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

He Yuzhu went to Lao Sun's place early the next morning.

Old Sun sat in the creaking wicker chair, listened, and then tapped his fingers three times on the table. He stopped. He tapped three more times. The cicadas outside the window suddenly stopped chirping, and the room became so quiet that only breathing could be heard.

"Have you seen what it looks like now?"

"The man in the gray jacket, under the bus stop sign, didn't get on the bus," He Yuzhu said. "He's not one of yours."

Old Sun nodded, stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open a crack. Outside was a small courtyard with piles of old wood and coal briquettes, and a sparrow hopped around on the wall.

"Our people didn't move. Yesterday, when you were outside the city, we had people about 500 meters west of the temple, but we didn't dare get close."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Who is that?"

Old Sun didn't answer. He turned around, and the little expression he had on his face completely vanished.

"Be careful lately. We're not the only ones watching those people."

He Yuzhu didn't expect those people to arrive so quickly.

On the afternoon of the third day, as soon as he got off work and entered the courtyard, he saw two people standing under the hanging flower gate. One was wearing a gray cloth long gown, and the other was wearing a black mandarin jacket. Both were wearing top hats and were looking around, standing out from the broken pots and old coal baskets around them.

He Yushui was squatting in the yard washing vegetables. When she saw them, she stood up and took a step back.

The man in the long gown saw He Yuzhu come in, took two steps forward to greet him, and put on a smile.

"Deputy Factory Director He, I apologize for the intrusion. I apologize for the intrusion."

He Yuzhu stopped and didn't move.

Who are you?

The man in the long robe took out a name card from his pocket and handed it over with both hands. He Yuzhu took it and glanced at it: Zheng Yunting, with a line of smaller characters below: "Director of the Restoration Society".

He returned the name card.

"I don't know him. Is there something you need?"

Zheng Yunting's smile froze for a moment, then returned to its usual shape.

"Deputy Factory Director He, we have long admired your name and have come to pay you a visit today. This is just a small token of our appreciation."

He winked behind him. The man in the black jacket pulled two paper packages from behind his back and placed them on the ground. One was bulging, like a snack. The other was long and thin, wrapped in red paper, and its contents were unclear.

He Yuzhu glanced down.

"Take it. I don't accept anything."

Zheng Yunting's smile faltered.

"Deputy Factory Director He, please don't misunderstand. We just want to make friends with you. You fought in Korea and made great contributions. We admire heroes like you the most."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Who are you people?"

Zheng Yunting took a step forward and lowered his voice.

"We're like-minded people. There are some things that aren't convenient to discuss here. If it's convenient for you, let's find a place another day and have a proper chat."

He Yuzhu remained silent.

In the courtyard, the deaf old woman's door was ajar, revealing half of her face.

He Yushui stood there, still clutching a bunch of vegetables in her hand, her eyes wide open.

He Yuzhu stepped aside.

"Take your things. If you need anything, come to the factory to find me."

Zheng Yunting froze for a moment, his smile completely vanishing. He looked at He Yuzhu for a few seconds, then waved to the man in the black jacket.

The man in the black jacket picked up the two paper bags, and the two of them turned and walked out.

Upon reaching the hanging flower gate, Zheng Yunting turned back again.

"Deputy Factory Director He, we've already knocked on the door. If you don't open it, next time it might not be just knocking."

he's gone.

He Yushui ran over and stood next to He Yuzhu.

"Brother, who are they?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

The deaf old woman's door opened, and she came out, standing on the steps, her face turned towards the direction where the two people had disappeared.

"What are those people in long gowns doing?"

He Yuzhu went over and helped her up.

"We're here to discuss business."

The deaf old woman glanced at him. Her eyes didn't look like those of a blind person.

"Zhu Zi, don't try to fool me. My eyes may be blind, but my heart isn't."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

The two people left, but they didn't take their things with them.

He Yuzhu discovered it in the evening. He took the deaf old lady back to her house, and when he came out, he saw the two paper packages on the ground at the gate of the yard, wrapped in oil paper and pressed under a brick.

He took the paper package into the house and opened it.

The pastries were genuine, from Daoxiangcun, and very well wrapped. Inside the long paper package were two bolts of dark blue silk, which felt quite soft to the touch.

There was a letter underneath.

The letter was very short, just a few lines, written with a brush:

"Deputy Factory Director He: I apologize for my intrusion today. We have long admired your name and sincerely wish to discuss important matters with you. If you would not mind, let us meet at the teahouse in the east of the city at dusk three days from now. Someone will lead the way. I will not reveal your name."

He Yuzhu read the letter twice, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

The next day, he handed the letter to Old Sun.

After reading it, Old Sun placed it on the table.

"The Restoration Society," he said. "A bunch of old men and their descendants who want to restore the Qing Dynasty. There aren't many of them, but they have some money and connections. We've been watching them for a while, but we haven't found any real evidence against them."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"What do they want from me?"

Old Sun thought about it.

"You fought in Korea and made meritorious contributions. You also made technological improvements in the factory and have a certain reputation. They want to win you over, thinking you can be of help."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

Old Sun turned the letter over to look at the back.

"Go," he said. "Go and meet them. See what they're up to, what their trump cards are."

He Yuzhu nodded.

Old Sun looked at him and suddenly asked:

"Could they have been the ones following you that day?"

He Yuzhu was stunned for a moment.

"I don't know. I didn't see her face clearly that day."

Old Sun folded the letter and returned it to him.

"These two groups might be connected."

He Yuzhu took the letter.

"Are you in contact?"

Old Sun stood up and walked to the window.

"The people in Taiwan want to cause trouble. The Restoration Society wants to take advantage of the chaos. If these two groups get involved, things will get complicated."

He looked out the window.

"Be careful when you go in. See if they recognize that 'Mr. Li'."

Three days later, at the hour of You (5-7 PM).

He Yuzhu stood on the street in the east of the city, looking at the sign of the teahouse. The teahouse was small, and most of the paint on the old plaque above the door, which read "Qinghexuan," had peeled off. Before even entering, a wave of heat, a mixture of the smells of tea, sweat, and cheap tobacco, wafted out. Inside, it was noisy, with the occasional crisp sound of teacup lids scraping against the rim of the bowl. Someone was playing the erhu, but the sound was creaky and out of tune, making one feel depressed.

He pushed the door open and went in.

A waiter came up and ushered him inside. Just as he sat down, a man in a gray cloth long gown walked over and sat down on the bench opposite him.

It wasn't Zheng Yunting. The other man, in his forties, had a goatee and wore round glasses, looking like an accountant.

"I've long admired Deputy Factory Director He."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled.

"My surname is Zhang, Zhang Yushan. Mr. Zheng has something to attend to today, so he asked me to keep you company with tea."

The waiter brought over two bowls of tea. Zhang Yushan picked up one bowl, took a sip, and looked at He Yuzhu.

"Deputy Factory Director He, our last visit was a bit abrupt. Please forgive us."

He Yuzhu didn't touch the bowl of tea.

"What do you want from me?"

Zhang Yushan put down his teacup and moved closer.

"Deputy Factory Director He, what do you think of the world these days?"

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"What, how is it?"

Zhang Yushan lowered his voice.

"We all have some family background. In this day and age, people like us are finding it increasingly difficult to survive. You're different; you're a hero, and they have to respect you. But we—"

He shook his head.

"We don't ask for anything else, we just want to find a way out. Deputy Factory Director He, if you're willing to help us, we'll never forget you for any benefits you may receive in the future."

He Yuzhu waited for him to continue.

Zhang Yushan looked around and lowered his voice even further.

"We have a place outside the city where we sometimes get together and chat. If you have some free time, you can go and take a look."

He gave a place name.

He Yuzhu noted it down.

Zhang Yushan stood up and cupped his hands in greeting.

"Deputy Factory Director He, we'll meet again someday."

He turned and left. He Yuzhu noticed that as he walked away, something fell out of his sleeve and landed on the ground. It was a box of matches, ordinary-looking, but with a few small words printed on it: Hong Kong Wing Tai Hang.

He Yuzhu bent down, picked it up, and held it in his hand.

He sat there, staring at the untouched bowl of tea. The tea had long since gone cold, and a film had formed on its surface.

Three days later, Mr. Li's message arrived.

It wasn't a meeting, but a letter, tucked inside a newspaper and delivered to He Yuzhu's office. The letter contained only one line:

"An important person will be visiting Hong Kong on the 15th of next month. I will let you know when we meet."

He Yuzhu burned the letter.

He watched the wisp of smoke rise from the ashtray and drift through the office.

Two groups of people.

One wanted him to go to the teahouse, the other wanted him to go outside the city. One wanted to recruit him, the other wanted to give him an "important person".

He took the box of matches out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Wing Tai Hong, Hong Kong.

Outside the window, smoke was still billowing from the factory chimneys. The workers were still at work. On the table sat a mooncake left to him by the deaf old woman, wrapped in oil paper and pressed into a neat square.

He didn't touch the mooncake.

I just stared at that box of matches for a long time.