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

The listening devices had been on the table all night.

He Yuzhu didn't go home; instead, he sat on the hardwood chair in his office, staring blankly at the three translucent little things. He picked one up and held it up to the light—a plastic shell, translucent, with coils of metal wire inside, as thin as hair. The welds were smooth, machine-welded, not handmade.

He turned it over and looked at the bottom. There was no number, no markings.

Clean and tidy. As if nothing had been done.

He put down the bugging device and leaned back in his chair. It was pitch black outside; he couldn't see anything. He took the gloves out of his pocket, clenched them in his hand, then put them back in. He clenched them, put them back in, put them back in, and clenched them again.

As dawn broke, Qin Huairu pushed open the door and came in. She was carrying an enamel mug, steam rising from it. She placed the mug on the corner of the table, said nothing, and stood there glancing at him.

He Yuzhu raised his head.

"Nianhua is awake?"

Qin Huairu shook her head.

"Still asleep."

She paused, as if wanting to say something, her lips moved but no sound came out. She turned and left. He Yuzhu watched the door close, a sliver of light shining through the crack, casting a hazy glow on the floor.

The porridge in the jar had cooled and formed a film. He used his chopsticks to break it up and took two sips. Unable to swallow, he pushed the jar aside.

When Lao Sun arrived, it was already afternoon.

He pushed open the door and came in, not rushing to sit down. He stood opposite He Yuzhu and placed the brown paper envelope on the table. He pulled it out slowly, as if afraid of damaging its contents. The photos were laid out one by one, three in total. He Yuzhu looked down—a machine, square and upright, with Russian characters printed on its casing. The light shone from the side, making the letters appear distinct and raised.

"Found it. It's the KGB's, codenamed 'Canary.'" Old Sun's voice wasn't loud, as if he were saying something he shouldn't have said aloud. He paused, then pushed the photo forward. "It went into production in 1958, and was revised in 1960. The one we have here is the improved model."

He Yuzhu picked up the photo and looked at it against the light. The bugging device was magnified many times in the photo, with the coils neatly wound and the solder joints smooth.

"How did this end up on the radar?"

Old Sun didn't reply. He took out a cigarette, squeezed it in his hand, didn't light it, and put it back.

"The radar was made by the Soviets. It was installed during construction. It was sold to India, and the Indians took it to the front lines, where we captured it." He neatly stacked the photos and weighed them down with an envelope. "The Soviets wanted to hear about India's military deployments, but they didn't expect the equipment to end up in our hands."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He stood up and walked to the window. The leaves of the old locust tree in the yard had turned green, rustling in the wind. He remembered his trip to Moscow years ago, when the Soviets tried to fool him with technology from ten years ago, and he cursed them in Russian before leaving. Now, those things on the blueprints had become listening devices, hidden in radar and radios, trying to eavesdrop on others.

"What about your domestic employer?"

Old Sun didn't reply. He put the photos away, stacked them neatly, and covered them with an envelope. He pressed his hand on the envelope, but didn't let go.

"Old He, if this matter is investigated further, it will cause quite a stir."

He Yuzhu turned around.

Old Sun took out a cigarette, lit it, took a drag, and exhaled. The smoke dispersed in front of his face, obscuring the wrinkles on his brow.

"Some units have equipment that's been in use for almost ten years, and it's always been fine. If you suddenly say there are listening devices inside, what will they think?" He flicked his cigarette ash. "That radar station in the Air Force was even recognized as an advanced unit last year. If you say their equipment is faulty, they'll lose face."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"So we won't investigate?"

Old Sun stubbed out the cigarette, pressing it out very hard, until the butt flattened.

"Investigate. But we need to figure out how to investigate. We can't let people say we're paranoid." He stood up and walked to the window. "Those devices were all inspected back then. They were processed batch by batch, there are records and signatures. Now that they've been unearthed and there's something inside, the inspectors and receiving units from back then will all be questioned."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He recalled the year the Soviet experts withdrew, taking with them a stack of blueprints. The things on those blueprints became listening devices, hidden in radars, radios, and machine tools. They listened for ten years, not knowing how many they had heard.

"Just say the equipment is old and needs routine maintenance."

Old Sun turned around, leaned against the windowsill, and looked at him for a few seconds.

"Okay. I'll go tell them."

He's gone. He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking at the old locust tree in the yard. The leaves were green, rustling in the wind.

He put on the gloves and walked out of the office.

One of the light bulbs in the corridor was broken, flickering every few seconds and making the shadows on the wall sway and shorten. He slowed his pace as he passed the door to the archives. The door was closed, and a small piece of paint was peeling off the latch. He reached out and pressed it, but it wouldn't go back in. The key was digging into his thigh in his pocket; he took a few steps, then a few more, and the discomfort persisted. He pulled it out and glanced at it—it was brass, exactly the same as the other two, with a serial number engraved on it. A sliver of light shone through the window at the end of the corridor, dim and gray, illuminating the key without reflection. He put the key back in and continued walking.

The workshop door was made of sheet metal, creaking as it was pushed open, like something was making a noise. The lights were on, and Ma Yuejin was squatting in front of the Swiss-made machine tool, holding calipers and measuring a part. The blueprints were spread out on the floor, and a pencil stub lay beside them, rolling and almost falling into the oil tank. He reached out and caught it, holding it between his fingers without looking up.

"Director, I heard the Soviets planted listening devices in their radar?"

He Yuzhu walked over and squatted down next to him. The wire rod was on the shelf, silvery-white, gleaming under the light, its surface smooth like a mirror.

"Did Yang Xiaobing say that?"

Ma Yuejin nodded and put the calipers down. He didn't put them down properly, and they slipped. He hurriedly caught them.

"He placed those listening devices on the table and examined them for a long time." He lowered his head, carefully placing the calipers back in their proper place. "The Soviets were really cunning."

After saying that, he turned his face away, picked up the part, and pretended to measure it.

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He stood up, walked to the half-disassembled machine tool, squatted down, and looked at the parts. They were silvery-white, gleaming under the light, and smooth like a mirror.

"These won't happen."

Ma Yuejin was stunned for a moment.

"What?"

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

"The Swiss don't hide things like that. But from now on, all equipment coming from abroad will be inspected. We'll dismantle and examine each one individually."

Ma Yuejin nodded and picked up the calipers.

"OK."

He Yuzhu walked out of the workshop. The warehouse door was open, and Yang Xiaobing was inside counting the seized supplies. He saw He Yuzhu, put down his notebook, and walked over.

"Commander, Old Sun took those bugging devices."

He Yuzhu nodded.

"Any other discoveries?"

Yang Xiaobing shook his head.

"No. All those radars and radios have been dismantled, just those three."

He paused, then glanced into the warehouse. The disassembled radar units were piled up in the corner, their casings stacked together, circuit boards spread across the table, and wires dangling down like severed limbs.

"Commander, the Soviets are really cunning. They sell radar to people, and then they put this stuff inside."

He Yuzhu remained silent. He looked at the neatly stacked boxes in the warehouse—copper, aluminum, tungsten, tin, nickel. The Soviets had sold radar to India, intending to install listening devices inside to monitor India's military deployments. Unexpectedly, the radar was captured, and the listening devices ended up in Chinese hands.

"Store those Soviet equipment separately. Don't mix them with our stuff."

Yang Xiaobing responded and turned back to continue counting.

He Yuzhu stood at the warehouse door, looking at the disassembled radar units. He turned around and walked towards his office.

the phone is ringing.

He answered the phone, and it was Old Sun on the other end, his voice very low.

"Old He, we've found another one."

He Yuzhu held the microphone.

"Where?"

Old Sun didn't answer. There were footsteps and voices on the other end of the phone, but it was impossible to make out what they were saying. After a while, Old Sun's voice came through again.

"Not on the front lines. Back home."

He Yuzhu's hand tightened slightly.

Which organization?

Old Sun gave a name. He Yuzhu had heard of this company; it was in the communications business and he had dealt with them a few times. The equipment was imported in 1958; it was Soviet-made and still in use today.

"Where are the things?"

"It's still there. I didn't dare move it."

Old Sun paused for a moment.

"The origin cannot be traced. It's not an original Soviet product; it was re-installed."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He looked out the window. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the old locust tree in the yard, its leaves swaying gently in the wind.

Old Sun continued.

"Old He, this is a big deal. It's unclear whether the Soviets were faking it or someone else was."

The call ended. He Yuzhu stood there, listening to the busy tone on the receiver. He turned around and saw the three bugging devices still sitting on the table, their translucent plastic casings gleaming dimly under the light.

He picked one up and looked at it under the light. The metal wire inside was coiled neatly, in circles.

Source unknown.

It's not an original Soviet product.

He put down the bugging device and walked to the window. The shadow of the old locust tree in the yard was cast on the ground, dark and heavy, like a well. He put on the gloves, then took them off and held them in his hands. The gloves were old, the edges worn and frayed, Qin Huairu had worn them for several years.

He held it for a long time.

The wind outside stopped, and the leaves fell silent. It was as quiet as if something was holding its breath, waiting to speak.