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

The box lay open on the kang (a heated brick bed), its mouth agape, its inside empty.

Qin Huairu squatted on the ground, folding the clothes over and over again—He Yuzhu's old military uniform, the collar worn white and the cuffs frayed. She pressed down on the crease with her fingertips, pressing it down once, then again, until it was firmly packed, before putting it at the bottom of the box.

He Yuzhu leaned against the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), watching her turn the military uniform over, smooth it out, and then turn it over again. She aligned the corners, then aligned them again.

"It's cold over there," she said without looking up, "Did you bring a down jacket?"

"I brought it."

She then picked up the cotton-padded coat and put it in the box. The coat was thick, so she pressed it down to make sure it was secure. Then she picked up a pair of cotton gloves from the side and stuffed them into her sleeves.

He Yuzhu saw the gloves—new, never been washed. The stitches were fine and dense, indicating that she had stayed up several nights to finish them.

He Yushui peeked inside from the doorway, half her head sticking out. Qin Huairu turned around, saw her, and waved.

"Rain, come in."

He Yushui ran in and sat down next to Qin Huairu, but her eyes were fixed on the box.

"Sister Qin, how many days will my brother be gone?"

Qin Huairu shook her head.

"I don't know. Ask your brother."

He Yuzhu thought for a moment.

"Half a month."

He Yushui gave an "oh," lowered her head, and tugged at the hem of her clothes. After tugging at it a couple of times, she looked up again.

"Brother, you said you'd be back in a month or two, but you've been gone for three years."

He Yuzhu felt a lump in his throat.

Qin Huairu paused on the lid of the box for a moment, then without saying a word, she closed the lid and stood up.

"Alright."

She turned around and looked at He Yuzhu.

"Is there anything else?"

He Yuzhu shook his head.

Qin Huairu didn't leave; she just stood there, looking at him. The lamplight shone on her profile, half of her face lit up, half dark.

He Yushui looked at this and that, then suddenly stood up.

"I'm going to visit my grandma."

She ran out, leaving the door ajar.

The room quieted down. The faint, hissing sound of the lamp wick drawing in oil could be heard.

Qin Huairu walked to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and sat down next to He Yuzhu. It was pitch black outside the window; the moon hadn't risen yet. The oil lamp in the room cast their shadows on the wall, sometimes large, sometimes small, overlapping and then separating.

"That year you were in a field hospital," Qin Huairu stared at the oil lamp, the flame dancing in her eyes, "burned unconscious, but your mouth never stopped, repeating the same few sentences over and over again."

He Yuzhu turned his head to look at her.

"What did you say?"

Qin Huairu didn't reply. After a long while, she finally spoke, her voice low:

"They said it was cold. They said the snow was up to their waists. They said they couldn't pull back the bolt of their gun and had to urinate on it."

He Yuzhu's Adam's apple bobbed.

"And she also said—" Qin Huairu paused, "that she missed me."

He Yuzhu was stunned.

Qin Huairu turned her face away and stared at the lamp. Her hands gripped the hem of her clothes so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"I thought to myself, this person is delirious from the fever, and what he says can't be taken seriously."

"That's absolutely true."

Qin Huairu's shoulders trembled.

He Yuzhu reached out and grasped her hand. Her hand was cold, her knuckles hard, and her fingertips calloused—from years of carrying water, washing clothes, and sewing shoe soles.

"When I was lying on the shore at Changjin Lake," He Yuzhu stared at the lamp, "I only thought about one thing—if I could make it back alive, I would live next to her from now on. If she scolded me, I would listen. If she hit me, I would endure it. If she neither scolded nor hit me, I would just live next to her like that for the rest of my life."

Qin Huairu clenched her fist in his palm.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered.

"I've waited for you for three years," she said.

"I know."

"I've been counting down the days."

"I know."

Qin Huairu turned to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but not wet.

"And this time?"

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He turned her hand over, palm up, and rubbed the calluses with his fingertips. One, two, three.

"This time," he said, "I have you in my heart, and I won't go far."

Qin Huairu didn't say anything. She stared at the hand that was rubbing against her palm, stared for a while, then suddenly pulled it back and stood up.

"I'll make you some pancakes to eat on the way."

She pushed the door open and went out. The door wobbled; it wasn't closed properly.

He Yuzhu sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), looking at the door. Outside, he could hear Qin Huairu poking at the stove, the clanging and popping of firewood.

He didn't go out.

The next morning, before dawn, He Yuzhu got up.

Qin Huairu was already standing in the courtyard, carrying the suitcase. He Yushui stood beside her, her eyes red-rimmed, but she held back her tears. The deaf old lady stood at the entrance of the main room, leaning on her cane, and remained silent.

He Yuzhu walked over and took the box.

He glanced at Qin Huairu. She looked at him too.

"I'm gone."

"Um."

He Yuzhu turned and walked out. When he reached the hanging flower gate, he looked back once more.

The deaf old woman waved at him. Qin Huairu stood beside her, not waving, just standing there. He Yushui lowered her head, her shoulders trembling.

He turned around and walked out.

There weren't many people on the platform.

He Yuzhu put the box on the train, stood by the door, and looked in the direction he had come from. A cold wind rushed into the platform, making people's faces numb.

Qin Huairu and He Yushui squeezed out of the crowd and ran to him.

He Yushui grabbed his sleeve tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"Brother," she looked up, her lips trembling, "come back soon."

He Yuzhu squatted down, looking her in the eye. He Yushui held back her tears, but couldn't hold them back any longer; they rolled down her cheeks and landed on the back of his hand.

"This time is different," he said, wiping her face with his sleeve. "I'll be back in half a month."

"You said the same thing last time."

He Yuzhu was speechless.

Qin Huairu stood to the side, watching the brother and sister. She didn't move or say anything.

The whistle sounded.

He Yuzhu stood up, released He Yushui's hand, and looked at Qin Huairu.

She took a step forward and stuffed a roll of something into his hand—a still-warm pancake wrapped in oil paper.

"Eat on the way."

He Yuzhu clutched the rolled pancake.

"wait for me."

Qin Huairu nodded.

He Yuzhu turned and got into the car.

He found a seat and sat down by the window. Outside the window, Qin Huairu and He Yushui were still standing there, waving at him. He Yushui was wiping her eyes, but Qin Huairu wasn't; she just kept waving.

The train started moving.

He saw Qin Huairu's hand waving slower and slower, saw He Yushui run a couple of steps and then stop, saw the platform getting farther and farther away, and finally shrinking into a small dot.

He opened the window a crack. A cold wind rushed in, making his face numb. He looked down at the rolled pancake in his hand; it was still warm.

Someone walked over from the car door.

He Yuzhu looked up and paused for a moment.

Old Sun.

He was dressed casually, carrying a briefcase, and sat down opposite He Yuzhu. Before sitting down, he glanced around the carriage.

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Why are you here?"

Old Sun placed his briefcase on his lap, leaned forward, and lowered his voice:

"The KGB is watching you in the Soviet Union."

He Yuzhu's hands were on his knees, and he didn't move.

Old Sun stared into his eyes and spoke slowly and deliberately:

"Our people just sent this message. They took a picture of your face and registered it. You'll have to be careful when you leave the embassy once you get there."

With a clang, the train rolled over the switch, and the train swayed.

He Yuzhu recalled Qin Huairu standing on the platform, He Yushui's tears falling on the back of his hand, and the deaf old lady standing at the door with her cane, watching him walk away without saying a word.

Old Sun leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"I'll accompany you to Manzhouli. Once we cross the border—"

He opened his eyes and looked at He Yuzhu.

"You should decide for yourself."

A platform flashed past the window, its lights flickering by.

He Yuzhu turned his face to the car window. His own reflection was shown in the glass, along with Old Sun's tense face behind him. He glanced down at the rolled pancake in his hand and clenched it tightly.

The train is heading north. The further north it goes, the colder it gets.