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

The wind, carrying sand, blew in from the Gobi Desert in the middle of the night. It stung my face.

Yang Xiaobing lay behind the pile of sandbags, his legs already numb. His injured leg always felt like this in the latter half of the night—first it would go numb, then a sharp, needle-like pain, as if someone were slowly twisting the bones with an awl. He shifted his position, and the dew from the sandbags seeped into his sleeves, icy cold, making him shiver.

Old Lu moved slightly to the side without making a sound, simply shifting his gun forward half an inch.

The warning lights on the distant launch pad shone like a red eye in the darkness. That eye stared at them, and at the open space. Yang Xiaobing stared into the darkness, the only sound the wind in his ears. He licked his lips; they were dry, chapped.

It's exactly three o'clock.

There's movement to the east.

It wasn't footsteps—it was a very low, very light rustling sound, like something crawling on the ground. Yang Xiaobing's ears twitched, and he gestured to Lao Lu.

Old Lu didn't look at him, he just gripped the gun tighter.

The two men climbed over the sandbags and crept along the ground towards the target. Moonlight peeked through the clouds, illuminating a gray, empty area. Yang Xiaobing spotted the figure—dark clothing, a bag on his back, crawling towards the launch pad. He crawled slowly, each step tentative. He would stop to listen for a moment, then crawl two more steps forward.

Ten meters. Eight meters. Six meters.

Yang Xiaobing slowly stood up.

"Don't move."

The man's body stiffened for a second.

Just one second.

Then he sprang up suddenly, turned around and ran.

Old Lu lunged at him from the side, grabbing him by the back of the collar. The two fell to the ground, rolling twice. The man pulled something from his pocket, intending to throw it a distance—Yang Xiaobing rushed forward and kicked him in the wrist. The object flew out, landing on the sand three meters away, rolling twice.

Hand grenade.

Old Lu pinned him to the ground, his knee pressing against his lower back. The man's face was pressed against the cold sand, he was panting heavily, and he was still struggling.

"You've got it wrong... I'm just a ragpicker..."

Yang Xiaobing walked over, picked up the grenade, squatted down, and held it up in front of him.

Under the moonlight, the thing was dark, with the fuse still sticking out.

"Does a scavenger carry this?"

The man's eyes changed. The struggle from before was gone, replaced by something else—not fear, but something else entirely.

"I don't know... I found it on the street..."

Old Lu tightened his grip. The man groaned and stopped moving.

"I'll talk... I'll talk..."

Yang Xiaobing didn't move, he just stared at him.

The man swallowed hard, his voice trembling.

"Someone paid me... to throw something towards the launch pad... Don't ask me who, I really don't know..."

Yang Xiaobing stared into his eyes.

"The blacksmith's man?"

The man's eyelid twitched.

I just jumped once.

Then he lowered his head and stopped talking.

Yang Xiaobing stood up and glanced at Lao Lu. Lao Lu nodded—that was enough.

The lights in the interrogation room were blindingly bright. It wasn't just ordinary brightness; it was a light so bright it pierced your eyes, impossible to avoid.

The man sat in the chair, head down, silent. Old Lu stood beside him, a cigarette in his hand, unlit. Yang Xiaobing leaned against the wall, his legs starting to go numb again. He shifted his weight to his other leg.

Old Sun pushed open the door and put a document on the table.

"It was given from overseas. The amount is considerable."

The man looked up and glanced at the document. Just one glance, and then he lowered his head again.

"I've said everything I know."

"What else do you know?"

The man remained silent for a long time.

The only sound in the interrogation room was the clock on the wall. Tick, tick, tick.

Then he spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Your satellite... was known overseas a long time ago."

Old Sun pressed his hand on the table.

"Go on."

The man looked up at Old Sun. There was something flickering in his eyes—not fear, but something indescribable, a sense of resignation.

"I'm just a laborer... I really don't know anything else..."

He Yuzhu stood outside the door, listening to those words.

My hands were clenched tightly inside my sleeves, my knuckles turning white. It's an old problem; I always get like this when I'm nervous. Clenching them so tightly, my nails dug into my flesh, and it hurt a little.

He recalled the same thing three years ago when they arrested the blacksmith—they caught a small fry while the big fish were still swimming in the water. Back then, Tan Ming also claimed to know nothing. And then? They unearthed over fifty people.

The hallway light flickered. He closed his eyes.

My eyes have been feeling dry and sore lately, probably because I haven't been getting enough sleep.

It's been almost a month. I haven't had a full night's sleep in a single night.

The fuel leak was discovered the following morning.

When He Yuzhu arrived, he could smell the odor from afar. It wasn't just any kind of pungent smell—it was the kind of smell that seeped into your brain, making you want to vomit, with a hint of sweetness and a hint of spiciness, mixed together, like something burning.

Ma Yuejin stood at the entrance of the fuel depot, his face pale. His lips moved a few times, but no words came out.

He Yuzhu walked past him and pushed open the door.

Leaks were still seeping from the valve. Drop by drop, they fell to the ground. A small puddle had formed on the ground, gleaming eerily under the light. The puddle was clear, like water, but He Yuzhu knew it wasn't.

He crouched down and looked at the valve. There were fine cracks in the threads, almost invisible unless you looked closely.

"When was it discovered?"

Ma Yuejin's voice trembled.

"In the morning...during the morning check-up..."

"How long has it been?"

Ma Yuejin did not answer.

He Yuzhu stood up and looked at him.

"How long have I been asking?"

Ma Yuejin looked at the pool of liquid and swallowed.

"I don't know... I really don't know... everything was fine during last night's checkup..."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

He turned around and looked out the window, seeing the rocket already erected in the distance. Pure white, it gleamed in the sunlight, like a giant needle pointing to the sky. Workers were busy there, moving about like ants.

He remembered the document and what the spy had said.

"They already knew about it overseas."

He thought of the person in the interrogation room last night, and that look in his eyes—resigned, inexplicable.

He recalled every night of the past month.

Is it enough?

One month. Thirty days.

720 hours.

Is it enough?