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

The curtains were drawn tightly, and the light that came in was a hazy, grayish light.

An enamel mug sat on the bedside table, the water long since cooled. The quartz clock on the wall ticked away, each tick a rhythmic beat against his heartbeat. An oxygen tube extended from the wall behind the bed, a thin, transparent tube winding its way into the old leader's nostril.

He Yuzhu sat by the bed all night.

As dawn broke, the old leader woke up. His eyelids twitched, and he slowly opened them. His eyes were even more sunken than yesterday, and a layer of gray covered his pupils, but when he saw He Yuzhu still sitting there, he managed a weak smile.

"You didn't leave?"

The sound was stuck in my throat, grating like sandpaper scraping against wood.

He Yuzhu shook his head.

The old leader tried to pull his hand out from under the covers. His hand was so thin that it was just skin and bones, with veins bulging like withered branches. He pulled very slowly, but the corner of the blanket held it in place, preventing him from pulling it out.

He Yuzhu reached out and helped him lift a corner of the blanket.

The old leader's hand landed on the back of his hand; it was cold and weak, just resting there.

"Xiao He..."

He stopped, catching his breath. His Adam's apple bobbed laboriously as he swallowed.

"That... thing about heaven..."

He was panting again. This time, his breathing was even heavier than before, his chest heaving as if something was stuck inside him.

He Yuzhu turned the hand over, palm up, and covered it with his own hand.

"Please don't say anything more, I know."

The old leader shook his head. The shaking motion was very light, almost imperceptible, but He Yuzhu saw it.

"I don't know. You don't know."

His fingers gently scratched at He Yuzhu's palm, like a child tickling an itch.

"You have to get people... up there... and then... down there. That's what you call..."

He couldn't finish speaking. He was breathing more heavily, and a gurgling sound came from his throat.

The nurse rushed in, glanced at the equipment, and then ran out again. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing closer.

He Yuzhu was still holding that hand.

The old leader's eyes looked at him, cloudy, but something burning within them. He had seen that kind of burning before—when they were lying in the snow at Changjin Lake waiting for the bugle call to charge, the comrade next to him had been burned in the same way before he died.

He wanted to say something, to say "okay," to say "don't worry," to say so much, but those words were stuck in his throat, and he couldn't utter a single one.

He could only nod.

I clicked it once, and then clicked it again.

Something warm was dripping down the back of his hand. He then realized he was crying.

The old leader looked at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched again. This time the twitch lasted longer than before, almost like a smile.

Then the hand loosened its grip on his palm.

He Yuzhu didn't know how long he had been kneeling.

The floor of the funeral hall was marble, and it was ice cold. His knees started to hurt, then went numb, and then became completely numb. Someone tried to help him up, but he pushed them away. Someone spoke in his ear, but he couldn't hear them.

He stared at the portrait.

The old leader was wearing that faded military uniform, smiling. It was taken a few years ago, when he could still walk on his own, slam his fist on the table and curse, and call in the middle of the night to ask, "Xiao He, have you finished that tank yet?"

He recalled the year he returned to China and met his former boss for the first time. He was so nervous that he could barely speak, and he stood there unsure whether to stand or sit. His former boss asked him to sit down and poured him a glass of water. The water was too hot, so he didn't drink it, but held it in his hands for a long time to warm it.

The old leader asked, "Aren't you afraid?"

He shook his head.

The old leader laughed: "It's okay to be afraid. We have to do it whether we're afraid or not."

He later learned that his former boss had also just undergone surgery less than two months prior.

The portrait of him was always smiling.

He Yuzhu found himself smiling too.

As I laughed, tears started flowing again.

It was raining outside when I walked out of the mourning hall.

The rain was light, a fine drizzle that felt cool on the face. Old Sun stood at the door, a cigarette between his fingers, unlit. Seeing He Yuzhu come out, he put the cigarette back in the pack.

"Old He..."

He Yuzhu waved his hand.

Old Sun didn't say anything more.

He Yuzhu walked towards the parking lot. His legs felt weak, each step like walking on cotton. Rain fell on his shoulders, soaking into a small dark patch.

He walked to the car and stopped.

Turning back, I looked across the long courtyard at the door to the mourning hall. The door was closed, and the light coming through was blurred by the rain.

He remembered his old leader's last words.

"You have to be able to get people up there and then bring them down. That takes real skill."

The voice in my head rang.

[Main Mission 3: Complete the preliminary design of the space station's core module. Time limit: Three years. Reward: 100,000,000 points.]

He stood in the rain, looking at the words.

Then turn it off.

I opened the car door and got in.

The wipers were scraping against the windshield, one stroke after another.

He started the car.