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

The train clattered forward, and the wind blowing in through the cracks in the windows carried the smell of coal ash, making one's throat tight.

He Yuzhu sat by the window, clutching the new gun in his hand. The gun was still warm; it had been taken straight from the workshop and loaded onto the truck. The smell of engine oil hadn't dissipated, mingling with the sweat and tobacco odors in the truck bed—a complex and indescribable smell. Next to him were several wooden crates containing newly developed communication equipment, half the size and half the weight of the old ones. Yang Xiaobing said this thing could encrypt communications, making it undetectable to the enemy.

Yang Xiaobing sat opposite him, his leg injury having just healed. He had his eyes closed, but his eyelids were still moving; he wasn't asleep. Old Lu was wiping his dagger beside him, very slowly, stroke by stroke, the blade occasionally flashing in the darkness.

There were a dozen or so other people in the carriage, all veterans of the special forces. Some were dozing off against their luggage, some were lost in thought, and some were checking their equipment by the occasional flashes of light from outside the window. No one spoke. Only the sound of the wheels rolling over the rails, clattering and clanging, each sound hitting their hearts.

He Yuzhu put down the gun and closed his eyes.

The image of Qin Huairu standing at the door as she left kept flashing through her mind. She didn't ask where she was going or how long she would be gone, only saying, "Be careful." He Yuzhu hugged He Nianhua and kissed him. The little one woke up, grinned, revealing a few tiny teeth, and reached out to grab his face.

He banished the image from his mind and opened his eyes.

It was still pitch black outside the window. Occasionally, a small light would appear in the distance, flicker for a moment, and then disappear.

The situation on the front lines is even worse than last time.

The trenches were dug so deep that when a man crouched inside, only half his head was visible. The bloodstains on the sandbags had dried, turning into dark brown patches. The smell in the air—gunpowder, blood, and an indescribable stench—made one's stomach churn.

The wounded were brought down in batches. Some could walk, clutching their arms; some were carried, with white sheets covering their chests; some were covered with a whole white sheet, the stretchers swaying back and forth.

Zhao Dayong ran over, stumbling in the mud. He stood in front of He Yuzhu, opened his mouth as if to say something, then swallowed his words. After a few seconds, he lowered his voice and said, "It's good that you're here."

He spoke very softly, as if he were talking to himself.

He Yuzhu nodded.

"How is the situation?"

Zhao Dayong pointed ahead. That front line had been plowed countless times by artillery fire; the soil was blackened.

"The enemy has changed their tactics. Before, they would charge in a swarm, but now they advance in stages, with commanders overseeing the battle from behind. We take out a few, and then a few more come up; we can't finish them off."

He Yuzhu looked at the gray, hazy frontier.

"Where is their commander?"

Zhao Dayong shook his head.

"They're hard to find. They hide well, come out quickly, and retreat as soon as they're done fighting. Last month we lost more than twenty brothers, and we didn't even get a good look at their leader."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

He took the new gun off his shoulder and placed it on the sandbag.

"I'll do it."

The "Fox Hunting Squad" was formed that very night.

The twelve men were all elite soldiers selected from the special forces. Yang Xiaobing led one group, Lao Lu led another, and He Yuzhu led his own group. New guns were issued, one for each man. The guns felt different to the touch—light, stable, and the crosshairs in the scope were as fine as a hair.

The communication equipment was set up, with one headset for each person. After testing, the sound was clear and there was no static.

He Yuzhu squatted on the ground and spread out the map. The flashlight beam shone on the map, making the contour lines and red circles appear white.

"Our target is the commanders. Every single one above the rank of regimental commander will be eliminated."

He pointed to the red circles on the map.

"This area is the defense zone of their three regiments. The regimental headquarters is here, here, and here."

Yang Xiaobing asked from the side.

"Is the intelligence accurate?"

He Yuzhu glanced at him.

Whether it's accurate or not, we'll have to see for ourselves.

On their first mission, they took down a regimental commander. The second, the deputy regimental commander. The third, the chief of staff. Everything went so smoothly, so smoothly it was unsettling.

The fourth and fifth attempts also succeeded.

The sixth time, something went wrong.

That night, intelligence indicated that a regimental commander was inspecting Hill 313. He Yuzhu led his men to sneak over, and after three hours of lying in wait, the target finally appeared.

He Yuzhu raised his gun and aimed.

The man suddenly stood up and took two steps to the side.

He Yuzhu pulled the trigger.

The gun went off, but the man didn't fall—he was hit in the shoulder.

In that instant, gunfire erupted on the enemy's position. Pursuers surged in from all directions, bullets scattering sparks from the stones.

"Retreat!" He Yuzhu shouted.

They ran backwards. Xiao Zhou was at the very back, and after a few steps, he suddenly stopped.

He Yuzhu turned around and saw him squatting there, his hands on the ground.

"Commander, landmines."

Everyone's blood ran cold.

Xiao Zhou looked up at him. Under the moonlight, the young face was calm.

"You guys go first."

He Yuzhu tried to go over, but Yang Xiaobing held him tightly.

"Commander!"

Xiao Zhou smiled.

"Don't tell my parents. Just say... just say I did something good."

He Yuzhu was dragged away.

An explosion was heard behind me.

The instant the flames shot up, He Yuzhu saw Xiao Zhou's back; he was still squatting there, not moving.

It was only later that they learned the intelligence from that night was false. The enemy had deliberately laid bait, hoping to wipe out the "Fox Hunt Squad" in one fell swoop. They just hadn't expected He Yuzhu to react so quickly and be such a sharpshooter, managing to escape after only wounding one person.

But Xiao Zhou is gone.

He Yuzhu squatted down next to Xiao Zhou and reached out to close his open eyes. The eyelids cooled quickly, making him shiver with cold.

The blood had dried and was hard as a rock. Someone handed him a raincoat, which He Yuzhu took but didn't cover himself with; he just clutched it.

Among Xiao Zhou's belongings were a notebook, a photograph, and an unfinished letter home.

The photo shows Xiao Zhou and his parents, all huddled together, their eyes squinting with laughter. On the back of the photo are pencil marks, crooked and illegible: "Spring of 1959, my parents sent me off to join the army."

He Yuzhu put the photo back in his notebook and closed it. His finger paused on the cover for a moment.

Zhao Dayong stood to the side, seemingly wanting to ask something, but didn't. He Yuzhu handed over the notebook, his hand hovering in mid-air. When Zhao Dayong took it, their hands touched; both were cold.

"Send it to his home," He Yuzhu said.

The voices weren't loud, but in the quiet trenches, every word carried weight.

Zhao Dayong nodded, picked up the notebook, and turned to leave.

After walking a dozen steps, He Yuzhu saw him wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

The intelligence was delivered in the early hours of the following day.

A scout ran into the trench, covered in mud, and could barely speak.

"Enemy...enemy lieutenant general..."

He Yuzhu took the crumpled piece of paper. It contained only one line: "Lieutenant General Park Jung-ho will inspect Hill 313 in three days." Below that, in smaller print, circled in red: "At least one battalion will accompany him; the specific route is unknown."

He folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

Yang Xiaobing leaned closer, his lips moved, but he didn't ask directly. Instead, he said, "Commander, this intelligence..." He paused, "is a bit too smooth."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

Yang Xiaobing lowered his head, then raised it again.

"Shall we... reconsider?"

His voice was hesitant, unlike his usual decisive tone.

He Yuzhu did not answer.

He looked at the gray sky in the distance and remembered Xiao Zhou's face before he died.

Three days.

Three more days.

A cannon shot rang out in the distance, muffled, like someone beating a drum in the distance.

He turned around.

"Dry."

He said the word very slowly, several seconds slower than usual.