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

At two in the morning, the diesel lamp wicks in the command post crackled and popped.

When He Yuzhu came in wearing a coat, the floor beneath his feet felt soft and yielding—it was from a cigarette butt he'd dropped during the meeting earlier that day, flattened and stuck to the muddy ground. The map on the wall flickered under the light, its red and blue arrows densely packed, some parts smudged with dirty fingerprints.

Old Sun was squatting in the corner smoking, ash covering his trouser leg, but he didn't bother to brush it off. When he saw He Yuzhu come in, he looked up.

"Three divisions."

He paused, the cigarette butt flickering in the darkness.

"Twenty thousand men. Hundreds of tanks. Early morning the day after tomorrow."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything, but walked to the front of the map. He drew his finger along the border and stopped at a place called "Sanchakou".

"What about Zhao Dayong?"

Old Sun stubbed out his cigarette.

"One regiment. Three thousand people."

He Yuzhu nodded.

That's enough.

At daybreak, Yang Xiaobing arrived with his special forces team.

Fifty-three people stood at the tent entrance, lined up in three rows. Some had scars on their faces, some had bandages wrapped around their arms, and some, as they stood, had their injured legs trembling slightly. But their eyes were all bright, fixed on He Yuzhu.

He Yuzhu walked up to them.

"The enemy will attack at dawn the day after tomorrow. Three divisions."

No one spoke. Someone swallowed hard, their Adam's apple bobbing.

Yang Xiaobing took a step forward. He wanted to ask, "Can you win?", but the words that came out were—

"Commander, where should we attack?"

As he said this, he gripped the gun strap tightly, his knuckles turning white.

He Yuzhu turned around and pointed to the red circle on the map. It was a mountain valley about 20 miles south of the crossroads, not marked with a name on the map, just a pencil circle.

"Enemy command post."

He paused.

"They outnumbered us, but their command post was outside our artillery range, so they thought it was safe. That's where we started."

Yang Xiaobing looked at him, his Adam's apple bobbing again.

"Commander, I'll lead..."

He stopped mid-sentence, silenced by He Yuzhu's gaze. He lowered his head, and when he looked up again, his eyes were a little red.

He Yuzhu patted him on the shoulder.

"I'll go."

There was no moon that night.

Thirty people, lightly equipped, crept through the ravine in the dark. After walking for four hours, Old Lu, who was leading the way, suddenly lay down and made a hand gesture.

He Yuzhu lay down next to him.

Two hundred meters ahead, a sentry stood behind a rock, his cigarette glowing intermittently.

He Yuzhu gestured behind him. The thirty people pressed themselves against the stone, remaining motionless.

After finishing his cigarette, the sentry stubbed it out on the ground and turned to walk away.

He Yuzhu breathed a sigh of relief.

He stepped on a dead branch.

click-

The sound wasn't loud, but in the quiet night, it sounded like someone was breaking bones.

The sentry turned his head. A flashlight beam swept across.

"Who?"

He Yuzhu didn't move. Yang Xiaobing didn't move either. Thirty people, thirty bodies, pressed against the cold stone, even their breathing had stopped.

The flashlight beam shone above their heads.

Then a shot rang out.

It wasn't them who were exposed. It was Old Lu's side that opened fire first.

He Yuzhu leaped up from behind the rock.

"Rush!"

The command center was more chaotic than I had imagined.

The officers inside the tents ran out barefoot, some still clutching their unfinished trousers. He Yuzhu led his men in from the front, Yang Xiaobing from the left flank, and Lao Lu from the right.

Bullets struck the tent, tearing holes in the canvas. Some screamed, some shouted "retreat," and some returned fire.

He Yuzhu kicked open the largest tent in the middle.

There were five or six people inside, surrounding the table. When they saw him, some reached for their guns, some crawled under the table, and some stood there frozen, as if they were in a daze.

He Yuzhu was not stunned.

One burst of bullets swept across, and five people fell down.

The remaining one crawled under the table, but He Yuzhu grabbed him by the back of the collar and dragged him out. He was fat, wearing a peaked cap and carrying the rank of major general on his shoulder. He struggled, muttering something in gibberish. He Yuzhu couldn't understand him, nor did he want to.

A knife.

Blood spurted out, splashing onto his sleeve; it was warm.

[Kill one enemy major general/division commander, score +500,000]

The gunfire outside subsided. Yang Xiaobing ran in, his face covered in sweat, but his eyes were bright.

"Commander, it's done!"

He Yuzhu nodded.

"withdraw."

They retreated for ten miles before the pursuers caught up.

He Yuzhu glanced back. It was a dark mass of people; he couldn't make out how many there were. Bullets whizzed past his ears, hitting the rocks, and the flying shards stung his face.

Yang Xiaobing was running beside him when he suddenly swerved to the side, his knee hit a rock, and he fell to the ground.

He Yuzhu stopped in his tracks, turned around, and squatted down.

Under the moonlight, Yang Xiaobing had a cut on his arm, and blood was gushing out, staining his sleeve dark. The blood dripped down his elbow and onto He Yuzhu's military boots, where it was warm.

Yang Xiaobing gritted his teeth, biting his lip until it bled and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. He tried to say something, but his jaw was clenched so tightly that only a "uh-uh" sound came from his throat.

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He pulled out a first-aid kit from behind his waist, tore it open, and pressed it against the wound. Blood seeped from the bandage, so he wrapped it again. Yang Xiaobing's hands gripped his arm tightly, his nails digging into his flesh.

Old Lu ran over, squatted down, and tried to carry Yang Xiaobing on his back. Yang Xiaobing shook his head, wanting to say, "I can walk by myself," but as soon as he opened his mouth, everything went black, and he fainted.

Old Lu tossed him onto his back and stood up.

He Yuzhu glanced at the pool of blood, which was dark and reflected the moonlight.

"Walk."

At daybreak, they returned to their positions.

Zhao Dayong ran over, his face covered in sweat and tears, it was hard to tell what was on his face.

"Chief He, the enemy has retreated!"

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Refunded?"

Zhao Dayong nodded and swallowed.

"With the command post destroyed, there was no one to command, and everything was in complete chaos. In our counterattack, we killed over a thousand and captured over two thousand."

He pointed to the smoke in the distance.

"The war is over."

He Yuzhu stood there, looking at the still-smoking position.

Yang Xiaobing was carried away, his arm wrapped in thick bandages, still unconscious. Old Lu sat beside him, smoking, his hands still trembling. The new recruits squatted on the ground, clutching their guns, silent.

The wind swept by, carrying the smells of gunpowder and blood.

He Yuzhu reached into his pocket and touched the gloves.

Qin Huairu's clothes were old and worn, with frayed edges. He squeezed them.

The voice in my head rang.

[Total enemy kills: 1023]

[Mission Reward Points: +3,000,000]

He didn't look at the number.

In the distance, the sun peeked out from the clouds, shining on the blood-soaked land.

It took He Yuzhu seven days after returning to China to truly recover.

That afternoon, he was squatting in the workshop looking at the newly assembled engine, his hands still covered in engine oil. Yang Xiaobing ran in, his arm still in a sling, but he seemed to be in good spirits. The scar on his face hadn't scabbed off yet; it was bright red, making his smile look somewhat ferocious.

"Commander, someone is looking for you."

He Yuzhu stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. He walked to the office door and saw a young man in a Zhongshan suit standing there, holding a kraft paper envelope.

"Director He, the National Science and Technology Conference. The day after tomorrow. You are the first person to be invited."

He Yuzhu took the envelope and opened it. Inside was a gold-embossed invitation card with the national emblem and a line of text.

He stared at it for a long time.

Yang Xiaobing craned his neck to watch.

"Commander, what's this?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He looked at the invitation, remembering his old leader's withered hands and the words he had said.

"Our space dream depends on you."

He folded the invitation and stuffed it into his pocket.

Yang Xiaobing was still asking questions.

"Commander, what's going on?"

He Yuzhu walked out.

"Have Lin Jianguo make preparations. He'll be coming with me the day after tomorrow."

Yang Xiaobing stood there, scratching his head. He Yuzhu had already walked away.

The machines in the workshop were still running, humming like a heartbeat.