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

The oil lamp burned for half the night, then the flame wilted and flickered.

The shadows on the wall swayed, sometimes large, sometimes small.

The deaf old woman sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), clutching a photograph in her hand. It was a photo Yu Shui had washed for her a few days ago; He Yuzhu was wearing a military uniform, with several medals pinned to his chest, his face stern, as if he rarely smiled. She looked at it under the lamp for a while before putting it down and looking up at the person sitting opposite her.

"You've lost weight."

He Yuzhu pushed the teacup closer to her.

"You've lost weight too."

The old lady waved her hand.

"I'm just getting old, my skin and flesh are loose, so I look thin. You've really lost weight from overwork."

She pulled a small bundle from the head of the kang (heated brick bed), untied it, and inside were several dried dates. They were dark red and so hard they could break your teeth. She picked one out and handed it over.

"Sun-dried by rain"

He Yuzhu took it and took a bite. The jujube was hard, but sweet. Sweet to the point of being slightly bitter.

He chewed, without saying a word.

The old lady leaned against the cabinet on the kang (heated brick bed), squinting at him.

"How much do you know about what's been happening in the hospital all these years?"

He Yuzhu was still chewing on that dried date.

The old lady continued the story herself.

"Good that you got the money back for Zhang's family. Good that you overturned the table regarding Lao Yi's matter. Good that you exposed Lao Liu's little scandal."

She paused.

"But how much do you know about your father's affair?"

He Yuzhu stopped chewing the dried dates.

The oil lamp flickered. He stared at the flame without looking up.

The old woman looked at him; her eyes were deep-set, but her gaze was still bright.

"In 52, he came back from Baoding once. At that time, you were still in Korea, and the rain was still light. I was taking care of her. He only stayed for three days, saying he was just passing by and wanted to see the child. On the morning of the third day, he was gone. He left behind twenty yuan, which was placed under the water tank."

He Yuzhu swallowed the dried date. His throat felt a little tight.

"And then?"

"I later heard that she went to Tianjin." The old lady's voice lowered, as if she were talking to herself, "She married another one and never came back."

The room fell silent.

The wick popped again, *poof*.

He Yuzhu stared at the flame, watching it flicker in the lamp oil. The shadows on the wall trembled along with it.

"When I was little, he took me kite flying," he began, his voice low. "Over at Beihai Park. It was springtime, the wind was strong, and the kite flew really high. He gave me the string and told me to hold it while he stood beside me watching. I said, 'Dad, you fly it,' and he said, 'I'll just watch you fly it.'"

The old lady didn't reply.

"I was only five or six years old then." He Yuzhu finished eating the dried dates, wiped his hands, and said, "I never stopped eating them after that."

He finished speaking and then noticed a scar on the back of his hand. It was a shrapnel cut from his wrist down to the base of his thumb. He hadn't felt it then because he was in North Korea and was too cold; he only felt the pain after he came back.

The old lady reached out and touched his scar.

His fingers were so thin they were just skin and bones, with veins bulging out like withered tree branches. But his hands were warm.

"You're better than your father," she said. "Your father is a scoundrel, but you're a good boy."

He Yuzhu looked at the hand but didn't move.

"Grandma," he said, "as long as I'm here, home is here."

The old lady paused for a moment.

Then she turned his hand over and looked at the calluses, the scars, one by one. She looked for a long time.

"That child, Yushui," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "she has no parents, only you as her brother. If you weren't here, she would be gone."

He Yuzhu took her hand.

"I am here."

The old lady didn't say anything.

She pulled a cloth bag from under her pillow. Inside were several medals. They were sent back by He Yuzhu years ago; she had kept them hidden and never shown them to anyone.

She touched each medal one by one, the metallic sheen shimmering under the oil lamp.

"What is this?"

"Third-class merit".

"What about this one?"

"Second-level combat hero".

The old lady touched the largest one, her fingers lingering on it for a long time.

"Does it hurt?"

He Yuzhu was stunned for a moment.

"Did it hurt during the war?"

He looked at the medal. He thought of the tunnel at Shangganling, the frozen potatoes, and the people next to him who had fallen silent mid-conversation.

"Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes I don't remember the pain."

The old lady nodded. She didn't ask any more questions.

She carefully wrapped the medals one by one and tucked them back under her pillow.

Then she leaned against the kang cabinet, squinting her eyes, as if she was thinking about something.

"Pillar."

"Um."

"Do you think this war will ever be fought again?"

He Yuzhu did not answer immediately.

He stared at the oil lamp. The oil was almost gone, and the flame grew smaller and smaller. The shadows on the wall faded away as well.

"I don't know," he said, "but our home has to stay."

The old lady didn't say anything more.

After a long time, her head slowly drooped down, and she fell asleep leaning against it.

He Yuzhu stood up, laid her down, and covered her with the thin blanket. She was sleeping soundly, her brows still furrowed, and he didn't know what she was dreaming about.

He went to the outer room.

He Yushui was curled up on the kang (a heated brick bed), already asleep. He was clutching his military uniform in his arms, his hands gripping the sleeves tightly, as if afraid it would run away.

He sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) for a while, looking at her face.

She's fourteen now. She's taller and thinner than when he left, and her chin is more pointed. She sleeps with her brow furrowed, just like her grandmother.

He gently pulled the military uniform from her hands, intending to cover her with it. She stirred but didn't wake up, still clutching a bit of the whip in her hand, which she couldn't pull out no matter what she did.

He didn't move.

I just sat there and watched her.

A wind picked up outside. The paper windows rattled loudly.

He recalled those nights in Korea, lying in the snow, shivering with cold, thinking only of one thing—when could he come back and see them?

I'm back now.

He leaned there, his eyes closed.

That number popped into my head again. Forty-five thousand, still five hundred and fifty thousand short to reach fifty million.

I heard it last month at a meeting at the division headquarters. I've kept it in mind the whole way, and I just can't forget it.

What happens after 50 million?

he does not know.

But home is here. Grandma is here. The rain is here.

This is enough.

The lamp oil ran out. The flame went out with a whoosh.

In the darkness, he could hear his own breathing and the soft snores of the rain.

The courtyard was quiet. Occasionally, a dog would bark once or twice from the alleyway in the distance, and then it would be silent again.

He just sat there, listening.

It went on until dawn.