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

An iron gate stood at the top of the stairs leading to the second basement level; the hinges creaked as it was pushed open. He Yuzhu stood in the doorway, waiting for the musty smell to dissipate somewhat before descending. The light bulb was fifteen watts, casting a dim, yellowish light that illuminated the steps in alternating bright and dark sections. His footsteps echoed between the concrete walls, their sound distorted by the time they reached the top.

Ma Yuejin followed behind, holding the list in his hand, walking slowly.

"Dean, what used to be stored here?"

"ammunition."

Ma Yuejin gave an "oh" and said nothing more.

The door to the archives was also iron, twice as thick as the one upstairs. He Yuzhu took out his key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it twice. The lock cylinder made a dull sound as it turned, like something being pulled out from the inside. He pushed the door open.

The workers have finished moving everything. Thirty-seven metal cabinets are arranged in two rows along the wall, their gray-green paint gleaming dimly under the yellowish light. Each cabinet is 1.8 meters high and 1 meter wide, with three locks on the door that fit tightly when closed, so tightly that not even a piece of paper can be slipped inside.

He Yuzhu walked from the front to the back. Energy, Materials, Communications, Medicine, Chips, Aerospace, Military Industry, Quantum, Life Sciences, Ecology. Ten signs, white with red lettering, were pasted in the center of the cabinet doors, written by Lin Jianguo with a brush. He paused for a moment in front of the "Life Sciences" cabinet, reaching out to touch the door. The metal was cold; pressing his fingers against it, he could feel the weight of the papers inside.

Ma Yuejin squatted by the door, checking each number on the list one by one. After he finished, he folded the list and stuffed it into his pocket without standing up.

"Dean, I'm afraid I'll never be able to see all of this in my lifetime."

He Yuzhu turned around and looked at him.

Ma Yuejin added, "I'll have to come back in my next life."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He looked at the row of cabinets again, then walked out. Ma Yuejin stood up and followed behind, glancing back at the door. The metal cabinets stood motionless under the light, like thirty-seven silent soldiers.

Lin Jianguo and Old Zheng, the head of the security department, were already waiting at the door. He Yuzhu held up the key to the light.

"The house can only be opened if there are three keys and three people are present at the same time."

Lin Jianguo took the key, held it in his hand to test its weight, and nodded. Old Zheng took it, said nothing, and hung it directly into the key ring around his neck, then patted it.

He Yuzhu put his gun into his pocket.

"Walk."

The borrowing regulations were posted on the door of the archives, written in black and white and stamped with the research institute's seal. Lin Jianguo read them aloud to He Yuzhu, who didn't interrupt. After he finished, Lin Jianguo asked, "Is a week enough?"

He Yuzhu thought for a moment. "If it's not enough, we'll continue."

Lin Jianguo straightened the paper, took two steps back to look at it, and left.

The first batch of applicants arrived three days later.

The person who came from Daqing Oilfield was Chief Engineer Zhao, a man in his early fifties with a tanned, dark red face and calloused hands. He Yuzhu greeted him at the door, and when the two shook hands, Old Zhao's grip was so strong that He Yuzhu's knuckles ached.

"Was the journey smooth?" He Yuzhu asked.

Old Zhao looked down at his hands. "Successfully."

He paused for a moment, then pulled his hand back and put it in his pocket. The movement was quick, but He Yuzhu noticed a bluish-purple bruise on the back of his right hand that hadn't completely faded.

"The train station was crowded, so I got squeezed in."

He Yuzhu didn't ask any further questions and led him inside.

Engineer Sun from the North China Pharmaceutical Factory stood in the corridor waiting. His hair was gray, his reading glasses hung around his neck, and he carried a canvas bag. He spoke slowly, uttering each word carefully.

"We'd like to see where it's produced and the penicillin manufacturing process is."

He Yuzhu nodded and asked Lin Jianguo to take him down.

Four people arrived from the Shanghai Radio Factory. The leader, surnamed Zhou, wore gold-rimmed glasses and spoke rapidly, bombarding them with questions as soon as he entered. He Yuzhu didn't answer, but simply instructed Ma Yuejin to lead them to the archives.

Director Wang from Ansteel was the last to arrive. He knew He Yuzhu and immediately greeted him, "Director He, can our tank production line be improved?"

He Yuzhu led him to the door of the archives room and pointed to the cabinet labeled "Military Industry." "Yes. It's in there."

Director Wang rubbed his hands together and followed them inside.

It was completely dark when those people came out of the archives.

Old Zhao walked at the very back, clutching a notebook tightly in his arms, as if afraid someone would snatch it. He Yuzhu saw him to the door, where he stood, looking at the streetlights outside, without saying a word.

"Engineer Zhao."

Old Zhao turned his head.

He Yuzhu asked, "What exactly happened to the injury on your hand?"

Old Zhao paused for a moment, then looked down at his hand. The bruise had turned bluish-purple, with yellowish edges.

"Someone pushed me at the train station." He looked up. "It's nothing."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

Old Zhao hugged the notebook tighter to his chest. "Director He, we'll risk our lives to protect these things of yours." He said this in a low voice, but every word was heavy.

He Yuzhu did not respond.

Old Zhao got into the car, rolled down the window, seemed to want to say something, but his lips moved and he rolled it back up. The car drove out of the alley and disappeared at the end of the streetlights. He Yuzhu stood at the door for a long time.

A week later, Old Sun arrived.

He sat opposite He Yuzhu, lit a cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled.

"Something happened in Daqing."

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on the table.

"Old Zhao was suspended after he went back. They said he brought back unidentified technical documents without permission, which is suspected of leaking secrets." Old Sun flicked his cigarette ash. "The factory's phone is busy, and people can't get in."

He Yuzhu stood up to make a phone call, but Lao Sun stopped him.

"Stop calling. The phone line is cut."

He Yuzhu's hand stopped on the microphone.

Old Sun took a slip of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table. "Old Zhao asked someone to bring this out."

The note contained only one line of text, the handwriting crooked and illegible, as if hastily written. "He Chang, the item is on me. They didn't find it."

He Yuzhu read the note twice, folded it up, and stuffed it into his pocket.

Where is he?

Old Sun stubbed out his cigarette. "I don't know. But I specifically asked to see you."

He Yuzhu stood by the window and pulled the curtains open a crack. A person stood under the streetlight, their face obscured. He stared for two seconds, then the person turned and walked away, their footsteps light, quickly disappearing into the alleyway.

He closed the curtains.