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

The truck bounced around all night.

He Yuzhu leaned against the side of the carriage, his back aching from the wooden crates. The crates contained new guns, wrapped in oiled paper and stacked neatly. A dozen or so soldiers were crammed into the carriage; some were asleep against the crates, some stared blankly, and some were slowly wiping their old guns, one stroke at a time.

There was a smell in the air—diesel, sweat, and something else.

The car stopped just before dawn.

Someone outside shouted, "We've arrived! Get off the bus!"

He Yuzhu jumped out of the car, his feet sinking into the soft, earthy ground. He stood there for a few seconds, letting his legs adjust. The distant mountain shadows loomed down, dark and inky, with only a hint of gray tinged on the ridgeline.

There was a faint smell of gunpowder in the air. It was very faint, but you could still smell it.

A company commander ran over and saluted.

"Commander He? I am Zhao Dayong, the company commander of the Third Company. Please come with me."

He Yuzhu nodded and followed him. The trenches were dug halfway up the mountain, winding and twisting, with sandbags piled on both sides. Some people were squatting inside, only their heads showing. When they saw him coming, they all turned to look at him.

Zhao Dayong took him to a secluded spot.

"Chief, you're right here. It's dangerous up ahead, don't go."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything, but squatted down and took a new gun out of the box.

"Let the soldiers come and give it a try."

By the time the soldiers gathered around, it was already daylight.

There was no sun; the sky was a hazy gray. The guns gleamed dimly in the light and felt cold to the touch. A young soldier took a gun, examined it several times, and then raised it to aim. He aimed for a long time, so long that an old soldier next to him couldn't bear it any longer.

"What are you aiming at? Are you seeing something amazing?"

The young soldier ignored him, put down his gun, and scratched his head.

"This gun...can it really hit 800 meters?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

"able."

The young soldier lowered his head, touched the butt of his rifle, and his voice suddenly became softer.

"My squad leader said that a rifle that can shoot 800 meters is called a sniper rifle. We soldiers use ordinary rifles."

The old soldier next to him scoffed.

"Isn't that obvious? He came back from North Korea; what kind of gun hasn't he used?"

The young soldier's eyes lit up.

"North Korea? You've fought the Americans, haven't you?"

He Yuzhu looked at him but did not answer.

The young soldier felt uncomfortable under his gaze, lowered his head, and touched the gun again. After a while, he looked up.

"I just think... I wish I could shoot that far someday. My mom says, if you're going to be a soldier, you have to be a good soldier. Can a soldier who can't hit a target be considered a good soldier?"

The old soldier next to him stopped laughing.

He Yuzhu stood up, picked up the gun, and walked to the edge of the trench.

A gust of wind blew from the opposite direction, carrying the smell of gunpowder and dampness. He raised his gun and aimed into the distance. Eight hundred meters away, there was a dark shape—the enemy's watchtower. He couldn't see it clearly in the moonlight, but now that it was daylight, he could see it clearly.

He was about to pull the trigger when the wind suddenly changed direction. He lowered his gun and waited a few seconds.

The young soldier next to him asked in a low voice.

"What's wrong?"

"The wind has changed."

He Yuzhu didn't turn around and continued to wait.

After about ten seconds, the wind changed back.

He raised his gun again, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

boom--

Gunshots rang out in the morning, very loud. The dark figure in the distance swayed, then fell.

There was a moment of silence in the trench.

Then someone started clapping.

The young soldier's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Can...can he really shoot 800 meters?"

He Yuzhu handed him the gun.

"Wind direction is important. Remember the time I waited just now."

The young soldier took the gun, his hands trembling, muttering to himself.

"Wind direction... wind direction..."

He Yuzhu didn't sleep that night.

He crouched in the trench, listening to the soldiers talk. Some were talking about their families, some about tomorrow's battle, and some about their new guns. The young soldier held the gun tightly, never letting go, even in his sleep.

The shelling stopped in the middle of the night.

He Yuzhu stood up, walked to the edge of the trench, and looked at the darkness opposite. The enemy's position was there; a few lights could be seen faintly.

The wind was strong, causing the soil on the sandbags to fall straight down.

He recalled how, during the war, he would squat in the trenches like this, listening to the wind and waiting for dawn.

He was a soldier at that time.

I'm currently an advisor.

He pulled the silenced rifle from his pocket and checked the magazine. The young soldier next to him woke up and looked at him groggily.

"Advisor He, where are you going?"

"Have a smoke."

The young soldier paused for a moment, about to say something, when he had already climbed out of the trench.

The grass was very tall, up to my knees.

He crawled on the ground, inching forward. After crawling for about ten minutes, he heard people talking ahead of him.

It's not Chinese.

He stopped and pressed his ear to the ground. Footsteps—three people.

He continued crawling forward until he reached a pile of rubble, where he poked half his head out.

Three sentries. One standing, two sitting, smoking. The red glow of their cigarette butts flickered.

He raised his gun.

Aim at the first one, then pull the trigger.

puff--

With a very soft sound, the person fell to the ground without making a sound.

The second one had just stood up when he was also knocked down.

The third one realized what was happening and opened his mouth to shout—"Pfft."

Three corpses lay in the blood.

He Yuzhu lay there, motionless. The wind was strong, carrying away the smell of blood.

He recalled that six years ago in North Korea, they were killing people while lying prone in the same way.

At that time, it was about survival.

What now?

He lay there for a long time before crawling back.

I climbed to the edge of the trench; it was almost dawn.

The young soldier was still squatting there, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw him return.

"Advisor He, you've been smoking for quite a while now."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything, and put the gun away.

The young soldier looked at him, wanting to ask something, but then didn't.

Just as dawn was breaking, a muffled sound came from afar.

He Yuzhu raised his head.

The second tone, the third tone. Getting closer and closer.

Zhao Dayong charged over from the other side of the trench.

"Enemy attack!"

Shells began landing in front of the position, exploding into bursts of fire. Earth and rocks flew everywhere, thumping as they hit the sandbags.

The soldiers rushed out of the trenches and took their positions. The young soldier, holding his new rifle, had trembling hands, but he didn't back down.

Zhao Dayong shouted at He Yuzhu.

"Hey, you'd better hide!"

He Yuzhu didn't move. He stood there, looking at the other side.

Something was moving in that hazy light. It was getting closer and closer.

Not in one direction. Two. Three.

The enemy is coming from three loaves of bread.

He heard people shouting "Hold on!", cursing, and yelling "We're out of bullets!"

The young soldier squatted down beside him, his voice trembling.

"Advisor He, can we... hold out?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

He watched the approaching shadowy figure opposite him, his hand on the trigger.

They were surrounded.