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

That code name had been swirling in my mind for days.

Seventh brother.

He Yuzhu thought about it while eating, while walking, and even when he was distracted in a meeting and Yang Deming glared at him, he couldn't bring himself to think straight. Lying on the kang at night, staring at the dark beams, the words on that list kept swirling in his mind—"Materials Allocation Department, Commerce Bureau."

Where had he seen this person before?

His face was round, his eyes small, and his gaze would wander when he spoke, avoiding eye contact. But where was that face located? He couldn't remember. The harder he tried, the less he could recall, as if looking through frosted glass.

On the third day at noon, he went to the cafeteria for lunch.

The line was long, so he moved forward with his lunchbox. His eyes inadvertently swept over the food serving window—two people were standing there, one serving food and the other collecting tickets. The one collecting tickets had a round face and small eyes; he kept his head down, counting tickets without looking up at anyone.

He Yuzhu suddenly stopped walking.

The person behind him bumped into him: "Come on, what are you standing there for?"

He took a step forward, but his eyes never left the person. The ticket collector looked up, met his gaze for a second, and then looked down again.

In that one second, the frosted glass in my mind shattered.

He's a purchasing agent for the canteen. His surname is Wu, but he doesn't know his given name; everyone calls him Old Wu. On the fifteenth of last month, he went to the factory office to deliver reports. He Yuzhu bumped into him once in the corridor; they passed each other without saying a word.

But that profile picture overlapped with the face in the Commerce Bureau corridor.

He Yuzhu walked over with his lunchbox, and Old Wu took his meal ticket, tore off half of it, and handed it to him. His hand was trembling slightly.

"Thank you, Master Wu."

Old Wu didn't reply, his eyes fixed on the next person in line outside the window.

He Yuzhu walked to a corner and sat down, eating bite by bite. He was thinking: Old Wu, the purchasing agent, goes to Tianjin to pick up goods every month on the fifteenth. And that "Seventh" from the Commerce Bureau, he also goes to Tianjin for a meeting every month on the fifteenth.

He put down his chopsticks and looked at the figure at the window, head down, collecting tickets.

He started keeping an eye on Lao Wu.

It wasn't the kind of stalking that follows you around; it was the kind of subtle, discreet observation that follows you around. It was about what time Old Wu arrived, what time he left, who he talked to most and least, what dishes he ate, and what soup he drank.

After watching for three days, I've started to figure things out.

Old Wu is usually a man of few words, polite to everyone, and doesn't get angry when someone jokes with him; he just laughs it off. He seems like an honest man. But every month on the fifteenth, he always takes the day off. The reason is always the same: something has happened at home.

He Yuzhu went to the factory office to check the attendance records. Last year, Lao Wu took twelve days off, all on the 15th, with no difference of two days.

He went to find Old Sun.

After listening, Old Sun remained silent for a while, then took out a cigarette from the drawer and lit it.

"We have connections in Tianjin. Go with him on the fifteenth of next month and see who he goes to see. Don't alert him."

He Yuzhu nodded.

On the fifteenth, He Yuzhu took leave.

Early in the morning, he waited behind the locust tree opposite the factory gate. At 7:30, Old Wu pushed his bicycle out, a bulging canvas bag tied to the back seat. Old Wu rode his bicycle towards the city, and He Yuzhu waited until he had ridden fifty meters before getting on his bicycle to follow.

Old Wu rode at a steady, moderate pace. He left the factory area, entered alleyways, navigated narrow lanes, and made several turns before finally arriving at the Qianmen long-distance bus station. He parked his bicycle in the parking area, took a cloth bag from his canvas bag, slung it over his shoulder, and went to the ticket window to buy a ticket.

He Yuzhu left his bicycle at a roadside repair shop, bought a ticket for the same bus, and was the last to board. He sat in the last row by the window, pulling his hat brim down. Old Wu sat in the fifth row in front by the window, his head tilted against the glass, as if he were sleeping.

The car drove for more than four hours, and it was already afternoon when we arrived in Tianjin.

Old Wu got out of the car, and He Yuzhu followed him from about 30 or 40 meters away.

The streets in Tianjin are narrower and more crowded than those in Beijing, with people cycling and walking everywhere. Old Wu walked quickly, weaving through alleys, turning corners, and then weaving through more alleys. He Yuzhu followed closely behind, almost getting his view blocked by the flow of people several times. After following him for twenty minutes, Old Wu stopped in front of a small teahouse, looked around, and went inside.

He Yuzhu squatted down next to a shoe repair stall across the street, pretending to tie his shoelaces, his eyes fixed on the door of the teahouse.

After waiting for almost an hour, a man arrived.

He was in his forties, wearing a gray cloth long gown and a top hat pulled low, obscuring his face. He stood at the teahouse entrance for a couple of seconds, looked around, and then pushed the door open and went inside. Through the teahouse's glass window, He Yuzhu saw him sit down opposite Old Wu. The two exchanged a few words, and Old Wu took a paper package from his canvas bag and handed it to him across the table. The man took it, stuffed it into his pocket, stood up, and left.

Old Wu didn't leave; he continued sitting there drinking tea, as if waiting for something.

He Yuzhu waited until the man in the gray long robe had walked a distance before standing up and pretending to be passing by, walking in that direction. He wanted to see where the man was going and whether he could follow him a little further.

After walking a dozen steps, someone suddenly called out from behind, "Comrade, can I borrow a light?"

He Yuzhu turned around.

Old Wu stood at the entrance of the teahouse, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, watching him.

He Yuzhu's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained expressionless. He patted his pocket and shook his head: "I don't smoke, I don't have a lighter."

Old Wu nodded, put the cigarette back in his pocket, and turned back to the teahouse.

He Yuzhu continued walking forward, at a moderate pace. After walking several dozen meters and turning into an alley, he stopped to catch his breath. He noticed that the back of his shirt was soaked through, clinging to his body and feeling chilly.

That night, he took the overnight train back to Beijing.

It was almost midnight when he got home. The yard was pitch black, except for the light still on in the deaf old lady's house. He gently pushed open the door, and there she was, sitting on the kang (a heated brick bed), not asleep.

"Pillar, you're back?"

He Yuzhu was taken aback: "Grandma, why aren't you asleep yet?"

The old woman looked at him, her eyes shining slightly under the oil lamp.

"Wait for you."

He Yuzhu sat down next to her. The old lady reached out and touched his face. His hand was still so cold, with large, calloused knuckles.

"Zhu Zi, you were like this when you were little. Every time you had to go out on errands, you would make a point of telling me the night before, 'See you tomorrow, Grandma.' You said it again last night."

He Yuzhu felt a lump in his throat but didn't say anything.

The old lady withdrew her hand and placed it on her knee.

"If you don't tell me, I won't ask. But you have to remember, you still have Grandma, and you still have the rain. Don't try to carry everything alone."

He Yuzhu nodded.

"understood."

The old lady stared at him for several seconds.

"Go on. Go to sleep early."

He Yuzhu stood up, walked to the door, and then turned back. The old lady was already lying down, her back to him. He gently closed the door.

The next morning, he went to find Old Sun.

He recounted what had happened in Tianjin. After listening, Old Sun took out several photos from his drawer and laid them out on the table one by one.

"Look, which one is it?"

He Yuzhu flipped through the photos one by one. When he got to the third one, he stopped. The man in the photo was wearing a gray cloth robe and a top hat, and his face was exactly the same as the man from yesterday—square face, thick eyebrows, and a mole on his left eyebrow.

"Who is this?"

Old Sun turned the photo over, and on the back were written a few words: Liu Fusheng, alias "Li Tong", liaison officer of the Tianjin station of the Taiwan Security Bureau.

He Yuzhu stared at that name for a long time.

"What about Old Wu..."

Old Sun stood up.

"Arrest them. Arrest them today."

In the afternoon, He Yuzhu waited for news at the factory. He sat in a corner of the canteen, looking at the food serving window. Old Wu's seat was empty, and a new young man was collecting tickets, looking flustered.

Around 4 o'clock, Lao Sun called.

"The person has run away."

He Yuzhu was stunned for a moment.

"They ran away?"

"I didn't come to work this morning, and the house is empty. My neighbor said they heard noises last night, but didn't think much of it."

He Yuzhu held the microphone but didn't speak. Old Sun sighed on the other end.

"You've alerted him. He might have discovered you in Tianjin yesterday."

He Yuzhu recalled the look in his eyes yesterday. Old Wu stood at the entrance of the teahouse, watching him. That glance wasn't accidental. Perhaps Old Wu had noticed him from the moment he started squatting next to the shoe repair stall.

He hung up the phone, stood there, and looked out the window.

Inside the cafeteria, the line for food stretched all the way to the door. The new ticket seller was scrambling to get what she wanted, and some people started to yell. He Yuzhu stared at the window, his mind filled with the last look Old Wu had given him.

Old Wu ran away.

That "Seventh Brother" ran away.

But the person he met is still there. Liu Fusheng, liaison officer at the Tianjin station of the Taiwan Security Bureau.

The two forces are indeed connected.

He Yuzhu slowly walked back to the canteen kitchen and sat down at the cutting board. The knife was still in its usual place; the vegetables hadn't been cut yet. He picked up the knife, then put it down again.

Footsteps came from outside the door; it was raining.

"Brother, Grandma wants you to come home for dinner."

He Yuzhu stood up and put the knife away.

"Walk."

As he walked out, he glanced back at the food serving window. Inside, the new young man was clumsily serving food, spilling soup all over the counter.

He Yuzhu withdrew his gaze and followed the rain out of the cafeteria.

It was getting dark, and the streetlights in the factory area were still off. The brother and sister walked along the dimly lit road, neither of them speaking.