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

The sound of the grinding wheel drowned out the breathing in the courtyard.

He Yuzhu shook his head until his face turned red and sweat beaded on his nose, the beads of sweat being caught by the cold wind as soon as they appeared. He stole a glance at Zhao Weiguo's hands and saw that his small hands were pressing against the back of the knife, his knuckles against the metal, and when the sparks grazed it, only a few black spots were left on his skin.

"Is it hot?"

"shake."

"Can't I just ask?"

"If the knife cuts crooked, your dad's rolling pin can't save you."

He Yuzhu immediately shut up and steadied his wrist again.

After smoothing out the chipped edge of the first knife, Zhao Weiguo switched to a fine-grit stone and gently ran it along the blade. The blade emerged from the gray-black, unlike the bright white of a new knife; instead, it had a layer of deep blue-green, like ice pressing down on the surface of a river on a winter night.

Zhou Shichang reached out to take it.

Zhao Weiguo pulled the knife back.

"It's not over yet."

Zhou Shichang's hand stopped in mid-air.

"What's missing?"

"Backfire".

"Wasn't it burned just now?"

"That's annealing. Now we need to control the edge's temper."

Old Xu's head was throbbing from listening, and his hand was still resting on the bellows.

"Does a knife have a temper?"

Zhao Weiguo brought the spine of the knife close to the edge of the charcoal fire, preventing the blade from getting burned.

Steel is more honest than people. It will repay you the way you treat it.

Zhou Shichang looked down at the knife, a deep mark left by biting the cigarette in his mouth.

"That sounds like something an old blacksmith would say."

"The old blacksmith needs to eat, so he keeps everything to himself."

"Aren't you going to hide it?"

Zhao Weiguo adjusted the angle with the pliers, the firelight illuminating his eyes with a dark gold hue.

"If you hide it, the knife won't be able to cut the Japanese soldiers."

Zhou Shichang didn't ask any more questions.

When Yi Zhonghai returned, he was carrying a wooden box in his arms, panting, and the hem of his cotton-padded coat was covered in mud. He went into the courtyard, first looked at Zhao Weiguo, then at Zhou Shichang, and finally placed the wooden box on the table.

"A fine file, an oilstone, and a scribing needle. My master is asleep, so I took an old one from the shop."

Zhao Weiguo opened the wooden box and ran his fingers over the file teeth.

"The old one is better. The new one is too rough."

Yi Zhonghai's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say something, but then he swallowed his words back.

"That piece of steel."

Zhao Weiguo did not turn around.

"Old Xu, give it to him."

Old Xu picked up the bolt guard from beside his feet and tossed it over. Yi Zhonghai caught it with both hands, the guard pressing down on his wrists. He glanced down at it, a small fire seeming to ignite in his eyes.

Zhao Weiguo put the first knife aside to cool, then pushed over the second one.

"He Yuzhu, have half a cup of tea."

He Yuzhu released the crank handle, but his hands remained in the grip position, his palms covered in black sweat. He stood up, his legs a little numb, and he almost sat down.

He Daqing snorted at the door.

"Useless. He can't even stand up straight when he's cranking a broken wheel."

He Yuzhu stuck out his neck.

"Father, I was the one who shook that knife."

"You've got nothing to show for it. They have the accuracy, you're just a donkey pulling a millstone."

Several people in the courtyard were trying not to laugh.

He Yuzhu's face turned even redder, and just as he was about to retort, Zhao Weiguo threw half a cold steamed bun at him.

"Eat. We'll shake it again later."

He Yuzhu caught the steamed bun, glared at He Daqing, and took a big bite.

"Donkeys still need to be fed hay."

He Daqing lifted the rolling pin, Zhou Shichang coughed, and then put the rolling pin behind his back.

Yi Zhonghai stood by the table, his eyes following Zhao Weiguo's movements.

"If you sharpen it like that, the blade angle is too small. It will curl when cutting bones."

Zhao Weiguo picked up the scriber and drew a short line near the blade.

"This one's for Company Commander Zhou. He's chopping wrists and necks, not firewood."

Zhou Shichang raised an eyebrow.

"You even know how I use a knife?"

"Your calluses are more on the outside of your hand, and you tend to grip the knife with your wrist down. If the knife is too thick, you'll actually be slower."

Old Xu leaned over to look at Zhou Shichang's hands.

"That's true."

Zhou Shichang slapped his head open.

"Look at your mother."

Yi Zhonghai stared at the drawn line, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"What about the other people's knives?"

Zhao Weiguo flipped the second knife over, pointing it towards the back.

"Old Xu's knife is extra thick. The soldier at the door has a knife with the blade slightly blunted; he's strong and can't stop it."

The soldier holding the gun at the door paused for a moment, then looked down at his hands.

"I haven't shown you the knife yet."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at the wrist bone exposed under his sleeve.

"You pressed the rifle butt too hard when you were on guard duty; your grip wasn't strong enough."

The soldier opened his mouth and turned to look at Zhou Shichang.

"Company commander, this kid's ability to judge people is even more uncanny than a fortune teller's."

Zhou Shichang took the cigarette from behind his ear, smelled it under his nose, and then put it back.

"Stop talking nonsense. From now on, don't interfere with his work."

From the window of the Jia family's house, Jia Zhangshi peeked out, revealing half her face. She didn't dare make a sound, only staring at the knives with her eyes. Jia Dongxu lay behind her, his small face pressed against the window paper, his breath obscuring the paper.

Zhao Weiguo suddenly looked up.

"Jia Dongxu".

The little shadow behind the window paper trembled.

Jia Zhangshi immediately pressed down on the child's head.

"Why are you calling my son?"

Zhao Weiguo removed the wooden handle from a broken knife and threw it in the middle of the yard.

"Pick it up and use it to boil water. Don't touch the metal."

Jia Zhangshi hesitated for a moment, her eyes sweeping over Old Xu's gun butt, and then she nudged Jia Dongxu.

"Go, bring it back."

Jia Dongxu ran out, picked up the wooden handle, and couldn't help but look at the knife on the table.

"Brother Weiguo, can this knife really cut through a Japanese sword?"

Zhao Weiguo picked up the first blade after it had been tempered, the blade slicing a narrow line of light under the oil lamp.

"Ask Company Commander Zhou tomorrow morning."

Zhou Shichang took the knife, flicked his wrist slightly, and the blade hummed softly. The paper windows in the courtyard seemed to tremble in response.