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

When the plane landed in Guangzhou, it was still dark.

He Yuzhu peered out the porthole—the grass beside the runway was swaying wildly in the wind, and a few ground lights were on, casting halos of light that revealed water droplets clinging to the blades of grass. In the early morning of March in the south, the air was heavy with humidity, and a thin layer of mist condensed on the glass. He raised his hand and wiped it, his fingertips tracing the cool surface, leaving a few streaks of water.

His legs were a little numb. He stood up and stretched his knees. Yang Xiaobing behind him also stood up, his knuckles white as he gripped the canvas bag tightly.

"Commander, where are our men?"

He Yuzhu didn't turn around: "You'll find out when we get down."

A man in his forties, with a dark face and thin build, stood at the exit wearing a gray cloth jacket. He saw He Yuzhu, but didn't move. He simply threw the cigarette butt in his hand on the ground and crushed it out with the sole of his shoe.

He Yuzhu walked over.

"Old Chen?"

The man nodded, looked him up and down, and his gaze lingered for a moment on his waist—where a gun was tucked.

"Come with me."

A beat-up truck, with five people crammed into the cab. Old Chen was driving, He Yuzhu sat in the middle, and Yang Xiaobing and Old Lu squeezed onto the other side. Seven or eight people were squatting in the back of the truck, all of them Old Chen's men, members of the Guangzhou underground Communist Party.

Old Chen rolled down the car window a crack, and the wind blew in, carrying a salty, fishy smell.

"The mail was loaded onto the ship at three o'clock this afternoon. A British ship, heading to Hong Kong." He paused. "Our men are keeping an eye on that post office; the mail is still inside."

He Yuzhu looked out the window at the rapidly receding arcade buildings: "Can we intercept them?"

Old Chen tapped his fingers twice on the steering wheel: "The post office is easy to handle. The problem is the docks—someone's watching them, probably spies."

Yang Xiaobing, sitting in the back seat, leaned over and asked, "How many people?"

Old Chen shook his head: "I don't know. But that ship belongs to the British, and it would be easy to cause trouble if we forced our way in."

He Yuzhu didn't reply, his gaze falling on the rearview mirror—a black sedan, about a hundred meters away, was following at a leisurely pace.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Old Chen, do you recognize that car behind you?"

Old Chen glanced at the rearview mirror, and his expression changed.

"I don't know him."

He Yuzhu placed his hand on the car door handle: "At the next intersection, head into the alley."

Without a word, Old Chen floored the accelerator, and the beat-up truck roared forward. As it turned into a narrow alley, the truck tilted, and He Yuzhu's body was half-pressed against the door. The eaves of the houses on both sides of the alley almost touched, and clothes hanging out to dry swept over their heads.

The black sedan did not follow.

Twenty minutes later, the truck stopped at the entrance of an alley. Old Chen turned off the engine and looked back at He Yuzhu: "Eat first. We'll start at 2:30."

He Yuzhu pushed open the car door and only when his feet touched the ground did he realize that his back was soaked with sweat.

There are several bicycles parked in front of the gray building on the other side of Shamian Island.

He Yuzhu squatted in the stairwell of the building across the street, staring at the door through the window. Old Lu was downstairs, while Yang Xiaobing and his men were positioned around the perimeter. Old Chen went inside, pretending to be picking up a package.

Time ticked by, second by second.

Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. Twenty-five minutes.

He Yuzhu narrowed his eyes.

At the thirtieth minute, Old Chen came out. He walked slowly and steadily, but He Yuzhu noticed that his right hand was in his pocket, the posture of holding a gun.

Old Chen walked into the stairwell, handed over the brown paper envelope, and lowered his voice: "There's someone watching me from behind the counter. There might be someone at the back door too."

He Yuzhu took the envelope, opened it, and glanced at it—tank blueprints, page after page, densely packed with lines. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket, pressed it against his skin, and tucked it in.

"We'll split into two groups. You go the way you came, I'll go around to the back. See you at the dock."

Old Chen nodded, turned around, and disappeared around the street corner.

He Yuzhu climbed over the other side of the stairwell, crossed an alley filled with clutter, and circled around to the back door of the gray building. A man wearing black cloth shoes was squatting in the corner smoking, but his eyes were glancing this way.

Eyes facing each other.

The man threw away his cigarette butt and reached into his pocket. He Yuzhu was faster—a gun was already pressed against his forehead.

"Don't move."

The man froze. He Yuzhu reached into the man's pocket, pulled out a Mauser pistol, weighed it in his hand, and then tucked it into his own back.

"Whose people?"

The man gritted his teeth and remained silent.

He Yuzhu didn't ask any more questions. He struck the man on the back of the neck with a palm strike and watched him collapse to the ground before quickly leaving.

The dock was in complete chaos, like a hornet's nest that had exploded.

The British ship was docked at Pier 3, and workers were pushing carts back and forth, carrying crates of goods onto the ship. Many of the people in the crowd were in plainclothes, and a few stood in the shadows smoking, glancing this way.

He Yuzhu squatted behind a pile of goods, staring at the few people smoking.

Yang Xiaobing, lying down beside him, said, "Commander, those guys are suspicious. They keep looking this way."

He Yuzhu nodded: "Have Lao Lu go around from the left. We'll get on from the right. Once we're on the boat, just throw it in."

Yang Xiaobing was stunned: "Throw it in?"

"There were our men on the ship. Once the goods were loaded, he started working on them."

Yang Xiaobing nodded and crouched down to relay the message.

Just as He Yuzhu stood up, the men who had been smoking suddenly moved—they didn't move forward, but backward, backing up behind a truck, and pulled out their guns.

The gunshots came faster than he expected.

Bullets struck the cargo boxes, sending sawdust flying. He Yuzhu rolled to the side, hiding behind a pile of sacks. Yang Xiaobing lay prone on the ground, returning fire with his gun.

Old Lu charged out from the left wing, leading his men into a firefight with the secret agents. The gunfire was so intense it was almost continuous, and chaos erupted on the dock. Workers dropped what they were carrying and scattered in all directions, while the Hong Kong police cowered in their guard posts, too afraid to show their faces.

He Yuzhu peeked halfway out from behind the sack, aimed at the leader—pulled the trigger, and the man fell to the ground.

The remaining agents retreated to the back of the truck. One of them pulled something from his waist and held it up—

Hand grenade.

He Yuzhu's pupils constricted sharply: "Lie down!"

He fell to the ground, clutching his head with both hands.

boom--

The blast wave overturned the cargo container next to him, and shrapnel whistled overhead, striking the metal with a clanging sound. He Yuzhu's ears were ringing; he shook his head, got up, and rushed forward.

The smoke hadn't cleared yet, and visibility was very low. He saw Yang Xiaobing also get up, rush a few steps after him, then suddenly groaned and collapsed to the ground.

He Yuzhu turned around.

Yang Xiaobing clutched his shoulder, blood oozing from between his fingers, his face deathly pale.

"Commander, don't worry about me, go quickly!"

He Yuzhu squatted down, pulled Yang Xiaobing's hand aside, and took a look—the wound was in the shoulder socket, blood was gushing out, but the bone wasn't broken. He tore off the hem of his shirt, tied it tightly above the wound, and made a knot.

"Hold on." His voice was low. "The blueprints need to be loaded onto the ship, and you need to be on a stretcher. That's an order."

Yang Xiaobing's eyes reddened, and he nodded through gritted teeth.

He Yuzhu stood up and continued to charge forward.

Two of the agents were knocked down by the explosion, but the rest continued to resist. Old Lu led his men to flank them from the side, trapping them behind the truck. The gunfight lasted for another two minutes, then silence followed with a final shot.

He Yuzhu rushed to the side of the boat, took the envelope out of his pocket, and threw it onto the boat.

A man in a sailor's uniform caught it, nodded to him, and turned to disappear into the cabin.

He Yuzhu leaned against a pile of goods, panting heavily. The smells of gunpowder, blood, and the sea mingled together, making him want to cough. He glanced down—his trousers were covered in blood, and he couldn't tell if it was his or Yang Xiaobing's.

Old Lu walked over and stood next to him.

"Commander, those guys have been taken care of. One escaped."

He Yuzhu turned to look at him.

Old Lu pointed to the sea: "He jumped into the sea in the chaos. It was too dark to catch up. But I saw him look in our direction several times before he went into the water, as if he was recognizing someone."

He Yuzhu remained silent, gazing at the British ship gradually disappearing into the distance, then at the dark sea. The blueprints were on board, but a pair of eyes sank into the sea.

"I've got it." His voice was calm. "That person won't get away."

Yang Xiaobing was still conscious when he was lifted onto the stretcher. He smiled at He Yuzhu, blood still on his teeth: "Commander, I'm fine. Just a scrape."

He Yuzhu walked over and looked down at him.

"I'll treat you to drinks when we get back."

Yang Xiaobing grinned as he was carried away.

It's been three days since I got back to Beijing.

He Yuzhu pushed open the door, and sunlight streamed in obliquely through the window, illuminating the military map on the wall—the location of Guangzhou was circled in a small bright spot by the light. He stood motionless in that beam of light, his mind filled with the smoke of battle at the docks, the blood of Yang Xiaobing, and the image of that man jumping into the sea.

The phone rang.

He answered the phone, and it was that familiar voice on the other end.

"Xiao He, well done."

He Yuzhu held the microphone and remained silent for two seconds.

"Boss, one of them ran away."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"I understand. You all do your jobs."

He Yuzhu nodded: "Understood."

He hung up the phone and looked at the map on the wall. In Guangzhou, the sunlight had moved away, leaving behind a gloomy scene. The shadow of the person who jumped into the sea was like a thorn, embedded in that gloom.

The sky outside the window is very clear.