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

The workshop was bustling when the phone rang.

The data for the new tank was in, and Ma Yuejin held up the paper, his face flushed. Lin Jianguo squatted in front of the spectrometer, muttering to himself. Qian Nian ran back and forth, clutching a notebook, seemingly jotting something down. The hum of the machines and the sounds of laughter mingled together, creating a warm and lively atmosphere.

The phone rang for a long time before He Yuzhu heard it.

He answered the phone; it was Old Sun on the other end.

"Old He, our old leader is failing."

The sounds from the workshop faded into the distance.

He Yuzhu put down the phone and walked out. Ma Yuejin called after him, "Dean, we haven't finished looking at the data yet," but he didn't turn around.

The car was driving very fast. The street scene outside the window flashed by, and I couldn't make out what it was.

He Yuzhu sat in the back seat, his hands resting on his knees. The driver, one of Lao Sun's men, didn't speak the entire way. Only the roar of the engine and the occasional whistling of the wind as they overtook each other.

He recalled the first time he met his old leader. He had just returned from North Korea, still bearing the marks of his injuries, and sat on that old sofa, unsure what to do with his hands. His old leader asked him what his plans were, and he said he wanted to develop tanks. The old leader nodded and said, "Okay."

Later, tanks were developed. Missiles were developed. Satellites were developed too.

Every time, it was the old leader who supported us from behind.

That cup of tea. That cup of tea laced with something. After the old leader finished drinking it, his complexion gradually improved, and he said, "Xiao He, your tea is really effective."

Now even tea can't save him.

The hospital is still the same hospital.

The smell of disinfectant in the corridor was still so strong. He Yuzhu walked quickly, his leather shoes making a clattering sound on the floor tiles. The nurses at the station saw him but didn't stop him.

The door to the innermost ward was ajar.

Old Sun was standing at the door. When he saw him coming, he stepped aside. He Yuzhu pushed the door open and went in.

The afternoon sun streamed in through the west-facing window, falling on the hospital bed. The sheets were faded from washing, the edges frayed and stiff. On the bedside table sat several medicine bottles and an enamel mug, the water inside long since cold.

There was a jasmine plant on the windowsill. Most of its leaves had turned yellow, three petals had fallen onto the windowsill, and the remaining few blossoms were wilted and almost dead.

The old leader was lying in bed.

She had lost even more weight since the last time we met. Her cheekbones were prominent, her eyes were sunken, and her lips were pale and chapped. The blanket covered her chest, making her movements almost invisible. Her hands, resting on the blanket, were skin and bones, like withered branches in autumn.

He Yuzhu sat down on the edge of the bed.

The chair leg scraped against the floor with a jarring sound. He stopped immediately.

The IV drip was ticking, like an old grandfather clock. There were light footsteps in the corridor, the soles of shoes occasionally squeaking on the floor.

He Yuzhu reached out and touched the back of his old leader's hand.

cold.

The old leader's eyelids twitched, but he didn't open them. His lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to call out to someone, but he didn't.

He Yuzhu grasped his hand.

"I am here."

The old leader's fingers twitched, as if he wanted to shake hands, but he lacked the strength. He opened his eyes, which were a little blurry, but they brightened when he saw He Yuzhu.

"Xiao He..."

The sound was like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

He Yuzhu moved closer.

"Please don't speak."

The old leader's lips twitched; he wanted to smile.

"If you don't speak up now, you'll miss your chance."

silence.

He Yuzhu didn't know what to say. He just held that cold hand and looked at that gaunt face.

A bird chirped twice outside the window and then fluttered away. The old leader stared in that direction for a long time.

"That tank..."

He Yuzhu nodded.

The old leader waited for him to continue. After a few seconds, when he still didn't speak, he asked himself.

"Better than theirs?"

He Yuzhu nodded again.

The old leader gave a soft "hmm" and closed his eyes.

After a while, he opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. There was a crack there, stretching from the lamp base to the corner of the wall.

How many people died?

He Yuzhu was stunned for a moment.

The old leader didn't look at him; he was still looking at the crack.

He Yuzhu did not answer.

silence.

The IV drip is dripping.

The former leader stopped asking.

"Where are the missiles?"

The old leader asked again.

"More than two thousand kilometers."

The old leader paused for a few seconds, as if calculating what this distance meant. Then he nodded, muttering something under his breath. He Yuzhu leaned closer, but the leader stopped talking.

"What about the satellite?"

The old leader stared at the ceiling.

"Is it still spinning?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

"It's on every day. They play 'The East Is Red' every day."

The old leader's lips moved, as if he were humming the tune. He hummed a few lines, then stopped, panting.

"I heard it on the radio."

He paused.

"The first time I heard it, Old Qian was there. He cried."

Old Qian was Director Qian. He passed away three months ago.

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

The old leader looked at him.

Did you cry?

He Yuzhu shook his head.

The old leader smiled, but it was a very slight smile.

"Then you're more successful than him."

Silence fell again.

The old leader had his eyes closed and was breathing very lightly. He Yuzhu sat there, listening to the dripping of the IV tube, one drop after another.

He wanted to tuck the blanket around his old boss. He reached out his hand, then pulled it back—he didn't know what to do, afraid of hurting him.

The old leader suddenly spoke, his eyes still closed.

"Xiao He, where did you get all those things?"

He Yuzhu's hand tightened slightly.

The old leader waited for a while, but received no answer. He opened his eyes and looked at He Yuzhu.

I stared at it for several seconds.

Then he smiled.

"never mind."

He looked away and continued staring at the ceiling.

"I shouldn't have asked."

He Yuzhu opened his mouth, as if to say something.

The old leader waved his hand, not letting him speak.

"Don't explain."

He paused.

"I only know one thing—you're doing this for the good of the country."

That cool hand gently patted the back of He Yuzhu's hand.

"That's enough."

It was getting dark. The sunlight moved away from the west, and the room grew dark. No one came in to turn on the lights.

The old leader remained silent for a long time. So long that He Yuzhu thought he had fallen asleep.

"Xiao He".

He Yuzhu leaned closer.

"exist."

The old leader looked at him. His eyes were cloudy, but something was still there within them.

From now on, you'll walk this road alone.

He Yuzhu shook his head.

"You're still here."

The old leader smiled.

"If I leave, you won't leave?"

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

The old leader held his hand. The hand wasn't very strong, but it held on tightly.

Promise me one thing.

He Yuzhu nodded.

The old leader looked at him and spoke each word clearly.

"Send our people to heaven."

He Yuzhu looked into those eyes.

nod.

"OK."

The old leader closed his eyes.

The smile at the corner of his mouth hadn't faded.

He Yuzhu was still sitting there.

The jasmine on the windowsill had lost all its petals, leaving only three withered branches. But at the very top, a tiny bud, no bigger than a grain of rice, had sprouted. It was green and so small it was almost invisible.

The sun set. Darkness fell inside the room.

The nurse came in to take blood pressure. She looked at the data, then at He Yuzhu, opened her mouth as if to say something, but didn't.

she left.

He Yuzhu was still sitting.

It was completely dark. The lights in the corridor were on, and the light squeezed in through the cracks in the door, falling on the floor in a thin strip.

He stood up, his legs a little numb. He stood for a while, holding onto the edge of the bed, looking at that face.

Too thin.

He bent down and put the old leader's hand back under the blanket. The hand was cold, dry, and as light as if it had no weight.

He turned and walked out.

As I walked to the door, I looked back.

The old leader was sleeping soundly.

On the withered branch of that jasmine plant, the flower bud was not clearly visible in the darkness.

But He Yuzhu knew it was there.