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

When the train arrived in Shenyang, it was still dark.

He Yuzhu had been leaning against the car window, gazing into the darkness for a long time. He couldn't see anything outside; occasionally a light would flash by, its dim yellow glow gliding across the glass before disappearing. The carriage reeked of a mixture of smoke and instant noodle soup, making him feel drowsy. Yang Xiaobing sat opposite him, slowly wiping the dagger with a soft cloth. Old Lu leaned against the window across the aisle, his eyes closed, but He Yuzhu knew he wasn't asleep. The way he turned over didn't sound like someone asleep.

"Commander, are we almost at Shenyang?"

Yang Xiaobing put the dagger away and glanced out the window. It was pitch black; he couldn't see anything.

"Soon."

As the bus slowed down, streetlights began to appear, sparse at first, then gradually becoming more numerous. The platform lights were dazzling, illuminating the long shadows of the people carrying large and small bags. He Yuzhu stood up, his legs a little stiff, and held onto the back of the chair for a few seconds before taking a step. Yang Xiaobing picked up his canvas bag and followed behind, while Lao Lu was the last to get off the bus, without uttering a sound.

As the cold wind rushed into his collar, He Yuzhu shrank his neck. Shenyang was colder than Beijing; the wind felt like knives on his face. A middle-aged man in a police uniform stood on the platform. He had a round face, wore an old cotton-padded jacket with the collar turned up, and his hands were tucked into his sleeves. He saw He Yuzhu and took two steps forward.

"Where is the director? I am Zhao Tieshan from the Shenyang Municipal Public Security Bureau."

He pulled his hand out of his sleeve and shook hands with He Yuzhu. His palms were rough and covered in calluses.

"We've been keeping an eye on that 'Third Master' for half a month."

They got into a jeep. The car sped along, the street scenes outside the window flashing by, some bright, some dark. Zhao Tieshan sat in the passenger seat, turning to speak.

"His surname is Sun, Sun Dewang, and he is forty-seven years old. He owns a restaurant in Tiexi District called 'Dexingju'. During the period of public-private partnership, it was merged into the catering company. He is now the manager of the restaurant, receiving a salary and managing the kitchen and front of house."

He Yuzhu looked out the window.

"How's business?"

Zhao Tieshan thought for a moment.

"He's alright. That area is full of factories, lots of workers, lots of people to eat. He's good at networking, he can chat with anyone. He seems like an ordinary businessman, nothing special."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. The car turned into an alley, the road narrowed, and there were single-story houses on both sides, with dim yellow light shining from the windows. Zhao Tieshan told the driver to stop and pointed ahead.

"It's right there. Just around the corner."

As dawn broke, the streets were still mostly deserted. The signboard of "Dexingju" hung above the entrance, its wooden frame and red-painted characters showing signs of age, with much of the paint peeling off. The door was still firmly shut. He Yuzhu stood at the alley entrance for a while, not in a hurry to go over.

"Where's the back door?"

Zhao Tieshan pointed to a narrower alley next to him.

"It leads to that alley at the back. Our men have been guarding it for two days, but we haven't seen anyone walk through there."

He Yuzhu turned around and looked at Yang Xiaobing and Lao Lu.

"You all go to the back. Comrade Zhao and I will enter through the front door."

Yang Xiaobing nodded and led Lao Lu around. He Yuzhu stood there for a while before moving forward.

Zhao Tieshan knocked on the door, but there was no response. He knocked a few more times before he heard footsteps, dragging and shuffling, as if someone had just crawled out of bed. The door opened a crack, revealing a chubby face with eyes not yet fully open.

"Officer Zhao? So early..."

The door opened wide. Sun Dewang stood there, wearing a wrinkled white jacket and an greasy apron, his hair disheveled. He glanced at Zhao Tieshan, then at He Yuzhu, his facial muscles twitching slightly.

"And this is...?"

"I'm from Beijing. I have a few questions for you."

Sun Dewang stepped aside, wiping his hands on his apron. He Yuzhu went inside. The shop was dimly lit, with small windows and no lights on. The tables were arranged fairly neatly, with long benches turned upside down and placed on the tabletops. The stove was clean, with the spatulas hanging neatly. The air was filled with the smell of stale cooking oil mixed with the raw, fishy odor of cabbage.

He Yuzhu didn't rush to ask. He walked around the shop. He ran his finger across the table and looked at his fingertip. There wasn't much dust; it had been wiped clean fairly frequently. He walked to the counter, where an abacus sat, its beads polished to a shine. Next to it was a notebook for keeping accounts. He picked it up and flipped through it. The handwriting was neat and precise, each stroke deliberate.

"Manager Sun, your handwriting is excellent. Have you practiced?"

Sun Dewang stood behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron.

"I attended a private school for two years when I was a child. It wasn't very good; I just wrote slowly, stroke by stroke."

He Yuzhu put down the notebook and turned to look at him.

"How long has Manager Sun been working in this area?"

Sun Dewang thought for a moment.

"I came here back when the public-private partnership was established. I started as a kitchen helper, then moved on to purchasing, and later became a manager. All in all... it's been about ten years."

"Over the past ten years or so, I've gotten to know quite a few people."

Sun Dewang chuckled dryly, his voice a little tense.

"They're all neighbors, people we eat and drink with. You know, running a restaurant is all about having good relationships. You have to chat with everyone who comes, otherwise they won't come back."

He Yuzhu nodded and turned around again. He walked to the kitchen doorway, looked at the pot on the stove, and then at the pile of cabbages in the corner. The cabbage leaves were a little wilted and the edges were turning yellow.

"Business is alright?"

"It's alright. Enough to eat and drink. There are many factories and workers in this area, so there's no worry about food. It's just that the profit margin is low, so you can't make big money."

As Sun Dewang spoke, he wiped his hand on his apron again. He Yuzhu noticed this gesture but didn't say anything. He walked back and sat down at the table near the door, looking at Sun Dewang. Sun Dewang stood behind the counter, unsure of what to do with his hands, sometimes resting them on the counter, sometimes putting them down.

"Manager Sun, do you know Chen Zhiyuan?"

Sun Dewang's hand stopped on the counter.

"Chen...Chen Zhiyuan? Which Chen Zhiyuan?"

"From the south. A businessman."

Sun Dewang thought for a moment, then shook his head, very slowly.

"I don't know them. My little business doesn't have much contact with people from the South." As he said this, he didn't look at He Yuzhu, but stared at the abacus beads on the counter, flicking them with his fingers once and then again.

He Yuzhu didn't press the matter. He stood up and walked around the shop again. This time, he returned to the kitchen door, lifted the curtain, and peeked inside. The stove had been wiped clean, the pots and pans were neatly arranged, and the spice bottles were lined up with their labels facing outwards. He lowered the curtain and walked towards the backyard.

Sun Dewang followed behind, his pace quickening.

"Where's the head of the household? The backyard is just piled with junk; there's nothing to see..."

He Yuzhu didn't stop. The backyard wasn't large; several baskets of cabbages were piled against the wall, and several bundles of scallions were stacked next to them. A water vat sat in the corner, its rim covered with moss. Some of the bricks on the ground were broken, revealing the mud underneath. He slowly walked over, stepping on a brick with a thud. He looked down; the brick was slightly lower than the ones next to it, with a crack in the edge, revealing that it was hollow underneath.