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

As the bullet flew overhead, He Yuzhu was squatting in the trench changing the magazine for the young soldier.

The kid's hands were shaking violently. Not from fear, but his whole body was trembling, like he was having a seizure. He tried to mount the magazine on the gun, but failed three times. On the fourth try, the magazine fell to the ground, and as he bent down to pick it up, his head almost popped out of the trench.

He Yuzhu pulled him back, snatched the magazine, and slammed it onto the gun. It clicked shut.

"Aim carefully before you fire."

The young soldier nodded and rested his rifle on the sandbag. He aimed outside, his hand still trembling, the muzzle of the rifle shaking.

Zhao Dayong crouched and ran over from the other side. He ran a few steps, stopped, ran a few steps, stopped, and dodged the bullets. When he got close, he squatted down, but he lost his balance and had to brace himself with his hands on the ground to steady himself.

"Director He, you...you weren't here to deliver weapons?"

That was a nonsensical statement. He Yuzhu glanced at him but didn't respond.

Zhao Dayong wiped his face. His face was covered in mud and blood, indistinguishable between sweat and something else. He glanced to the side—there were several people lying there, motionless.

"You can leave now. We'll hold them off here."

He Yuzhu removed the empty magazine and replaced it with a new one. *Click*.

Zhao Dayong became anxious.

"You're the expert! You're more useful than us!"

He Yuzhu then raised his head and looked at him.

"I've fought in wars."

Just those four words. Zhao Dayong opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a word.

Another burst of gunfire rang out in the distance, more frequent than before. Zhao Dayong scrambled to his feet, crouched low, and ran.

The enemy's first attack was not particularly fierce.

Thirty or forty people sparsely made their way up the hill, as if testing the waters. He Yuzhu held back from firing, and only shouted when the men were within two hundred meters.

"beat!"

The new gun made a crisp sound, unlike the muffled thud of the old one. The young soldier pulled the trigger, but missed. He pulled it again, but still missed. His hand trembled even more violently.

He Yuzhu squatted down next to him and pressed the muzzle of his gun down.

"If you can't keep your gun steady, get closer and fire."

The young soldier nodded, biting his lip, waiting for the people to get a little closer.

Closer. One hundred and fifty meters. One hundred meters.

He fired. The shot hit one person, who fell and didn't get up.

The young soldier paused for a moment, then began to tremble again. This time it wasn't fear, but something else.

The enemy retreated.

During the second attack, something went wrong.

The new guns jammed suddenly while being fired. Not one, but two. Someone shouted from Zhao Dayong's side.

"Company commander! The gun isn't firing!"

He Yuzhu crouched low and ran over. The two soldiers were squatting in the trench, their faces pale, frantically fiddling with their guns. The enemy charged closer and closer, bullets thumping against the sandbags.

"Get out of the way."

He pushed one of them aside and took the gun. The bolt was jammed; he pulled hard, but it wouldn't budge. He pulled again, still no movement. He pulled out his dagger, pried the bolt open a little, and pulled it again.

Click. The spent cartridge case popped out.

He returned the gun to the soldier.

"Keep fighting."

The soldier took the gun; his hand was still trembling, but it didn't shake when he pulled the trigger.

The other person's gun was ready too.

He Yuzhu crouched back down and set up his gun. He aimed at one, pulled the trigger, and the man fell. He aimed at another, and another man fell.

The enemy retreated.

Zhao Dayong crawled over, panting heavily.

"We're running low on ammunition. Only three magazines left."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He looked into the distance, where there was movement, and even more people were gathering.

"Concentrate your ammunition on those who can hit accurately."

Zhao Dayong was stunned for a moment.

"Where are the others?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He pointed to a small hill in the distance.

"That's where the mortar shells were fired from. Did you see it?"

Zhao Dayong followed his finger and looked in that direction. There was smoke rising from behind that hill, thin and just beginning to dissipate.

"I saw it."

He Yuzhu took out his portable radio and started tuning the frequency. The radio crackled and sputtered for a while before going silent.

He waited a while and then adjusted it again.

Finally, someone spoke on the other end, but I couldn't make out what they were saying; it was all static.

"Wolf's Den, Wolf's Den, this is Lone Pine. Requesting artillery fire coverage on coordinates..."

He recited a string of numbers.

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

"Lone Pine, you're too close to the coordinates. Only 300 meters. It's dangerous."

He Yuzhu held the microphone but didn't speak.

He looked up at the soldiers. Some were cleaning their guns, some were looking into the distance, and some had their heads down, lost in thought.

He glanced at the small hill again. Behind it, the mortars were still firing, one after another.

"beat."

There was another two seconds of silence on the other end.

"Received. Will overwrite in three minutes."

The shells fell two minutes and fifty seconds later.

He Yuzhu lay prone in the trench, his ear pressed to the ground, listening to the buzzing sound growing closer. Zhao Dayong lay beside him, his mouth half-open, muttering something.

The first shot landed behind the hill. A flash of fire, followed by a muffled thud.

The second shot missed slightly, landing in front of the hill, less than two hundred meters from the position. Earth and rocks exploded, covering He Yuzhu's head.

Suddenly, he couldn't hear. Not that he couldn't hear at all, but all sounds became distant, buzzing, as if separated by something. He looked up and saw the young soldier's mouth opening and closing, but he couldn't hear what he was saying.

Then the third shot, the fourth shot, and the fifth shot.

The mortar position exploded. Ammunition detonated, flames shooting into the sky and illuminating half the heavens.

He Yuzhu lay there, his ears ringing, staring at the firelight.

After an unknown amount of time, the sound slowly returned.

Zhao Dayong shouted from the side.

"Where to extend! Where to extend! Our artillery!"

He Yuzhu nodded.

By daybreak, the position had been held.

Reinforcements arrived, and the troop rotation began. He Yuzhu sat in the trench, leaning against sandbags, watching the soldiers carry stretchers down. Some were covered with white sheets, some were not.

Zhao Dayong walked over and sat down next to him.

"Where does it grow? Your arm..."

He Yuzhu looked down. There was a cut on his left arm, the blood staining his sleeve red, and it had dried and formed a dark brown scab.

"fine."

He took a bandage out of the first-aid kit and wrapped it around his wrist several times. It was wrapped loosely, but the bleeding stopped.

Zhao Dayong looked at him, wanting to say something, but didn't.

He Yuzhu stood up. His legs went weak as he stood up, but he steadied himself by holding onto the sandbags.

He walked up to the fallen soldiers.

The young soldier lay on the stretcher, his eyes closed. His face was clean, but his chest was covered in dried, hard, dark brown blood.

He Yuzhu squatted down. The kid was still clutching the new gun, gripping it tightly, his knuckles white. He tried to pry it open, but couldn't. He tried again, but still couldn't open it.

He stopped trying to break it and just squatted there.

Someone behind me was crying. They were sobbing quietly, their shoulders shaking.

He Yuzhu stood up, raised his hand, and saluted.

The hand was still wrapped in bandages, and blood seeped out from the bandages, red and dripping onto the ground.

The radio came on.

He Yuzhu answered the phone. It was Old Sun on the other end; his voice sounded distant, and there was a crackling sound from the electrical current.

"Old He, the drought in the country has worsened again. It hasn't rained in Henan for two months, and the ground is cracking. You need to hurry up and get another batch of those rain-reducing bombs."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He looked outside. The sun rose, shining on the corpses and on the people standing there.

Old Sun waited for a while.

"Feed? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you."

He held the microphone, his hand still wrapped in bandages.

"understood."

He put down the microphone.

Outside, someone was calling for dinner. The cooks arrived, carrying several buckets of hot porridge, steaming. Those who were still alive helped each other as they walked over.

He Yuzhu stood up. The blow to his left arm pulled at his wound, causing him to gasp in pain.

He looked at the sky, so blue it seemed unreal.

There are no clouds.

Not a single drop of rain will fall.