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

The wind in December 1950 still carried a lingering chill, but it was much milder than at Changjin Lake. He Yuzhu's footsteps rustled on the frozen ground. His cotton shoes were new, thickly padded with Ula grass, but his toes were still a deep purple, like frostbitten radishes, and they became numb and swollen after walking for a while. The army doctor said it was a miracle he was still alive and warned him to be extremely careful.

The camp was set up in the shady woods, with shacks and tents scattered among them. There were many newly recruited soldiers, their faces unfamiliar, their eyes revealing the nervousness of someone going to the battlefield for the first time.

The reconnaissance platoon's sign hung outside a large shack; it was made of wood, and the characters were carved crookedly. He Yuzhu paused in front of the sign, then lifted the thick cotton curtain.

The room was filled with smoke. Shuanzi, Lao Geng, Xiao Shandong, and several other old buddies were all there, talking around a broken wooden crate. Seeing him enter, they jumped to their feet: "Platoon Leader!"

The shack was crammed with about thirty people—besides the veterans, there were more than twenty new faces, all of whom were key personnel drawn from various companies. Each of them was lean, with sharp eyes, and bore the marks of battle.

"Sit." He Yuzhu waved his hand and walked to the middle, a dull pain shooting through his feet. His expression remained unchanged as his gaze swept over everyone. Curiosity, scrutiny, suspicion—it was inevitable that he, at his age, had been promoted to platoon leader and felt resentful. Authority had to be earned through real action.

[Returned to unit after injury, confirmed position: Reconnaissance Platoon Leader (Sergeant First Class).]

[Personnel: 5 original core members + 25 transferred core members, totaling 30 people.]

[The troops are in a period of rest and reorganization, and their combat capabilities have been initially integrated.]

The moment the notification ended, a new stream of information flooded my mind:

[Changes in the battlefield situation detected; on the eve of the Third Campaign.]

[Triggering the quest chain: "Vanguard of the Han River Blockade Battle"]

[Mission Objective: Lead the reconnaissance platoon to conduct three high-value raids behind enemy lines before the campaign begins, independently destroying key enemy nodes (transportation hubs, command posts, ammunition depots, radar stations, etc.).]

[Mission Rewards: 30000 Battlefield Points for each successful completion; unlock the "Intermediate Military Technology Tree" after completing three missions.]

[Failure penalty: None (but will affect subsequent tasks and points acquisition).]

[Special Note: This mission is highly related to the main storyline "Iron-Blooded Foundation".]

The Battle of the Han River… a situational map flashed through He Yuzhu’s mind. That was the next bloodbath. The system’s mission was clear: to make him a pawn crossing the river—sharp, but dangerous.

Thirty thousand points per attempt, plus an intermediate technology tree—the temptation is immense, but the cost is obvious. Raids behind enemy lines are getting harder with each successive mission.

The shack fell silent. He Yuzhu walked to a table made of wooden planks, on which lay a captured military map, its edges worn and frayed. His finger traced the enemy's defensive line markings, finally stopping at a spot north of the Han River that was repeatedly circled in red pen.

Qingpingchuan Bridge.

"Look here," He Yuzhu said, his voice low but clear. He pointed to the bridge icon on the map, "Qingpingchuan Bridge, the choke point for the enemy's troop and ammunition transport to the south, guarded by a battalion, its fortifications as solid as an iron barrel."

He looked up, his gaze sweeping over every face. "Our mission, assigned by the division, is to infiltrate the enemy's rear before the major battle and strike where they're weak. This bridge seems perfect for that."

Someone below gasped. Blow up the bridge? Brigade-level defenses? This is an incredibly aggressive start.

"Are you scared?" He Yuzhu's lips twitched slightly. "It's normal. To be honest, I'm scared too. There are no reinforcements behind enemy lines. If we're exposed, we'll be sitting ducks." He paused. "But the war has come to this point, so we have to go, even if we're scared. Reconnaissance platoons are always on the edge of a knife. The division commander assigned you to me, not so you could stay in the rear."

He pressed his palm against the map, applying slight pressure. "This mission is a near-certain death mission. I'm telling you this: those who are only children, have elderly parents or young children they can't leave behind, or whose injuries haven't fully healed, step forward now. It's not shameful. I'll ask the company commander to transfer them to another post. The reconnaissance platoon only needs one type of person—"

His voice deepened, each word deliberate: "A man who isn't afraid of death, who wants to make the enemy's death even more gruesome, and incidentally... to come with me and earn a tremendous amount of merit!"

A few seconds of deathly silence fell over the shack. Only the mournful whistling of the wind through the treetops could be heard.

Shuanzi was the first to jump up, his face flushed: "Platoon leader! I'm with you! We've already crossed the Chosin Reservoir, what's there to be afraid of!"

Old Geng grunted in agreement. Little Shandong clenched his fist and nodded.

Among the new recruits, a scarred man scoffed, "Platoon leader, don't provoke me. If you're afraid of dying, you wouldn't be in the reconnaissance platoon. Blow up the bridge? I was already thinking about when we could blow it back when we were getting bombed in Yunshan!"

"Yeah! Fuck them!"

"Follow the platoon leader!"

"Earn merit!"

A roar rose, coalescing into a chorus that slammed against the wall. The bloodlust of the thirty men surged forth, dispelling their hesitation. He Yuzhu looked at these faces, some young, some weathered, yet all radiating fierce determination, and a heavy weight lifted from his heart. Soldiers must possess this spirit.

"Alright." He nodded. "If you're not afraid to die, then prepare to fight to the death. Shuanzi, take a few men to the logistics department and bring back all the ammunition, explosives, and rations our platoon is entitled to, without leaving a single one! Lao Geng, pick a few sharp-eyed and quick-footed men to come with me to the forward observation post this afternoon to see firsthand how thick that 'iron barrel' really is. The rest of you, check the weapons, clean them if necessary, repair them if necessary, and report any missing items."

The crowd responded with a roar and dispersed to get to work. He Yuzhu walked to a corner, found a wooden stool to sit on, and slowly rolled a cigarette. A dull ache in his toe reminded him that he hadn't fully recovered, but he couldn't wait. System tasks were piling up, the clock of the great battle was ticking, and he had to poke the nails before the wheels rolled in.

He had a cigarette but didn't light it, only holding it under his nose to smell the pungent, earthy tobacco. He closed his eyes, and in a daze, the gray sky of Beiping, the narrow alleys, and the old locust tree in the courtyard flashed through his mind.

The scene shifts. As if separated by mountains and rivers, under the glow of an oil lamp, an elderly deaf woman, wearing reading glasses, holds He Yushui's small hand, carefully writing something on an old newspaper. Yushui's brows are furrowed, her little face earnest and adorable, the pencil stub moving laboriously across the paper, leaving behind large, crooked, yet forceful characters:

"Brother, you're a hero."

He Yuzhu's lips curved slightly involuntarily, a faint smile that quickly faded before he straightened his lips. A hero? What kind of hero was he? He was nothing more than a desperate man in a meat grinder, trying to survive and take others down with him.

But that distant warmth belonging to "He Yuzhu" was like a gentle current, briefly soothing his tense nerves in this icy, snowy foreign forest.

He opened his eyes, put the unlit cigarette in his pocket, and stood up. The pain in his feet seemed to have lessened a bit.

Outside the shack, Shuanzi and the others had returned carrying boxes, grumbling and complaining about the stinginess of the logistics department. Old Geng leaned closer and whispered a few names. Snow began to fall again, covering the muddy footprints.

He Yuzhu tightened the collar of his cotton coat, glanced in the direction of Beijing, and turned to walk towards the assembled soldiers.

The system's journey to accumulating billions of points has only just begun.

The gears of fate for the courtyard house were quietly shifted in that distant peace by the word "hero" who emerged from the flames of war.

His journey ahead was to the Han River, to the bridge over Cheongpyeongcheon that had to be blown up, and to countless more cold nights and dawns where life and death remained uncertain.

"Let's go," he said, his voice disappearing into the rustling snow-covered forests of North Korea in winter.