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

Old Sun was squatting by the wall, his trouser leg covered in cigarette ash, but he didn't bother to take a picture.

He Yuzhu came out of the workshop and saw him at a glance. The autumn sun was already setting, casting a long shadow, making him look like a withered stump. He Yuzhu walked over and squatted down next to him.

Old Sun didn't look up, but was scratching something on the ground with a twig. He made one mark, smoothed it out, and then made another.

He ignored the voices from the cafeteria in the distance calling for dinner to be served.

He Yuzhu waited for a while.

"You've heard?" Old Sun finally spoke, his voice muffled.

He Yuzhu shook his head.

Old Sun stubbed out the cigarette that was almost burning his finger, then took another one out of his pocket, didn't light it, and just held it there. He squeezed it so hard it was almost deformed.

"The Soviet Union," he said, then stopped midway.

He Yuzhu didn't urge him.

Old Sun threw the crumpled cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his foot.

"He actually spoke up."

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on his knee.

"How many?"

Old Sun looked up at him, his expression unreadable.

"The specific figures haven't been released. But judging from the tone, even emptying the entire nation's coffers wouldn't be enough to pay it back."

He stood up and brushed the ash off his pants. A few bits of ash remained on his trouser legs, but he ignored them.

"It's already decided from above: agricultural products will be used as collateral. Grain, pork, eggs—bring out everything you can."

He paused.

"The harvest has already started in the Northeast. All the surplus grain from the farmers' homes has been taken away. What will they eat next year? Nobody knows."

He Yuzhu squatted there, not moving.

Old Sun had already taken a few steps when he turned back.

"You go about your business. This is none of our concern."

he's gone.

He Yuzhu was still squatting there, looking at the marks left by the branches on the ground. The marks that Old Sun had made, one by one, were eventually all smoothed out.

That evening, He Yuzhu sat alone in his office for a long time.

It was already pitch black outside the window; the moon hadn't risen, and the shadow of the locust tree in the yard was nowhere to be seen. He turned off the light and sat there in the darkness.

He looked at that string of numbers in the system space countless times.

Gold: 6,800 tons

He remembered what Old Sun had said: If all the surplus grain from the farmers' homes is taken away, what will they eat next year?

He thought about it for a long time.

Then stand up and put on your coat.

The old leader's house was in a quiet little courtyard. There was a jujube tree at the entrance, but the jujubes had long been picked clean, leaving only bare branches pointing towards the sky.

When He Yuzhu knocked on the door, there was no sound from inside.

He knocked again.

The door opened. The old leader stood in the doorway, wearing an old cotton-padded jacket and holding an enamel mug. The mug had the words "Labor is Glorious" printed on it, but the paint had almost completely worn off.

He was taken aback when he saw He Yuzhu.

"It's so late, is something wrong?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

The former leader didn't ask any more questions and stepped aside.

The room was warm, and the stove was burning brightly. The flames flickered in the fire, casting an intermittent glow on the map on the wall. The old leader asked He Yuzhu to sit on the sofa, then sat down himself, placing the enamel mug on the table.

Steam was rising from the jar; it was tea.

He Yuzhu glanced at it, then looked away.

The old leader didn't say anything, he just stared at him.

The fire in the stove crackled and popped, and the shadows of the two people flickered on the wall, sometimes large, sometimes small.

"Xiao He," the old leader finally spoke, his voice low, "where did you get your tea leaves?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

The old leader waited for a while.

"And those cigarettes, those candies."

He Yuzhu remained silent.

He could feel those two gazes sweeping over him like searchlights. But he kept his head down, watching the flickering flames in the stove.

The old leader waited a while longer.

"You came here today to talk about this?"

He Yuzhu raised his head.

"I've heard about the Soviet Union pressing for repayment of debts."

The old leader nodded.

"I've heard about it."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"If you have a large quantity of gold, but its origin is unexplained, how do you get it out?"

The old leader's hand paused on the enamel mug for a moment.

He stared at He Yuzhu for several seconds.

How big?

He Yuzhu thought for a moment.

"Enough to pay off part of the debt."

The old leader didn't say anything.

The fire in the stove crackled twice more. He Yuzhu looked down and saw his shadow stretched and distorted by the firelight on the wall.

After a long while, the old leader spoke.

"Did they come from the same source as those tea leaves?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

The old leader stood up and walked to the window. He turned his back to the man and looked out at the pitch-black night.

"Xiao He," he said without turning around, "Will these things cause trouble for the country?"

He Yuzhu shook his head.

"Won't."

The old leader turned around, walked back, and sat down next to him.

"That's enough."

He looked at He Yuzhu.

"Who else knows about this?"

He Yuzhu shook his head.

"It's you."

The old leader nodded.

"Then keep it to yourself. Never tell anyone."

He paused.

"I'll figure out the source of the funds. Donations from overseas Chinese are a plausible reason. But it can't be released all at once; it has to be done in batches."

He thought about it.

"Take a small portion first to test the waters. Observe the reaction. If there are no problems, we can proceed gradually."

He Yuzhu nodded.

"OK."

The old leader reached out and shook his hand. The hand was still thin, but the grip was very tight.

"Xiao He, the nation will not forget."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

The fire in the stove crackled again.

The first batch of gold was handed over a week later.

The old leader arranged for the trucks to come in through Tianjin Port. He Yuzhu didn't go to the port, but he stood on the small hill behind the research institute, watching the trucks drive by in the distance.

One, two, three...

Twelve vehicles.

The crates were stacked high, covered with tarpaulins. The tarpaulins billowed in the wind, revealing the dark yellow wood underneath. Trucks drove past the foot of the mountain one after another, kicking up clouds of dust.

He Yuzhu stood there, watching the cars drive away.

"I heard it was donated by patriotic overseas Chinese."

The voice came from behind.

He Yuzhu did not turn around.

Old Sun walked over to him, a cigarette dangling from his lips, but he didn't light it. He squinted, watching the trucks drive away.

Three hundred tons.

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

Old Sun took the cigarette out of his mouth, looked at it, and then put it back in his mouth. He turned his head and glanced at He Yuzhu.

It was hard to describe what that look was. He just glanced at me, then turned away.

"Tell me," Old Sun began slowly, "what kind of family background must these overseas Chinese have?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

Old Sun didn't ask any more questions.

One by one, the trucks disappeared at the end of the mountain road. When even the last one was out of sight, Old Sun dusted off his pants and left.

He Yuzhu was still standing there.

A breeze was blowing, and it was a bit chilly.

Back at the research institute, He Yuzhu had just closed his office door when the phone rang.

He stood there, looking at the phone, still thinking about the trucks and Old Sun's look in his eyes.

The phone rang three times.

He answered the call.

The person on the other end was from the Ministry of Metallurgy, and his voice was much more urgent than last time. You could hear him breathing heavily even through the phone line.

"Chief He, something happened in Henan."

He Yuzhu's hand tightened slightly.

"Isn't it a drought?"

"The drought is severe. But this time is different." The man lowered his voice. "People are already running outside."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

"The higher-ups told me to ask you if you can get the water pumps. The sooner the better. Not just one or two, but hundreds."

Several hundred units.

He remembered those trucks. Twelve trucks, three hundred tons.

That gold was enough to pay off debts and buy equipment.

But gold can't control people leaving the country.

"I'll try," he said, "but you'll have to give me time."

"Time is running out," the voice on the other end said. "The wheat is dying of drought."

The phone hangs up.

He Yuzhu stood there, listening to the busy tone on the microphone.

The sky outside the window is overcast and gray; the weather is about to change again.