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

The three characters "Good lad" were written at the bottom of the battle report. The characters were small, but the strokes were heavy, and the ink had soaked through the paper.

The brigade commander put down his pen, picked up the battle report, and read it again.

"One hundred and sixty-eight enemy soldiers were killed, and twelve seriously wounded soldiers were captured." He read it aloud, not loudly, as if he were reading it to himself. After finishing, he paused and read the second half: two heavy machine guns, one mountain gun, more than one hundred and fifty rifles, tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition, and more than twenty mules and horses.

He turned the battle report over to look at the back. On the back was a note added by Staff Officer Luo, the handwriting crooked, but every number was circled. In the battle of Huanghuaigou, 43 enemy soldiers were killed, seven laborers were captured, and a pile of grain, cotton, and ammunition was seized, with zero casualties on our side. In the battle of Liushuwan, 168 enemy soldiers were killed, and heavy machine guns and mountain guns were captured, with one enemy killed and three lightly wounded on our side.

The brigade commander stared at the report of "one dead and three lightly wounded" for a long time.

The brigade chief of staff sat beside him, holding an enamel bowl. The water in the bowl had gone cold, but he didn't drink it; he was also waiting for the brigade commander to speak.

The room was quiet for a while.

"Two battles in three days." The brigade commander placed the battle report on the table. "Zero casualties at Huanghuaigou, one dead at Liushuwang."

The brigade chief of staff nodded.

"How was this battle fought?"

The brigade commander pointed to a line in the battle report: "Ambush. First, engage the heavy machine guns and mountain artillery to sever the command chain and annihilate them."

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside the window was the brigade headquarters courtyard, where a jujube tree stood, its branches swaying in the wind. He looked at the jujube tree without saying a word.

The brigade chief of staff waited a while before speaking.

"This is not a typical battalion-level victory."

The brigade commander did not turn around.

"I know."

What if headquarters asks?

"What are you asking?" The brigade commander turned around. "Two battles in three days, over two hundred enemy soldiers killed, zero casualties on our side, and enough spoils to equip a battalion. It would be strange if headquarters didn't ask."

The brigade chief of staff put down the enamel bowl.

What about Yan'an?

The brigade commander remained silent for a moment, then picked up his pen and wrote a line on the battle report: "To headquarters, with attached details of the battle and a list of spoils."

He put down his pen, picked up the battle report again, glanced at the crossed-out "Fourteen-year-old Battalion Commander Zhao Weiguo," said nothing, folded the report neatly, and handed it to the brigade chief of staff.

"Send it today."

The brigade chief of staff took the battle report, stood up, walked to the door, and then stopped. He turned back and glanced at the brigade commander.

The brigade commander didn't turn around; he looked out the window at the jujube tree.

"So what if I was fourteen?" he said. "I was herding cattle when I was fourteen."

The battle report was delivered to headquarters that same day.

The telegram from headquarters arrived the next day. It was short, but every word carried weight:

"Detailed report on the operation received. The assault battalion achieved two consecutive victories, eliminating over two hundred enemy soldiers with zero casualties on its own side, a remarkable achievement. Please supplement the training methods and tactical summary, and submit it to Yan'an for record-keeping."

The brigade commander looked at the telegram and read the words "recommendation to be submitted to Yan'an for record" three times.

He folded the telegram, put it in the drawer, and said to the brigade chief of staff.

"Summon Staff Officer Qin."

When Staff Officer Qin rode into Xing Shu Ping for the second time, it was still dark.

The horse was covered in night dew, and its hooves pounded the frozen ground with a muffled sound. Staff Officer Qin dismounted, staggering as his feet touched the ground; his legs were numb from riding all night.

He didn't go to Zhao Weiguo first; instead, he went to see the captured mountain guns.

The mountain gun sat in the yard, its barrel still stained with mud and blood, having been wiped but not completely clean. Staff Officer Qin circled the mountain gun, squatting down to examine the breech, then standing up to inspect the breechblock.

"This cannon can still fire," he said.

Zhao Weiguo came out of the house, carrying a bowl of porridge in his hand.

"We can fire," he said. "We have six shells left."

Staff Officer Qin looked at him, then at the mountain gun, and then at the rifles and ammunition boxes stacked in the yard. The rifles were arranged in three rows, more than fifty in each row, butts up and muzzles down, stacked neatly. The ammunition boxes were piled in the corner, the Japanese labels still on them.

Beside them were more than twenty mules and horses, tethered to wooden stakes. Some were chewing hay, while others were snorting. The mules and horses also carried saddles, with empty ammunition boxes hanging from them.

"You've fought two battles in three days," he said. "The brigade commander sent me to see just how much of a nest egg you've amassed."

Zhao Weiguo took a sip of porridge but did not reply.

Staff Officer Qin squatted down to examine a heavy machine gun, touching the barrel with his hand. There were scratches on the barrel, but it wasn't deformed. He stood up and dusted off his hands.

"If Li Yunlong saw this, his eyes would pop out," he said.

Zhao Weiguo squatted down beside him and put the bowl on the ground.

"He came."

Staff Officer Qin was taken aback.

"When?"

"The day the fighting at Huanghuaigou ended," Zhao Weiguo said, "he didn't come in; he just walked around outside and left."

Staff Officer Qin chuckled softly.

"He's shy," he said. "He let you go back then, and now he's too embarrassed to come back and ask for you back."

Zhao Weiguo did not respond to that.

Staff Officer Qin stopped laughing, took out a letter from his pocket, and handed it to him.

"It's in the brigade commander's own handwriting," he said. "Burn it after you've read it."

Zhao Weiguo took the letter but didn't read it right away. He first looked at Staff Officer Qin's face. Staff Officer Qin's face was thinner than when he last came, with stubble on his chin and bloodshot eyes.

"You rode all night?"

Staff Officer Qin waved his hand.

"Never mind me, read the letter first."

Zhao Weiguo opened the letter. The paper was small, and the handwriting was messy, but every word was legible:

"The battle report has been submitted to headquarters, and headquarters recommends submitting it to Yan'an for record-keeping. You're getting too much attention; several regiments are asking about you. Li Yunlong wants to bring you back, and Ding Wei and Kong Jie are also keeping an eye on you. I'm keeping an eye on you, but I can't keep it down for long. Also: the Japanese 1st Army's direct command special forces have been active recently, specializing in disguise raids, targeting command organs and leaders. Don't think of yourself as an ordinary battalion commander."

After reading the letter, Zhao Weiguo held it up to the oil lamp. The flame licked at the corner of the paper, which curled up, turned black, then gray, and the ash fell onto the corner of the table.

Staff Officer Qin watched him burn the letter and lowered his voice.

"There's one more thing," he said. "The Independent Regiment might need to be reorganized. Kong Jie is under a lot of pressure lately; Yamamoto's special forces have been spotted on the northern front."

Zhao Weiguo paused for a moment.

"Yamamoto?"

Staff Officer Qin nodded.

"Yamamoto Ichiki," he said, "the captain of the Japanese 1st Army's direct commando unit, specializing in infiltration and decapitation strikes. The brigade commander told me to tell you to be careful."

Zhao Weiguo didn't speak. He blew the dust off the corner of the table, and the dust floated up and fell to the ground.

He recalled a notification that had flashed through the system: "If you sense danger at close range, only call the police; do not reveal your identity."

"Yamamoto Ichiki." He murmured the name to himself.

Staff Officer Qin stood up and dusted off his trousers.

"The brigade commander also said something," he said. "He said, 'You're not an ordinary battalion commander anymore, so don't act like one.'"

Zhao Weiguo looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

Staff Officer Qin walked to the door, lifted the cotton curtain, and looked outside. It was already daylight outside, and sentries were patrolling in the distance.

"That means you're now a target," he said. "Two battles in three days, over two hundred enemy soldiers killed, zero casualties. The Japanese aren't blind; they'll find out who you are."

He lowered the cotton curtain and turned around.

"Did you find it?" Zhao Weiguo asked.

Staff Officer Qin didn't answer, he just looked at him.

"If they find out, it's not a war anymore," he said. "It's an assassination."

The room was quiet for a while.

Zhao Weiguo picked up the Mauser pistol from the table, released the safety, locked the safety, and placed the gun next to his pillow.

At the headquarters of the Japanese 36th Division, the chief of staff held a battle report stamped with a red seal that read "Urgent".

"A little kid from Taihang?" he murmured, his brows furrowing.

The adjutant stood beside him, holding a file in his hand.

"Battalion commander of the assault battalion of the 386th Brigade, 129th Division of the Eighth Route Army," he said. "Formerly an ordnance repairman in the 29th Army, age fourteen."

The chief of staff slammed the battle report on the table.

Fourteen years old?

The adjutant nodded. The chief of staff stood up and walked to the map. The map showed the terrain of the Taihang Mountains, with Willow Bay circled in red. Next to the circle were the date and numbers: 168 enemy killed, zero friendly casualties.

"Two battles in three days, annihilating over two hundred enemy soldiers with zero casualties on our side," he said. "Was that achieved by a fourteen-year-old?"

The adjutant did not answer.

The chief of staff turned around and looked at his adjutant.

"A reinforced company of 180 men, equipped with heavy machine guns and mountain artillery, was wiped out by a battalion," he said. "How many men were in that battalion?"

The adjutant flipped through the files.

"The authorized workforce is 500, but approximately 350 people have actually arrived."

The chief of staff frowned even more deeply.

"Three hundred and fifty men wiped out one hundred and eighty, with zero casualties," he said. "This isn't luck, it's strategy."

He walked to the table, sat down, picked up a pen, and wrote a line on the battle report. After finishing, he put the pen down and looked at his adjutant.

"Put Zhao Weiguo out of the picture," he said. "Inform Yamamoto Ichiki and tell him to investigate thoroughly."

The adjutant stands at attention.

"Yes."

The chief of staff read the battle report again, folded it up, and put it in the drawer.

"Fourteen years old," he muttered to himself. "Interesting."

In Xing Shuping, Zhao Weiguo sat inside the house cleaning his gun.

Staff Officer Qin left, riding his horse, the sound of his hooves gradually fading into the distance on the mountain road.

Zhao Weiguo was the only one left in the room.

The barrel of the Mauser pistol was polished to a shine, and the smell of gun oil filled the room. He assembled the gun, released the safety, locked it, and placed it on the table.

The north wind outside the window lifted the cotton curtain, which swayed twice before falling back down.

There was still a bit of ash on the corner of the table, left over from when the letter was burned.

Zhao Weiguo wiped away the ash with his finger, and the ash scattered and fell to the ground.

He recalled the words in the letter: "Don't treat yourself like an ordinary battalion commander."

He recalled Staff Officer Qin's words: "Once we find out, it's not a war anymore, it's an assassination."

Since that system notification, the premonition of heat in my chest has never failed to come true.

He picked up the gun, stood up, and walked to the door.

Outside the gate was Xing Shu Ping in the early morning; the sky was just beginning to brighten, and the withered grass on the hillside swayed in the wind. In the distance, the sound of sentries changing shifts could be heard; some people were coughing, and others were moving around. The aroma of porridge wafted from the direction of the mess hall, and Old Hu was calling out, "Dinner's ready!"

He stood at the doorway, looking at the distant mountains.

Behind the mountain is Beigou, and beyond Beigou is Liushuwan. At the bottom of Liushuwan, there are still more than a hundred corpses.

The aroma of porridge wafted over.

He remembered Old Hu's porridge, the pot in Willow Grove, and the words, "Keep it for when we come back to drink it."

The porridge is still in the pot.

He turned and went back into the house, placing the gun next to his pillow.