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

It rained for three days straight without stopping.

It wasn't a heavy, refreshing downpour, but rather a sticky, endless drizzle. You didn't feel it when it fell on you, but after standing for a while, your clothes would be soaked through, clinging to your skin, and so cold it made your bones ache.

He Yuzhu stood at the tent entrance, looking at the sky outside. It was a hazy gray, the clouds hanging low as if they were about to fall. Fine, dense rain pattered against the tent roof, not with a loud patter, but with a soft, rustling sound, like someone endlessly nagging.

The mud beneath our feet was completely trampled. With each step, we sank halfway in, pulling ourselves out with a large clump, making a squelching sound. The patch of ground near the tent entrance was a mess, footprints overlapping each other, indistinguishable from one another.

Few people were talking inside the tent.

Some squatted on the ground smoking, cigarette butts scattered everywhere, wet and crushed. Some leaned against their bedding rolls, staring blankly at the tent ceiling, lost in thought. Others paced back and forth, taking a few steps, stopping, glancing outside, then continuing on their way.

He Yuzhu heard a noise behind him.

Old Qian came out of the tent and stood beside him. He didn't say anything, just stood there, looking at the sky.

He didn't speak for a long time.

"Any news from the weather forecast?"

The voice was not loud, as if he were talking to himself.

He Yuzhu shook his head.

"no."

Old Qian grunted in agreement, took out the pocket watch from his pocket, opened it, glanced at it, then closed it again and put it back. He Yuzhu had seen him do this at least ten times today.

The two stood there for a while longer.

It's still raining.

Suddenly, Mr. Qian said something.

"Xiao He, do you think we really picked a good day?"

He Yuzhu turned to look at him.

Old Qian didn't look at him; he was still staring at the sky.

"September. Logically, it should be the dry season. But..."

He didn't finish speaking.

He Yuzhu didn't know what to say.

The two of them stood there, listening to the sound of the rain.

On the morning of the fourth day, the weather station's report arrived.

He Yuzhu took the paper, glanced at it, said nothing, and handed it to Old Qian.

Mr. Qian took it and glanced at it as well.

It will rain again in three days.

His voice was flat, revealing no emotion.

He Yuzhu looked at him. His face was so thin it was almost unrecognizable, his cheekbones protruded, his eye sockets were sunken, and there were two dark circles under his eyes, as if he had been punched twice.

Mr. Qian put the report down.

"Xiao He, if it really gets postponed..."

He didn't finish speaking, but He Yuzhu understood.

Every day of delay means one more day of risk. And every day of risk means one more day of anxiety. What if those lurking spies, those eyes watching this area, take advantage of these few days to do something? No one can guarantee it.

He Yuzhu stood up and walked out.

He paused at the doorway.

"I'll think of something."

Mr. Qian did not ask him what his solution was, but simply nodded.

That night, He Yuzhu sat alone in the tent.

With the lights off, he used the little light coming in from outside to bring up the system interface. He flipped to the weather intervention section and stared at that line of text for a long time.

Artificial rain bombs (dispersion type): Spread catalysts to induce precipitation in clouds ahead of schedule, clearing skies during the target period. 600,000 points/bomb.

Is one enough? I don't know.

He ordered three.

The screen flashed, and three heavy artillery shells appeared in my hand, wrapped in oiled paper.

He carefully stored the shells and lay down.

Outside the tent, the rain was still falling.

The next morning, He Yuzhu took the three shells to Deputy Director Zhang.

Deputy Director Zhang was squatting at the entrance of the weather station's tent, drinking a bowl of porridge. Seeing He Yuzhu approach, he stood up, still holding the bowl.

"Director He, is there something you need?"

He Yuzhu handed over the shells.

Deputy Director Zhang took one, looked at it, turned it over, and looked at it again.

"This is……"

"Find a way to shoot down into the clouds."

Deputy Director Zhang looked up at him.

"Where did this thing come from?"

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

Deputy Director Zhang waited a few seconds but received no reply. He looked down at the shell again.

"Okay. I won't ask."

He put down the bowl, picked up the cannonball, and walked inside.

After taking a few steps, he turned back.

"Where can this thing grow? Will it even work?"

He Yuzhu thought for a moment.

"Give it a try."

That afternoon, He Yuzhu stood at the tent entrance, looking at the western sky.

Deputy Director Zhang led his men in a car to the upwind side to fire artillery shells. They'd been driving for over two hours, but there was still no sign of them moving.

The sky was still gray, and the rain was still falling, fine and dense.

He Yuzhu lit a cigarette, took a puff, and coughed violently. He hadn't smoked in a long time.

Someone walked over; it was the young technician whose hands had trembled during final assembly. He stood next to He Yuzhu, also looking at the sky.

"Director He, could we stop today?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

The young technician waited a while, then spoke again.

"My mom said that when I was little, I had a high fever once, and she knelt in the yard and prayed to God. Later, the fever really did go down."

He paused.

"My mom said that God is soft-hearted and can't bear to see people suffer."

He Yuzhu turned to look at him.

The face was young, and the eyes were clear; it didn't seem like he was joking.

It's still raining.

He Yuzhu stubbed out his cigarette and threw it into the mud.

"We'll see."

The rain lessened in the evening.

The heavy rain turned into a light rain, and then into a drizzle. The sky was still gray, but the clouds thinned, and a sliver of light peeked through from the west.

When Deputy Director Zhang called, his voice was filled with suppressed excitement.

"Where does it grow? It's done! That cloud has dispersed!"

He Yuzhu held the microphone but didn't speak.

Deputy Director Zhang continued.

"We fired three. The first one didn't react, the second one caused the clouds to move, the third one..."

He took a breath.

"It's over."

He Yuzhu hummed in agreement.

"What about tomorrow?"

Deputy Director Zhang remained silent for two seconds.

The forecast says tomorrow will be sunny.

On the morning of the test explosion, He Yuzhu was awakened by the noise outside.

Someone is shouting.

"It's sunny! It's sunny!"

He rolled over and got up, then lifted the tent flap.

The sky was blue. Not that hazy blue, but a clear, penetrating blue. The sun rose from the east, shining on the Gobi Desert, making the sand and stones appear white and dazzling.

The wind stopped. Not a breath of wind.

The entrance to the tent was crowded with people, all looking up at the sky. Some were rubbing their eyes, some had their mouths open, and some stood there motionless.

He Yuzhu stood in the crowd, also looking at the sky.

The young technician squeezed through the crowd and stood next to him.

"Where does the sun shine again?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

"I saw it."

The observation point was more than 20 miles from the explosion center, on a small earthen slope, where several tents were set up with telescopes and instruments.

There weren't many people, only thirty or forty. Old Qian stood at the very front, clutching his pocket watch, staring at the iron tower in the distance. The tower wasn't tall, only a few dozen meters, standing alone on the Gobi Desert like a silent giant.

No one spoke.

He Yuzhu stood next to Qian Lao, his palms sweaty. He wiped his hands on his pants, but they didn't dry.

Someone next to me is looking at their watch.

Someone else is watching.

Old Qian gripped the pocket watch so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

A long, drawn-out broadcast came from afar.

"Get ready in five minutes."

Someone in the crowd took a deep breath.

He Yuzhu looked at the iron tower. The outline of the tower was very clear in the sunlight, with steel frames intersecting like building blocks.

"Get ready in three minutes."

Old Qian moved his hand slightly, opening and closing the pocket watch's cover.

He Yuzhu saw his lips moving, but didn't know what he was saying.

The young technician squatted on the ground, hands supporting him, head down, shoulders taut.

"One minute to prepare."

He Yuzhu clenched his fist even tighter. His nails dug into his flesh; it hurt, but he didn't loosen his grip.

Thirty seconds.

"Twenty seconds."

"Ten, nine, eight..."

A face suddenly flashed through his mind. The Sichuan soldier at Changjin Lake, huddled in a snowdrift, his lips purple with cold, shivering as he said, "Zhu Zi, my mother is still waiting for me to come back and get married..."

"Four, three, two..."

The face was blurred.

"one."

A light flashed beneath the Eiffel Tower.

It wasn't light, it was brightness, blindingly bright. He Yuzhu instinctively closed his eyes; the outer part of his eyelids was red, burning hot.

Then came a loud bang.

boom--

The sound wasn't something you could hear; it jolted your entire body, from the soles of your feet to the top of your head, your internal organs trembling. The ground beneath your feet shook, and you couldn't stand steadily.

He opened his eyes.

In the distance, a fireball was rising. Orange-red, it churned and rolled, as if something was trying to break free from it. The fireball rose higher and higher, its color gradually fading, its edges blurring, and its top beginning to spread, forming a mushroom shape. The mushroom's stem was grayish-black smoke, and its cap was rolling flames, slowly expanding and expanding in the sky.

No one spoke at the observation point.

He Yuzhu heard someone breathing heavily beside him, as if they had run a long way.

The young technician was still squatting on the ground, his shoulders trembling. The older engineer standing next to him didn't look at him, but simply took a crumpled handkerchief out of his pocket and silently stuffed it into his hand.

Old Qian stood there, motionless. His pocket watch fell to the ground, but he didn't pick it up. He just stood there, watching the mushroom cloud rise higher and higher.

He Yuzhu stood next to him without moving.

He watched the cloud, watching it slowly disperse in the sky. The wind picked up, blowing the cloud eastward, further and further away.

He remembered the Sichuan soldier at Changjin Lake, his frozen face, and his last words.

Zhu Zi, my mother is still waiting for me at home.

He Yuzhu reached into his pocket and touched Qin Huairu's gloves. They were soft and warm.

He put it on.

In the distance, the mushroom cloud was still drifting.

Someone walked up behind me.

Old Sun's voice was very low.

"Forty-nine people on the list were arrested."

He Yuzhu did not turn around.

Old Sun remained silent for a while.

"The butler ran away. Before he left, he sent one last intelligence report overseas."

He Yuzhu tightened his grip inside his gloves.

"What intelligence?"

Old Sun's voice lowered even further.

"Regarding our next space program."

The mushroom cloud drifted in the sky, moving further and further away.

He Yuzhu stood there, looking at the cloud, without saying a word.