat here during the day," Zhao Weiguo asserted.

Shuanzi immediately reached for the gun at his waist: "Go around it?"

"No way around it." Zhao Weiguo scattered the cigarette ash back in its original spot, not even touching the snowdrift that had been trampled on. "If I go around it, there will be a new line of footprints in the snow," he stood up, "If he comes back tomorrow and finds this spot clean but a new path next to it, that would be a self-incriminating confession."

After hearing this, Shuanzi removed his hand from the gun handle.

When they reached the mouth of the gourd, half the moon was being swallowed by the clouds. The valley entrance was narrow, flanked by two dark walls, from which a howling wind blew in.

Zhao Weiguo squatted at the mouth of the valley and deftly drew three lines on the ground with the tip of his shovel. "One pit at the mouth of the valley, two pits at the bottom." He touched the ground with the tip of his shovel, "One and a half feet deep, one foot wide. The bottom of the pits must be leveled so that the thunder can be placed securely."

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping across their faces like a knife: "Fill all the freshly dug soil into sacks and carry it away, not a single grain of soil is allowed to be left behind."

Chen An responded in a muffled voice.

Zhao Weiguo then turned to Old Ma: "You keep an eye on the fire cap and the fuse by yourself." He pointed to the wooden box, "Anyone who dares to reach out will be chopped off." Old Ma grabbed the wooden box and hugged it to his chest, grinning, revealing his toothless, black gums.

"The greenhorns just need to dig the pit, move the stones, and cover it with soil," Zhao Weiguo continued to assign tasks. "Let the veterans handle sealing the medicine, connecting the fire, and setting the fuse."

"Why should I?" Stone couldn't help but mutter.

"Even if your hands are shaking," Zhao Weiguo didn't even lift his eyelids.

"If you shake the hole while digging, the soil might loosen a bit; but if you shake it while connecting the fire, we'll all be doomed."

The stone went silent instantly.

Shuanzi squatted to the side, gritted his teeth, and spat fiercely into the valley: "With just three grenades, you think you can stop an entire company? I doubt it."

Of his six soldiers, two nodded repeatedly. The others didn't make a move, only glancing at Zhao Weiguo with furtive eyes, waiting for his words.

"We didn't expect three mines to blow everyone up," Zhao Weiguo said, pressing the tip of his shovel hard against the line marked at the mouth of the valley. "These mines are like a tooth we planted first."

Shuanzi was stunned.

"Grab his head and cut off the ranks," Zhao Weiguo said coldly. "If the front is in chaos, the rear will be blocked, and then the rolling stones will seal the gap—that's the deadly thing. Lei just needs to take the first bite; the rest is up to the gunners on the slope."

Shuanzi fell silent, and the two soldiers who had nodded also lowered their heads in silence.

Chen An was in charge of digging the first pit. The shovel tip slammed into the frozen soil with a dull thud, making his wrist numb and half his arm ache. The frozen soil was as hard as iron; each shovel stroke only peeled off a piece the size of a fingernail. He gritted his teeth and chopped down with all his might.

When they dug to a depth of half a foot, the tip of the shovel suddenly hit a hard stubble.

Chen An's wrist stiffened, and he dared not move his entire body: "Brother Zhao..."

Zhao Weiguo grabbed his wrist and said in a very soft voice, "It should be a stone, don't be afraid."

Chen An lowered his head and carefully dug away the loose soil. It really was a rock about the size of a palm, with jagged edges. Cold sweat instantly soaked through his cotton-padded coat, the chill biting to the bone. He had genuinely thought he had dug up a landmine; he was nearly scared to death.

He pried out the stone and continued digging, this time with a much steady hand.

The first pit was dug a foot and a half deep. Old Ma approached like a ghost, lying tightly on the edge of the pit before gently lifting the landmine to the bottom. His fingers gripped the cap, his movements as slow as threading a needle. The stone beside him held his breath, his throat feeling like it was stuffed with rotten cotton, not daring to even swallow.

After sealing the soil tightly, Chen An remembered Zhao Weiguo's instructions from earlier that day, and carefully stuck a handful of dry grass into the new soil to cover it up.

He inserted them with great care, one after another, perfectly neat. Zhao Weiguo stepped forward, glanced at them, and reached out to pull out two: "Too neat." Chen An was taken aback.

"The grass is blown by the wind, and the snow falls from the sky," Zhao Weiguo casually tossed the pulled-out withered grass aside, leaving it scattered crookedly. "Too neat, it looks like a staged scene, too fake." Staring at the two crooked blades of grass, Chen An remained silent for a long time.

He originally thought that work had to be done neatly and beautifully; now he realized that some jobs are worse the more neatly they are done.

On the other side, Shi Tou was leading the veterans in setting up the rolling stones on the slope. He had his eye on a large, waist-high bluestone and was struggling to pull it into place. Zhao Weiguo strode over, kicked off the stone, and pulled out several millstone-sized, angular rocks. "Push the big ones back to the back of the slope," Zhao Weiguo straightened up, "If you mess up the slope like this, the Japanese will see something's wrong as soon as they look up tomorrow."

The stone blushed and obediently moved the large rock, which was half a person's height, back to its original position.

There was also trouble at Xiaoman's place. He was laying out white stone lines along the northern end of the valley floor when he suddenly stopped and ran back: "Brother Zhao, there are footprints to the north, new ones."

Zhao Weiguo followed and groped his way over to investigate. A series of footprints were clearly visible in the snow, though they were obscured by a layer of fine snow from the night before. Zhao Weiguo crouched down and carefully searched the grass beside the footprints, eventually finding half a cigarette butt.

On the yellow cigarette paper were a few small words printed on it. He twirled his cigarette butt and remained silent for a long time before speaking: "The Japanese scouts have crept this far. They stopped here, smoked a cigarette, peeked into the valley, and left."

Xiao Man's face turned pale instantly: "Did he see us?"

“Nobody’s around during the day. He was looking at the terrain of the valley,” Zhao Weiguo said, putting his cigarette butt into his pocket. “If he had any suspicions, he would have set up a defense in this valley by now. The fact that nothing’s happening means he’s right.” He stood up, examined the set of footprints, and suddenly smiled: “Good thing.”

Chen An didn't understand what was so good about it. Zhao Weiguo seemed to sense his confusion and explained, "He came to check during the day and thought the valley was clean and free of ambushes." Zhao Weiguo pointed to the footprints, "With the supply team coming tonight and him leading the way, we feel more at ease. The more at ease we feel, the faster we'll get into the valley." He turned to Xiaoman and instructed, "Move the white stone line to the outside of the footprints, don't walk over the old tracks."

Xiaoman got stubborn: "Wouldn't it be even less noticeable if we covered it up?"

"Once it's covered, the old footprints are cut off," Zhao Weiguo sneered. "If he walks this path again tomorrow and sees yesterday's footprints suddenly cut off here, he'll immediately know that someone came here last night." Xiaoman swallowed hard, picked up the white stone, and went around to the outside to rearrange it.

As Chen An squatted by the pit, watching Zhao Weiguo tirelessly walk around and scrutinize every nook and cranny, his heart, which had been in his throat, finally settled back into his stomach. He had originally thought that burying a mine was just a matter of digging a pit, placing a mine, and covering it with soil; but now he realized that the real challenge was making it look like nothing had happened that night.

With all three mines sealed off, Old Ma led the detonating rope from the high point all the way to the valley entrance. The dark hemp rope lay flat against the gravel in the snow, stretched into a single line. As Chen An helped pull the rope, his palms were pricked painfully by the rough edges, yet the rope remained taut and straight.

Old Ma laid out the rules for everyone, and then added ominously, "If you hear thunder, no one is allowed to stand up and look." His toothless, sunken lips pursed into a thin line, "Anyone who stands up will be shot."

Chen An's heart tightened suddenly. He moved closer to Zhao Weiguo, gripped the shovel handle tightly, and after a long pause, finally managed to squeeze out, "Brother Zhao, let me stay."

Zhao Weiguo stared at him.

"I set up the white stone line myself. I can find every stone with my eyes closed," Chen An said, his voice strained. "If a fight breaks out, the wounded will need someone to lead the way to safety." Zhao Weiguo didn't respond immediately.

A chilling wind howled through the valley, making their cotton-padded coats rustle loudly. Chen An's palms were sweating profusely, afraid that he would refuse.

"When the wounded come down, you're in charge of leading the way. But don't get carried away and rush in with your gun," Zhao Weiguo said sternly. "Take them to the end of the White Stone Line, hand them over to the people behind, and then come back. Remember, your job is to lead the living out of here, not to watch the spectacle or to rush in and die in a moment of madness."

"Sigh." Chen An nodded heavily. This single word felt more tiring than carrying stones all day.

It's almost dawn.

A thick fog rolled into the valley, a white expanse that covered the valley entrance, the three patches of fresh soil, and all the footprints. Chen An lay prone behind a rock at the end of the white stone line, and could vaguely make out that Zhao Weiguo was crouching at the highest point.

Zhao Weiguo gripped the detonating cord tightly in his hand. The thick fog obscured his expression, but it couldn't hide his hand, which was clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Chen An held his breath.

From the distant mountain path came the sound of a mule bell. Its clear, crisp sound drifted through the mist.

A few breaths passed.

Another sound.

It's a little closer.