Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

He Yuzhu sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in an old cotton-padded coat, his left leg tucked under the covers, his toes still numb from the cold. The window wasn't closed properly, and the wind seeped in through the cracks, making the paper on the table rustle.

He stared at the light screen in front of him.

[Current total points: 44,270,000.]

It's over fifty million. He didn't look at the exact amount, but he remembered that it was still more than forty million short of the goal of one hundred million.

He scrolled down through the system logs.

Page 1, Changjin Lake.

[Kill 1 enemy soldier, score +800 points.]

He remembered. That was the first time he had ever shot someone. An American soldier was lying prone in a snowdrift, his gun pointed at him. He fired half a burst, and the man fell, his blood staining a large patch of snow red. He lay shivering in the snow for a long time, not from the cold.

Scroll down further.

[Night raid on enemy outpost: 3 killed, 1 captured, +4 points, 500 points.]

Old Li led the team that time. On the way back, Old Li patted him on the shoulder: "Good job, kid, you've got guts." Old Li later sacrificed his life at Shangganling. A shell landed next to him, and he was gone, with only half an arm left. His watch was still there, but the dial was broken, and the hands were stopped at 10:17.

[In coordination with the counterattack, kill × enemy soldiers and capture × prisoners, earning +18,400,000 points.]

Five battles. He didn't want to think about that period. A company went up, and came back down with only half a company left. Some of those names he still remembered, others were long gone. Only faces remained, flashing through his mind before disappearing.

[Special Event: Strategic Bombing Formation (One-time Use), Costs -10,000,000 Points.]

He paused on this point for a long time. The sky that night, those black wings, that land scorched like glass. And Shen Lian's eyes, the gaze behind his glasses, scrutinizing him for four days.

Turning to the last page, there's a line of small print at the bottom: [Cumulative points earned: 1,847 records, earliest record date: November 27, 1950.]

One thousand eight hundred and forty-seven. Each one was a shot fired, a reconnaissance mission, a raid. Behind each one were names, some still remembered, some long forgotten. But those people were not just numbers; they fell in the snow, on the scorched earth, in the rainy night, and never rose again.

He Yuzhu turned off the light screen.

The room darkened, with only the cold wind still seeping in through the cracks in the window. He sat against the headboard, looking at the tattered map on the opposite wall—it was a map of the Korean Peninsula, its red and blue pencil lines blurred, no one knew who had pasted it there. He stared at the marked places on the map, then suddenly reached out and traced a curve with his fingertip.

Chosin Reservoir. The Fifth Battle. Shangganling. Jincheng.

He stopped his finger on Jincheng's spot and pressed down.

He pulled out the unopened letter from his pocket. The envelope was as soft as an old cloth, the edges were frayed, and the dried bloodstains had turned dark brown, patchy like dots marking battlefields on a map.

He held the letter in his hand for a long time before stuffing it back into his pocket.

The next morning, before it was fully light.

He Yuzhu stood by the window, scraping the frost off the glass with his fingers. After scraping away a small patch, he could see the courtyard below, where several soldiers were running, their footsteps pattering, and white breaths rising from their mouths.

There was a knock on the door.

"Major General He, Comrade Shen is waiting for you downstairs."

He put on his cotton-padded coat and went downstairs.

Shen Lian stood on the steps at the entrance of the guesthouse, without a hat, his ears red from the cold. When he saw He Yuzhu come out, he took a step forward, his breath steaming in the air.

"There are some technical details in your report regarding the interception of battlefield communications that I would like to ask you about in person."

He Yuzhu looked at him but didn't reply.

A cold wind blew between the two of them, causing Shen Lian's collar to flip up.

He Yuzhu suddenly asked, "You've interrogated so many people, have you ever uncovered anything hidden in your own heart?"

Shen Lian was stunned for a moment.

After a few seconds, he said, "No. So I stopped reviewing it and started doing something else."

He looked at He Yuzhu and waited.

He Yuzhu didn't say anything more, turned around and started walking down the steps. After taking two steps, he stopped and looked back.

"Let's go. We'll discuss the technical details as we go."

Shen Lian stood there, watching his retreating figure. Then he followed him.

The sound of their footsteps crunched on the icy ground, growing fainter and fainter.

1954 October.

A new unit was established in a certain department of the General Staff called the "Special Operations Research Office." The office was on the third floor of an old building, the paint on the stair railing was peeling, and touching it left your hands covered in dust. At the end of the corridor, on the door of the room, there was a piece of white paper with six characters written in calligraphy.

He Yuzhu pushed open the door and glanced inside.

There was only a long table and four chairs in the room. Two empty filing cabinets stood against the wall. The windows were large, and sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dust on the table clearly.

Chen Dashan followed behind, carrying an enamel mug with the words "The Most Beloved People" worn away on it. He walked around the room, then stood by the window and looked out. Below was a drill ground where several soldiers were practicing bayonet fighting, and the sounds of battle cries could be faintly heard.

He turned back: "Commander—Director, are we starting all over again?"

He Yuzhu walked to the wall and looked at the blank organizational chart.

"Let's start afresh," he said. "We need to be more professional and more systematic than we were on the battlefield before."

Chen Dashan placed the enamel mug on the table and sat down.

"Okay then. Anyway, I've never had an easy time with you since the beginning."

He took out a cigarette and handed one to He Yuzhu. He Yuzhu took it, but didn't light it; he just held it there.

Outside the window, the soldiers on the parade ground were still practicing bayonet fighting, their shouts of battle echoing in waves.

Chen Dashan suddenly asked, "Tell me, should we still fight this war?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer, but just looked at the blank organizational chart on the wall.

The sounds of battle shouting came in waves outside, as if a fight was still raging in the distance.