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

When He Yuzhu arrived in Zhengzhou, it was still dark.

The section of rail that had been pried open lay across the roadbed, like a dead snake, twisted and coiled among the rubble. The locomotive's headlights were still on, illuminating the broken rails, their surfaces gleaming, oil seeping from beneath the sleepers and reflecting light. The air was thick with the pungent smell of rust and diesel fuel.

Old Sun squatted beside the roadbed, shining his flashlight on the section of rail that had been pried open. The beam of light flickered in the darkness for a moment, then steadied.

"It was done with a crowbar. All three rail spikes were pulled out, and the rails were moved half a foot."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

"If the train had gone any faster, it would have derailed."

He Yuzhu squatted down and touched the gap with his hand. The cross-section of the rail was new and shiny, but there was rust on the edges, indicating that the rail had been pried open more than once. His fingers were sticky with machine oil. He stood up, wiped them on his pants, and walked forward along the embankment.

After walking a few dozen steps, he found several cigarette butts in the grass. They were from Daqianmen cigarette brand, still damp. He picked one up and rubbed it between his fingers. There were deep teeth marks on the filter, indicating that it belonged to someone who smoked vigorously.

"How many people?"

Old Sun didn't answer immediately. He shone his flashlight on the cigarette butts for a long time.

"Three. Got them, they're over there."

He pointed down the roadbed. Three beams of flashlight shone down, revealing three men crouching beside a pile of rubble, their hands covering their heads, their faces ashen white in the light. Several militiamen stood around them, their gun barrels reflecting the dim light. A few civilians peered out in the distance, but were stopped by the militiamen several dozen meters away.

He Yuzhu walked over.

The one at the front was a thin man in his thirties with high cheekbones and a mole under his eye. He squatted there silently, but his shoulders were trembling slightly. The younger man next to him was huddled up, his pants were soaked, and he was muttering something under his breath. The third one had his head down, so his face was obscured.

He Yuzhu squatted down, staring at Gao's cheekbones. He didn't say anything.

Silence fell. The flashlight beam shone between the two men, and dust motes could be seen slowly drifting within the beam. The distant whistle of a train drifted over, its sound long and drawn out. The man with high cheekbones turned his face to one side, the veins on his neck bulging. The younger man beside him trembled even more violently, his teeth chattering.

He Yuzhu stood up and put his hands behind his back. No one saw his fingers trembling slightly.

"Interrogate them separately. Break them down and ask them in detail."

Old Sun nodded. With a wave of his hand, the three men were led away separately. When the man with the high cheekbones stood up, his legs buckled, and he almost fell, but the militiamen caught him. The younger man couldn't walk and was dragged along; his trousers were soaked, leaving a wet trail on the gravel.

He Yuzhu stood there, looking at the section of track. The wind blew by, carrying the scent of crops from the open fields. The headlights of the locomotive were still on, illuminating the broken section, like an unhealed wound.

The soldier escorting the vehicle stood to the side, his arm wrapped in bandages, his hand gripping his gun so tightly his knuckles turned white. Blood seeped through the bandages, a small, dark red patch. His face was still pale, and his lips were dry and chapped.

He Yuzhu walked over.

"How's the injury?"

The soldier paused for a moment, his grip on the gun loosened, then tightened again.

"It's nothing. Just a scrape."

His voice trembled, but he stood ramrod straight. He Yuzhu patted him on the shoulder. The shoulder was stiff as a board, rigid as iron. He patted it again, said nothing, and turned to leave.

As dawn broke, Old Sun emerged from the makeshift interrogation tent. He squatted down beside the roadbed, took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and smoked half of it before speaking.

"The two younger ones didn't last even half an hour. The older one lasted until the middle of the night."

He didn't take a picture of the cigarette ash that fell on his trouser leg.

He Yuzhu squatted down next to him.

"What did you find out?"

Old Sun put a cigarette in his mouth and took a piece of paper out of his pocket. The paper was wet and the edges were rolled up.

"It's a Manchu remnant. Their code name is 'Third Brother,' and they're in the Northeast. They're instructing them to sabotage the military train, claiming it's carrying important munitions."

He Yuzhu took the paper and looked at it for a few seconds.

"The 'Third Son'? Can you find that?"

Old Sun took the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out on the sole of his shoe.

"I don't know. Those people only communicate with one person at a time; they've never met their superiors."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

"But there's one clue. After 'Third Brother' had them sabotage everything, he told them to go to a post office in Shenyang to collect the money. He wrote down the address."

He Yuzhu returned the paper to him. His fingers touched Old Sun's hand; it was cold and sweaty.

"Investigate. Have Shenyang keep an eye on it."

Old Sun stood up, his legs were numb from squatting, he swayed for a moment, then steadied himself by holding onto the roadside base. He nodded, took a few steps, then turned back.

"Old He, what should we do with those three?"

He Yuzhu looked at that section of railway track.

"Keep it locked for now."

Old Sun didn't ask any more questions and left.

He Yuzhu stood there, the voice echoing in his mind. He didn't look at the text, closed the interface, and turned around. The soldier escorting the truck was still standing there, gripping his gun, the blood on his bandages dried, turning into a small, dark red patch. The driver was squatting beside the wheels, checking the brakes, muttering something, which was unintelligible.

The crowd of people in the distance hadn't dispersed yet. An old woman, holding a child, pointed at the railway tracks and was talking to someone nearby. The militia were trying to drive the people away, but they couldn't get them to leave; the crowd dispersed and then gathered again.

On the train back to Beijing, He Yuzhu leaned against the window, looking at the fields outside. Old Sun sat opposite him, holding that notebook, flipping through a couple of pages, then closing it.

"Old He, do you think this 'Third Brother' is related to that housekeeper?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. The train swayed, and Lao Sun's cigarette slipped out of his pocket and fell to the ground. He bent down to pick it up, his fingers a little stiff, and it took him a couple of tries to pick it up.

"The technique is similar."

Old Sun held the cigarette in his hand, but didn't light it.

"If he's the butler's man, it means he has a long reach. He can direct things at home even while abroad."

He Yuzhu looked out the window. Darkness fell, the streetlights came on, and their dim yellow light illuminated the villages flashing by. Telegraph poles leaned back one by one, their shadows swaying in the carriage.

The call from Shenyang came the following afternoon. After answering the call, Old Sun sat in his office for a long time. When He Yuzhu pushed open the door, Old Sun had only smoked half a cigarette; the ash had fallen on the table, but he hadn't brushed it off.

"The person ran away. The post office said a man came three days ago, took the money, and left. The physical characteristics don't match, so he might have been wearing makeup."

He Yuzhu sat down opposite him.

"Anything else?"

Old Sun stubbed out his cigarette.

"There's a small hole under the post office counter, dug by the post office staff themselves, specifically to see people's feet. The person withdrawing money was wearing a pair of leather shoes. They were issued by a military factory; only a few factories in Northeast China had them."

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on the table.

"The third brother might work at a military factory."

Old Sun nodded.

"They're already investigating over there. But the person has escaped."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. It was getting dark outside; the streetlights had just come on, casting long shadows on the locust tree in the yard.

"Let them continue their investigation. 'Third Brother' ran away, but he left footprints."

That evening, He Yuzhu returned home. Qin Huairu was sewing clothes under the lamp, and He Nianhua was already asleep, still clutching the spent tank shell in her arms. He Yuzhu sat down on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and took off his old gloves, placing them on the table. Qin Huairu looked up, her nose twitching.

"You smell like engine oil."

He Yuzhu lowered his head and sniffed his sleeve.

"Um."

Qin Huairu didn't ask any more questions, and got up to pour him a glass of water. The water was warm, but the enamel mug was scalding hot.

"The rain has come again."

He Yuzhu took the jar.

"What did you say?"

Qin Huairu sat down beside him and took the letter out of the drawer.

"They said the grain is much better, this year's harvest is good. They also said the well in the yard is full, so they don't have to draw it several times anymore."

He Yuzhu took a sip of water.

"It's full, that's good."

Qin Huairu looked at him. Under the lamplight, she noticed the gray in his hair, more than last year. He didn't notice, still reading the letter. She put down her needlework and made the bed.

Go to bed early.

He Yuzhu folded the letter and put it in the drawer. The light went out. Moonlight shone in through the window, illuminating the old gloves, their edges worn and frayed.

In the distance, the phone rang. It wasn't his.