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

Xingshuping, morning.

The telegram announcing the conferment of ranks arrived yesterday evening. The messenger rode into the village on horseback, his hands trembling as he delivered the telegram.

The fourteen-year-old regimental commander was the top leader of the 386th Brigade.

The news spread in the time it takes to eat a meal.

Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, several veterans squatted down, smoking their pipes, which clanged against the stones.

Some say becoming a regimental commander at fourteen is a stroke of good fortune, others say it was earned with one's life. Hulukou, Liushuwan, Laohukou, Xinghualing—which battle didn't end with them crawling out of piles of corpses?

Old Hu from the cookhouse cooked millet porridge that was twice as thick as usual, and the spoon was stirring it vigorously in the pot.

The young soldier helping in the kitchen asked why they were willing to give out rations today. Old Hu tapped the edge of the pot with his spoon: "We need to eat something good today."

Zhao Weiguo didn't have time for these things. He was in the side shed fiddling with lathe parts with Zhao Tieshan.

The shed had adobe walls and a roof covered with two layers of tar paper, but it still leaked when it rained.

A wooden table stood against the wall, on which lay gears, bearings, calipers, files, and a sketch of a modified lathe drawn by Zhao Tieshan. It was drawn in pencil, with fine lines and dense annotations.

Zhao Tieshan squatted on the ground, measuring the diameter of a gear with calipers. His gold-rimmed glasses were wrapped with cotton thread, and his left leg had a crack in the plaster cast. He squatted very steadily, and the vernier of the calipers slid across the gear surface, making a rustling sound.

"The diameter differs by two micrometers."

Zhao Weiguo squatted down beside him, holding a bearing up to the light filtering through the seams of the tarpaulin. There were tiny scratches on the raceway, from being bumped during transport.

"It works. The scratches are on a non-load-bearing surface, so it won't affect the rotation speed after installation."

Zhao Tieshan nodded and put the calipers back into the cloth cover. He glanced up at Zhao Weiguo, seemed about to say something, but then swallowed his words.

The sound of hooves came from outside. Not horses, but mules. The hooves were rapid, clattering on the gravel, accompanied by the cracking sound of a whip.

Li Yunlong rode a black mule into Xing Shu Ping.

The mule was covered in sweat, its mane flying wildly in the wind, and its four hooves scrambling across the gravel road, sending sparks flying.

Li Yunlong sat on the mule's back, his body swaying with the bumps, gripping the reins tightly. His other hand held a whip, the tip cracking sharply and startling two birds in a tree.

He jumped down, his foot slamming into the ground and kicking up a cloud of dirt. His boots were covered in mud, his trousers were rolled up to his knees, and his calves were covered in grass seeds. It was clear that he had come all the way from the New First Regiment's camp without even taking a breath.

"Zhao Weiguo!" The voice was so loud that it shook the tarpaulin on the roof.

Zhao Weiguo emerged from the side shed, his hands greasy and iron filings stuck between his fingers. He saw Li Yunlong's sun-darkened face, his cheekbones peeling, and his eyes flashing with an alarming light.

"Commander Li."

Li Yunlong rushed over in three strides, grabbed his arm, and pulled him aside. His grip was so strong that Zhao Weiguo's arm turned white.

"Go back to the New First Regiment. I'll give you the position of deputy regimental commander. Let's stick together, brothers, fighting, capturing, and causing trouble. Let's not let outsiders benefit from it."

Zhao Weiguo looked at him. Li Yunlong's eyes were direct and never beat around the bush.

"Commander Li, I have just been awarded the rank of commander."

Li Yunlong was stunned for a moment, his mouth opened as if he was choked, but then he got even more excited.

"The rank of regimental commander is even better!" He slapped his thigh, making a loud "smack" sound. "The new First Regiment will give you real power. You'll be the deputy regimental commander, you'll be in charge of the battles, and I'll cover for you. You get to choose the spoils first, and I'll eat what you leave behind. Isn't that fair enough?"

Zhao Weiguo shook his head.

"What I lack is not a title, nor the待遇 (treatment/benefits) of a deputy position. I want independent command. I can't be forever tied to someone else."

Li Yunlong glared, his eyes wide open, and the veins on his temples throbbed twice.

"You think you can start your own business, kid?" he cursed, his voice so loud that several soldiers watching the commotion shrank back. "You're only fourteen, and you think you're all grown up? I fought for three years to become a battalion commander, and you, on the other hand, have been fighting one battle after another without even taking a breath, and now you think even a deputy position is too low?"

After cursing, he fell silent again. He looked at Zhao Weiguo for two seconds, his chubby face relaxed, and the corners of his mouth turned down before tightening back up.

"Alright. You've got guts, kid. I admire that. If you ever start a new regiment, I'll lend you three companies of elite soldiers. Not a single lieutenant will be a slacker; they're all top-notch fighters."

He patted Zhao Weiguo on the shoulder, quite hard. Zhao Weiguo swayed.

Li Yunlong turned and walked away. The mule was still panting, white mist coming from its nostrils. He mounted the mule, cracked the whip, and the mule started running again. The sound of its hooves gradually faded into the distance and disappeared on the dirt road at the village entrance.

Ding Wei arrived in the afternoon.

He didn't ride a mule; he walked. He wore an old cotton-padded jacket, the cuffs worn and torn, revealing the yellowed cotton inside, which swayed in the wind. He walked slowly, his steps steady, as if he were measuring land.

Upon entering Xingshuping, they didn't immediately go to find Zhao Weiguo.

I went around to the training ground and stood on the side to watch the assault battalion drill.

They were practicing a triangular formation. Three people per group: one held a rifle, one loaded ammunition, and one observed. They marched in perfect unison, their footsteps thumping on the hard, dry ground. The rifle-bearer pointed forward, the one loading ammunition crouched down, and the one observing crouched down to scan the left and right. The distance between the three was exactly one arm's length, no more, no less.

Ding Wei stood to the side and watched for fifteen minutes. His eyes swept from one group to another, then back again. He took out half a pencil stub, wrote a few words in his palm, then crossed them out, leaving deep marks.

Only after finishing watching did I enter the side shed.

Zhao Weiguo and Zhao Tieshan were lifting the clamp. The iron thing was very heavy, and Zhao Tieshan couldn't use his left leg, so he had to rely entirely on his right leg for support. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and down his gold-rimmed glasses.

Ding Wei stood at the door for a while, without saying a word. His gaze moved from the jig to the lathe, then to the sketch hanging on the wall, and finally landed on Zhao Weiguo's hands. They were covered in oil stains, and his knuckles had thickened considerably, as if he had been a fitter for ten years.

Zhao Weiguo looked up and saw him, then put the clamp down. The iron frame fell to the ground with a dull thud.

"Commander Ding."

Ding Wei walked in, squatted down, and picked up a gear to examine it. The teeth were worn but still rough, with burrs not completely removed. He rubbed the teeth with his thumb, leaving a layer of iron powder on his fingertip.

"Where did you learn this training method?"

"I figured it out myself."

Ding Wei put the gear down, stood up, and patted the iron powder off his hands.

"Go to the New Third Regiment. I'll give you the position of tactical deputy, in charge of tactical simulations and troop training. When the opportunity arises, you can take charge independently."

Zhao Weiguo looked at him. Ding Wei's conditions were more stable than Li Yunlong's; he was unhurried and would learn before he acted. But that also meant waiting—waiting for an "opportunity" that might not come for who knows when.

"Commander Ding, I'll say it again. I don't want a deputy position. I want independent command."

Ding Wei wasn't angry. He nodded, his lips twitching slightly, as if he had expected him to say that.

"Your ambition has already surpassed that of a battalion or regimental deputy commander. I won't force you. We'll discuss tactics more in the future."

He turned and walked away, but after taking two steps, he turned back.

"There are a few details in your triangular formation that can be modified. I'll write you a plan later."

Zhao Weiguo nodded.

Kong Jie arrived in the evening.

As dusk approached, the earthen walls of Xing Shu Ping were tinged a dark red by the setting sun. The aroma of millet porridge wafted from the cooking station, mingled with the smoke from burning firewood.

When Kong Jie entered the shed, Zhao Weiguo was wiping the grease off his hands. He wrapped a strip of cloth around his fingers twice, wiping carefully, picking out iron filings from between his fingers one by one.

Kong Jie stood at the doorway, saying nothing. His body blocked half the light, casting a long shadow.

Zhao Weiguo looked up and saw him, then put down the hand towel.

"Commander Kong."

Kong Jie walked in and sat on an ammunition box. The box was still printed with Japanese characters. His left arm was wrapped in three layers of gauze, with a faint red stain seeping through. His old wound had reopened before it had fully healed. His face was expressionless; his cheekbones were more prominent than when they last met, and his jawline was sunken.

There's something pressing down on my eyes. It's deep and heavy, pressing down beneath my eye sockets.

"The Independent Regiment is short of someone who can fight tough battles. Would you be willing to consider it?"

Zhao Weiguo looked at him. Kong Jie spoke little, but every word he uttered carried weight.

"What location?"

"Deputy Regiment Commander. The current deputy can be transferred to make room."

Zhao Weiguo didn't answer immediately. He looked into Kong Jie's eyes, trying to discern something within them. His gaze was deep, his dark pupils unmoving, and something seemed to be weighing heavily on his mind.

"Commander Kong, things haven't been peaceful in the Independent Regiment lately?"

Kong Jie didn't answer directly. He placed his right hand on the gauze of his left arm, pressing it with his thumb as if to confirm the wound was still there. He stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back at Zhao Weiguo.

"Visit Willow Grove sometime."

He left. His footsteps were light, unlike Li Yunlong's, which pounded the ground, or Ding Wei's, which were rhythmic. They were muffled, with little echo with each step.

Zhao Weiguo stood at the entrance of the shed, watching Kong Jie's figure disappear into the twilight at the village entrance.

That night, Xing Shu Ping fell silent. Insects chirped at the base of the wall, dogs barked in the distance, and occasionally the footsteps of sentries changing guard could be heard.

Zhao Weiguo spread out a map of the area surrounding the 386th Brigade in a side shed. It was mimeographed, the paper yellowed, and the corners curled up. He used four stones to weigh down the four corners and circled the locations of the New 1st Regiment, the New 3rd Regiment, and the Independent Regiment side by side.

The New First Regiment is located to the east, at Wangjiayu, near Niangziguan, serving as the eastern gateway to the 386th Brigade. The New Third Regiment is to the west, at Mopanling, guarding a section of the Tongpu Railway. The Independent Regiment is to the north, at Liushugou, strategically positioned at the northern entrance to the Taihang Mountains, serving as the northern gateway.

The three circles on the map look like three points, and connecting them forms a line. From east to west and then to north, it forms exactly two sides of a triangle.

He stared at the map for a long time. He twirled the pencil in his hand twice, the tip stopping at the location of Willow Grove, without falling.

The system interface in my mind suddenly lit up.

"Ding, mission recommendation: Independent Regiment. Weight: Five stars."

He was taken aback. The system had never proactively recommended locations before. This was the first time.

"Independent Regiment direction, weight five stars," he read aloud.

Each of the five words was like an iron nail, driven into my mind.

I recalled Kong Jie's silence upon arrival, and the old brigade commander's words about the pressure on the northern front: "Something's bound to happen on that northern line sooner or later." I remembered Kong Jie's bandages and his words, "Go visit Liushugou when you have time."

He redrawn the mountain paths, village entrances, guard posts, and brigade headquarters communication lines around Liushugou. The pencil scratched across the paper. The drawing was very detailed; the width and slope of each path were marked. The mountain path to the north was four feet wide, passable by mules and horses but not by cars; the ditch to the east was a dry riverbed, only filled with water during the rainy season; the guard post to the west housed twelve men, armed with a light-duty rifle.

After finishing the last stroke, I put down the pencil. The tip was worn down, and a layer of lead dust settled on the paper.

Independent Regiment direction, weight five stars.

He placed the pencil on the map. The pencil rolled and stopped next to the circle in Willow Ditch.