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

Sunlight slanted in through the window, cutting Yang Xiaobing in two—one half bright, the other half hidden in shadow.

He stood in the doorway, not coming in. The collar of his old military uniform was faded from washing, and the dust on his shoulders hadn't been brushed off. His right hand unconsciously gripped the seam of his trousers, clenching it tightly.

He Yuzhu looked up, and the pencil in his hand stopped moving.

"Come in."

Yang Xiaobing walked in and stood in front of the table. His leg injury had healed, and he stood ramrod straight, but He Yuzhu noticed that his Adam's apple moved slightly.

"Commander, I'm leaving tomorrow."

He Yuzhu put down his pencil and leaned back in his chair. The sunlight was dazzling, and he squinted.

"Have you packed your things?"

"alright."

"Did you bring enough medicine? It's cold, your leg will hurt."

Yang Xiaobing paused for a moment, then looked down at his leg.

"I brought them. Old Lu insisted on giving me three packs, saying he was afraid I'd hold him back."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He looked at Yang Xiaobing, recalling when the young man first arrived, in his early twenties, and almost pointed a gun at him during his first live-fire training. Now he was leading a team to the front lines.

Yang Xiaobing felt uncomfortable under his gaze and changed his posture.

"Commander, is there anything you need to tell us?"

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. In the courtyard, several workers were moving things and shouting, their voices carrying from afar.

"When we get there, find Director Wang from the Equipment Department. I've already spoken to him about the new weapons."

Yang Xiaobing hummed in agreement.

He Yuzhu turned around.

Be careful.

Yang Xiaobing smiled briefly.

"Commander, this isn't the first time you've said that."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

Yang Xiaobing took a step forward and stood at attention. He raised his right hand in a salute. The movement was slow, as if he wanted to etch the posture into his bones.

"Don't worry, Commander."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He raised his hand in return.

Yang Xiaobing put down his hand, turned around and left.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor, one after another, growing fainter and fainter until they finally disappeared.

He Yuzhu stood by the window, watching the workers in the courtyard. The work chants were still ringing out, and things were still being moved. He lit a cigarette, took a puff, and coughed from the smoke.

Yang Xiaobing left, and Lao Lu left too. Half of the special forces were withdrawn, and the remaining half completely surrounded the research institute.

He Yuzhu sat in his office all night. The ashtray was full, then emptied, then filled again.

The phone rang early the next morning.

He answered the phone, and it was Old Sun on the other end, his voice very low.

"Old He, the front lines need supplies."

He Yuzhu stubbed out his cigarette.

"explain."

"The enemy has new tanks, and our artillery can't take them down. The higher-ups are asking if you have any solutions."

He Yuzhu remained silent for a few seconds.

How much do you want?

Old Sun also remained silent for a few seconds.

"The faster the better. The more the better."

The phone hangs up.

He Yuzhu stood there, listening to the busy tone on the receiver. The sky outside the window was overcast, looking like it was about to rain.

He put down the phone, sat back in his chair, and closed his eyes for a while.

Then I opened my eyes and brought up the system interface.

That night, the office lights stayed on all night.

The pencil scratches across the paper. Drawings are produced one after another, piling up on the corner of the table, higher and higher. When sleepy, I rub my eyes and wash my face with cold water. When hungry, I nibble on a couple of bites of cold steamed bun, choking and drinking water repeatedly.

It was pitch black outside the window. Occasionally, footsteps could be heard passing through the corridor, then fading into the distance.

As he was drawing, a thought suddenly flashed through his mind—how many people could be saved if this blueprint were sent to the front lines?

He didn't know. But he did know that if they were sent there a day later, they might save fewer lives.

He lowered his head and continued drawing.

The following night, Lin Jianguo pushed open the door and came in.

He stood in the doorway, stunned. The room was filled with smoke, stinging his eyes. He Yuzhu was slumped over the table, a pencil clutched in his hand, a half-finished drawing spread out in front of him. The ashtray was full, and cigarette butts were piled up like a small mountain.

Lin Jianguo walked over and opened the window. A cold breeze blew in, and the smoke dissipated a little.

He Yuzhu raised his head. His eyes were frighteningly red, his eye sockets were sunken, and his cheekbones were prominent.

"Nation-building? What's that?"

Lin Jianguo opened his mouth as if to say something, but then swallowed it back.

"No...it's nothing. You're busy."

He turned to leave.

"etc."

Lin Jianguo stopped.

He Yuzhu pointed to the pile of blueprints on the corner of the table.

"Send these to the Equipment Department. Find Director Wang."

Lin Jianguo walked over and picked up the pile of blueprints. It was heavy, with dozens of sheets.

"Dean, this is...?"

"Anti-tank weapons. The front lines need them."

Lin Jianguo lowered his head, looking at the blueprints. The strokes were messy, but every dimension was clearly marked. He flipped through them, then looked up.

"Have you not slept for three days?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer, and lowered his head to continue drawing.

"Go quickly."

Lin Jianguo stood there, looked at him for a few seconds, then, holding the blueprints, turned and left.

He walked to the door, then turned back.

He Yuzhu lay slumped on the table, his pencil still scratching. The lamplight cast his long, thin shadow on the wall.

Lin Jianguo gently closed the door.

The drawings were completed in the early hours of the third day.

He Yuzhu finished the last stroke, put down the pencil, and leaned back in his chair. His whole body felt like it was falling apart; every bone ached. He sat with his eyes closed for a while, then stood up, his legs buckling, and he almost fell.

He steadied himself by holding onto the table, looking at the pile of blueprints. It was a thick, heavy stack.

He picked it up and walked outside.

As I walked to the door, I looked back one last time.

The table was piled high with cigarette butts and teacups, and the floor was covered with crumpled pieces of paper. The pair of gloves, Qin Huairu's old gloves, were still on the corner of the table, worn and frayed at the edges.

He stood there for two seconds, then pushed the door open and went out.

When Director Wang received the blueprints, his hands were shaking violently.

He spread the blueprints out on the table and looked at them one by one. After looking at a few, he looked up at He Yuzhu.

He Yuzhu stood there, his face sallow, his eyes bloodshot, and his lips dry and chapped.

"Where is the director? This... was drawn in just three days?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

Director Wang lowered his head again and continued looking. When he saw the last picture, he straightened up, his hands still trembling.

"Can this thing be used?"

"It works."

Director Wang stared at him for several seconds. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't.

Then he stood up straight and saluted. The movement was slow and forceful.

He Yuzhu waved his hand.

"Start production immediately. The front lines are waiting for it."

Director Wang nodded, carefully picked up the pile of blueprints as if they were fragile objects. He walked to the door, then turned back.

"Director He, you..."

He Yuzhu didn't let him finish speaking.

"Go quickly."

Director Wang has left.

He Yuzhu stood there, watching his figure disappear at the end of the corridor.

By the time we got back to the research institute, it was already dark.

He Yuzhu pushed open the office door and saw Lin Jianguo sitting inside. The lights were on, and Lin Jianguo was slumped over the desk, staring blankly at a pile of data. Hearing the door open, he looked up.

"Dean."

He Yuzhu walked over and sat down opposite him.

Lin Jianguo pushed a document over to me.

"The satellite orbit calculation is complete."

He Yuzhu picked up the document and flipped through a few pages. The numbers were densely packed, making his eyes dizzy.

Lin Jianguo didn't look at him, but stared at the table lamp.

"The thrust is a little lacking. Five percent."

He Yuzhu paused for a moment on the document.

The room was silent for a few seconds. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, then faded into the distance.

Lin Jianguo looked up at He Yuzhu. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheekbones were more prominent than they had been three days ago.

"Dean, is it... still possible for us to succeed?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

He looked out the window. It was pitch black outside, and he couldn't see anything.

But the gloves were still on the corner of the table.

He reached out, took it, and put it on.

"able."

Lin Jianguo was stunned for a moment.

He Yuzhu didn't say anything more.