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

When the phone rang, He Yuzhu was fast asleep.

The sound was like an icicle, piercing straight into his eardrums and tearing his dream to shreds. He jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest. It was still dark outside; the paper pasted on the windowpanes billowed in the wind, then deflated. He Nianhua turned over in the inner room, letting out a muffled groan, kicking back a corner of the blanket to reveal her bare legs. He Yuzhu instinctively pulled the blanket back down, and only after the child had settled back into a sleep did he grope for his shoes in the dark, put on his clothes, and go to the outer room.

The microphone was icy cold, and its touch against my ear sent a shiver down my spine.

"Chief He! We're done!" Zhao Dayong's voice exploded from the receiver, hoarse with excessive excitement, like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal. The wind was terrifyingly loud, howling into the receiver, almost tearing his words to shreds.

He Yuzhu held the microphone, sat down in the chair, and waited for the voice on the other end to stabilize.

Where are they?

"They've escaped! They're faster than rabbits!" Zhao Dayong practically shouted, his voice laced with laughter. "Commander, we chased them for eighty li! They abandoned everything along the way—tanks, shells, gasoline…piles of stuff everywhere. The soldiers say they're happier than if they'd won a battle!"

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He heard someone laughing on the other end of the line, the laughter distant and intermittent, carried by the wind. Zhao Dayong was also laughing, and after he finished, he said, "Director He, what are we going to do with all this stuff? There are several tons of copper alone, and a lot of aluminum too. There's also a bunch of equipment, some of which we've never even seen before."

He Yuzhu thought for a moment.

"Keep what you can use, dismantle what you can't, and bring the materials back."

"OK."

The phone call ended. He Yuzhu didn't go back inside immediately, but just sat there on the cold chair. The wind was still blowing outside, howling like someone blowing a horn in the distance. He took the gloves out of his pocket and held them in his hands; the fabric was already soft from wear. A faint, almost imperceptible pale light appeared on the eastern horizon, very pale, like rice paper soaked in water.

Two weeks later, the convoy entered Beijing on a bright, sunny day.

He Yuzhu stood at the entrance of the research institute, watching the trucks turn into the alley one by one. Thick dust covered their canvas tarpaulins, and their tires kicked up clouds of dust as they drove along the road. Yang Xiaobing jumped off the first truck, his legs stiff, and he swayed slightly upon landing. His face was sunburned, his lips chapped and peeling, and he had dark circles under his eyes, but his eyes shone brightly, as if they had been oiled.

"Commander, there's a lot more stuff this time."

He led He Yuzhu toward the warehouse, taking long strides so that He Yuzhu had to quicken his pace to keep up. The warehouse door opened, and a pungent smell of machine oil, rust, and wood varnish wafted out. The beam of a flashlight swept across the area, revealing the wooden and metal crates no longer as mere objects, but as silent, towering mountains, their shadows cast dark, heavy shadows on the ground.

Yang Xiaobing stood next to He Yuzhu, his face a mixture of dust and sweat, streaked by the flashlight beam. He pointed to the tallest stack of boxes against the wall, a hint of smugness in his voice.

"Commander, copper, six tons. Underneath that bombed Indian truck, there were boxes and boxes of this stuff, still burning hot when we moved them."

He then pointed to the other side.

"Aluminum, four tons. Also tungsten, tin, and nickel, all listed on the order."

He Yuzhu walked over, squatted down, and touched one of the boxes of copper ingots. It was cold and heavy; the flashlight beam danced across its smooth surface, casting a dark golden glow. He stood up and dusted off his hands.

"Where's the equipment?"

Yang Xiaobing turned and pointed to another pile.

"Tank parts, car engines, radios, and a few radars."

He Yuzhu walked up to the radars. Their military-green casings were covered in a layer of dust, with Russian writing printed on them. He squatted down and touched them; the casings were cold, and where his fingertips brushed against them, a dark green layer of paint was visible.

"From the Soviet Union?"

Yang Xiaobing leaned closer and lowered his voice.

"It should be. It came from the same source as the batch of shells we captured."

He Yuzhu stood up and patted the dust off his knees.

"Put it in the warehouse first. We'll unpack it slowly later."

Yang Xiaobing responded and told people to move the things. He Yuzhu stood at the warehouse door, watching the boxes being moved in one by one. Old Sun walked over from behind, stood next to him, took out a cigarette, lit it, took a puff, and said nothing.

"Investigate the radar issue. Find out where it came from."

Old Sun exhaled the smoke and nodded.

"OK."

The radar was dismantled starting the next day. Ma Yuejin, wrench in hand, squatted in the warehouse, removing the radar's outer casing piece by piece. Many screws were rusted, making them difficult to tighten. He gritted his teeth and tightened them, sweating profusely until his back was soaked and his clothes clung to his skin.

"Dean, this thing is quite complicated."

He Yuzhu squatted down beside him, shining a flashlight inside. Circuit boards, vacuum tubes, and coils were densely packed together, like a miniature city. Ma Yuejin reached in, touched a module, and tugged at it, but couldn't budge it.

"This looks like it can be disassembled."

He changed his position, reached in with the wrench, and tightened it a few times until the module loosened. He carefully pulled it out and placed it on the ground, his movements as gentle as if he were defusing a bomb. He Yuzhu picked it up and looked at it; it was a square metal box with Russian writing on it and a label with a number on it.

"Let's take it apart and see."

Ma Yuejin pried open the lid of the metal box, revealing a circuit board filled with electron tubes. He was engrossed in examining it when the screwdriver in his hand suddenly stopped.

"Dean, look here."

He pointed to a corner of the circuit board, his voice extremely low, as if afraid of disturbing something. He Yuzhu held the flashlight closer. Among a pile of resistors and capacitors, there was a tiny thing, barely bigger than a fingernail. It had a translucent plastic casing, through which one could see extremely fine metal wires coiled.

Ma Yuejin swallowed.

"What is this? It doesn't look like something from an electrical circuit."

He Yuzhu remained silent. He recalled his trip to Moscow that year, when embassy staff had privately reminded him that the Soviets were "very interested" in the Chinese inspection team. He had seen photos of these miniature coils in a classified manual. His heart clenched suddenly, as if gripped tightly.

He carefully pried the object off with a screwdriver and placed it in his palm. The lights in the warehouse seemed to dim a few degrees, and the small plastic piece gleamed with a sinister glow in the flashlight beam.

"Bugs." His voice was flat, but every word struck like a stone.

The wrench in Ma Yuejin's hand fell to the ground with a loud clatter, echoing in the unusually quiet warehouse. Neither of them moved; they just squatted there, staring at the small, despicable thing in He Yuzhu's palm.

Old Sun came in through the door, saw what he was holding, and his expression changed.

"What is this?"

He Yuzhu placed the item on the table.

"A bugging device. Taken from a radar unit."

The warehouse fell silent. Ma Yuejin squatted on the ground, his hands on his knees, his knuckles white. Old Sun walked over, picked up the bugging device, looked at it under the light for a few seconds, and put it down.

"How much is left?"

He Yuzhu turned around and looked at the radars that hadn't been dismantled yet.

"Tear them all down. Check them one by one."

Ma Yuejin stood up, his legs numb from squatting, and swayed slightly before grabbing the table to steady himself. He didn't say anything, walked to the second radar, picked up a wrench, and continued disassembling it.

Six radars were dismantled, and it took three days. They found one more in the third radar and one more in the fifth. The other three were missing.

He Yuzhu placed the three listening devices on the table, lined up in a row. The warehouse lights were bright, illuminating the three translucent little devices, making the metal coils inside clearly visible. Old Sun smoked one cigarette after another, the smoke swirling in the light and lingering for a long time.

"This is a big deal," Old Sun said in a muffled voice.

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He picked up a bugging device and held it up to the light. The light shone through the plastic, casting the shadow of the metal wire onto his palm like a miniature, ugly spider web. This thing was installed in radar, so close to the Chinese border with the Indian troops.

What are they listening to? The sound of artillery fire from the front lines? Orders from command? Or have they been listening for a long time, hearing something more?

"Take good photos and get them cleaned." He Yuzhu put down the bugging device. "Write a detailed report and send it up."

Old Sun stubbed out his cigarette and nodded.

He Yuzhu stood up and walked out of the warehouse. The moon was bright outside, shining on the old locust tree in the yard. The shadows of the new leaves swayed on the ground like countless restless eyes. He didn't go home; he stood in the yard for a long time. The gloves were still in his pocket. He took them out, clutched them in his palm, the fabric slightly damp with sweat.

Those three bugging devices should already be packed into envelopes and about to be sent to their destination. But he knew that the silent, omnipresent threat they represented had only just begun to be revealed.