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

As Yang Xiaobing climbed into the passenger seat, he pulled the dagger from behind his waist, wiped it a couple of times on his trouser leg, and then put it back. He Yuzhu stood outside the car window, watching this action, and remembered how he had wiped his dagger like that the first time he went to the front lines. More than ten years had passed, and the action hadn't changed at all.

"Commander, Zhao Dayong said there really is a tent full of gold over there?" Yang Xiaobing asked, leaning against the car window.

He Yuzhu didn't answer, and threw the pack of cigarettes he was holding into the driver's seat. "Zhao Dayong likes to embellish his stories, you can count them yourself."

Yang Xiaobing took the cigarette and grinned. "If you can't count them, just carry them back and let the regimental commander count them himself."

The cars started moving. He Yuzhu stood there, watching the convoy turn the corner at the alley entrance, one after another, their canvas awnings billowing in the wind like a row of gray sails. Qin Huairu came out of the courtyard and stood beside him, saying nothing, just standing there. Old Sun came over from behind and offered him a cigarette, but He Yuzhu didn't take it. Old Sun lit it himself and took a puff.

"This round trip will take half a month."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He was still looking at the alley entrance; the car was long gone.

Three days after the convoy left, He Yuzhu went to the warehouse. The empty boxes were still stacked in the corner. Before leaving, Yang Xiaobing had numbered each box with chalk, from one to thirty. He squatted down and saw a small figure drawn on box number one, carrying a knife. Next to it, a line of words was written crookedly: "Commander, this is Yang Xiaobing."

He looked at it for a long time, then stood up and locked the warehouse.

On the fifth day, Zhao Dayong called from Tibet. His voice was intermittent, sometimes loud and sometimes soft, as the wind blew it away.

"Chief He, the convoy has passed Xining. That kid Yang Xiaobing is sitting in the first car, and the wind is blowing his face so hard it looks like a monkey's butt."

He Yuzhu held the microphone but didn't speak.

Zhao Dayong added, "He told me to tell you that not a single piece of gold is missing."

The call ended. He Yuzhu stood there, hearing the wind still howling on the other end, like something was calling.

On the seventh day, He Nianhua squatted by the door drawing circles. After finishing, he looked up and asked He Yuzhu, "When is Uncle Yang coming back?" He Yuzhu said soon. He then asked, "How soon is 'soon'?" He Yuzhu couldn't answer. He lowered his head and continued drawing. After a while, he said, "I miss Uncle Yang."

He Yuzhu squatted down and changed the largest circle he had drawn into a truck, then drew a series of smaller circles behind it. "This is a convoy," He Nianhua said after looking at it for a while. "It doesn't look like one."

When Yang Xiaobing saw the research institute's chimney in the distance, it was almost dark. The red light on top of the chimney was flashing. He turned around and honked twice at the car behind him. The horn blared in the wind, from one car to another, until it was barely audible by the last, but everyone knew they were almost there.

As the car turned into the alley, people lined both sides. An old shepherd herded his sheep to the roadside, where they bleated and huddled together. He stood behind the flock, tiptoeing to look, muttering, "So many carts, what are they carrying?" A child squatted on the doorstep counting carts, but after counting a dozen or so, he got confused and started crying. His mother came out and took him back inside, but he peeked out again to count. A woman held her child high in the air, letting him see. The child stretched out his hand and shouted, "Big cart, big cart!"

Yang Xiaobing rolled down the car window, and a gust of wind rushed in, making him cough twice. He saw a man standing at the entrance of the research institute, wearing a military uniform with two stars on his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes, but the stars wouldn't come out. The man stood there, motionless, like a stake.

The car stopped. He jumped out, his legs stiff as wood, and swayed as he landed, almost kneeling. He forced himself to stay upright, not wanting the man to see him.

The man walked over and stood in front of him.

Yang Xiaobing took the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket; there was still more than half left, and handed it over.

"Commander, you're back."

He Yuzhu took the cigarette without saying a word. Yang Xiaobing noticed that there were dark circles under his eyes, which were deeper than before he left.

Old Sun arrived when the crates were being moved into the warehouse. He stood at the doorway, watching the wooden crates being stacked up, almost reaching the ceiling. He didn't say anything, just stood there watching. He Yuzhu stood beside him, also silent.

After stacking the last box, Old Sun took out a cigarette and offered it to him. This time he took it. The two stood at the warehouse door smoking, the cigarette butts glowing and dimming in the darkness.

"The higher-ups are very happy," Old Sun said.

He Yuzhu did not respond.

Old Sun took another puff, exhaled the smoke, and slowly said, "The higher-ups sent me to ask you this."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Should we keep the gold, or exchange it for something else?"

He Yuzhu stubbed out his cigarette against the wall. "The AT-3s the Soviets sold to India were a generation more advanced than the ones they sold to us."

Old Sun remained silent.

"When you buy equipment or technology, can you really buy genuine products?"

Old Sun stubbed out his cigarette. The two stood in the darkness, neither looking at the other.

After a long silence, Old Sun finally spoke up: "If it were me, I'd keep half and exchange the other half."

he's gone.

He Yuzhu stood at the warehouse door, looking at the boxes. The lights were still on, casting dark shadows on the boxes. He remembered the little figure drawn on box number one, carrying a knife, with the words "Commander, this is Yang Xiaobing" written next to it.

Yang Xiaobing came out of the warehouse, locked the door, and dangled the key at his waist.

"Commander, I've written it all down. 1,200 tons of gold, 6 tons of copper, 4 tons of aluminum. And tungsten, tin, and nickel, all recorded."

He Yuzhu took the notebook but didn't flip through it.

"Go back and rest."

Yang Xiaobing nodded, took two steps, and then turned back.

"Commander, Zhao Dayong said that the word 'light' is engraved on those gold pieces."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

Yang Xiaobing stood there for a while, wanting to say something, but then swallowed it back, turned around and left.

He Yuzhu stood at the warehouse door and opened the ledger. The handwriting was messy, but every stroke was clear. He turned to the last page and saw that Yang Xiaobing had written a line of small characters at the bottom: "Commander, this trip was worth it."

He closed the notebook and tucked it into his pocket.

When he got home, He Nianhua was already asleep. Qin Huairu was waiting for him under the lamp, holding the mended military uniform, which she had folded neatly and placed on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed).

"You're back?"

He Yuzhu sat down next to her.

"They're back. Thirty carts, all loaded with goods."

Qin Huairu looked at him. "Where's the gold?"

He Yuzhu nodded. "Yes. Quite a few."

Qin Huairu didn't ask any more questions. She picked up the military uniform and handed it to him. "Try it on."

He Yuzhu took it and put it on. The patch at the elbow was stitched finely and was almost the same color as the original. He moved his arm around; it wasn't tight, it fit perfectly.

Qin Huairu smiled. "Suitable."

The light went out. He Yuzhu lay on the kang (a heated brick bed), listening to the wind outside. He Nianhua turned over, her small hand resting on his face—warm and soft.

He closed his eyes. The little figure on box number one was still swaying in front of him, carrying a knife, with the words "Commander, this is Yang Xiaobing" written next to it.

The next morning, He Yuzhu called Lao Sun.

"Old Sun, I've thought it through regarding the gold."

Old Sun remained silent on the other end of the phone.

"Keep half, exchange half."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. So long that He Yuzhu thought he had hung up.

"Okay," Old Sun said, his voice lower than usual. "I'll go and talk to them."

He Yuzhu stood by the window. The snow outside had stopped, and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the old locust tree in the yard. The snow on the branches began to melt, dripping down one by one.

He turned around, put on his gloves, and went out the door.

Yang Xiaobing was already waiting at the warehouse entrance, holding the lock in his hand with the key hanging from his waist, swaying back and forth.

"Commander, shall we open the door?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

"Open the door."

The lock opened, the door swung open, and the pungent smell of wood and metal wafted out. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the wooden crates with a dark golden sheen. Crate number one was on top; He Yuzhu couldn't see the little figure, but he knew it was there.

He stood at the doorway and watched for a long time.