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

When Lao Sun arrived, He Yuzhu was organizing the account books he had brought back from Northeast China. The door wasn't closed, and Lao Sun stood at the entrance, carrying an oilcloth bag. He didn't come in, but first glanced at both ends of the corridor. He Yuzhu looked up, and only then did Lao Sun come in and close the door behind him.

The oilcloth bundle was placed on the table. When Old Sun tried to untie the hemp rope, his fingers were a little stiff, and he couldn't untie it after a couple of tries. He Yuzhu didn't urge him, but waited for him to untie it slowly. Once the rope was untied, there was a piece of kraft paper inside, and inside that was a notebook with frayed edges and rolled-up pages, as if it had been soaked in water and then dried.

"Two days of deciphering, and this is all we have." Old Sun pushed the notebook over, but instead of sitting down, he walked to the window, opened the curtains a crack, glanced outside, and then closed them again.

He Yuzhu turned to the first page. Numbers, grouped in fours and fives, were arranged neatly, making one's head spin. He flipped to the next page, where a translation was appended. The handwriting was hasty, with a few words smudged. "Supplies dispatched on the 20th of this month; please check receipt." "The people in the north are reliable; you can use them with confidence." "A counter-offensive is imminent; prepare accordingly."

He turned to the last page and his hand stopped on it.

"There are people in the capital; we can wait for the right opportunity."

He Yuzhu turned the page over; the back was blank. He turned it back again, and the words were clearly visible under the light, each stroke steady and deliberate, unlike the hasty ones from before.

Old Sun walked over from the window and sat down opposite him. He took out a cigarette, but didn't light it; he just held it in his hand, tobacco shavings puffing out from both ends of the cigarette tube.

"Was it given to you by Taiwan?"

He Yuzhu put the paper down. Old Sun nodded, placed the crumpled cigarette on the table, picked it up again, and then put it down again.

"The money and equipment all came from Taiwan. They were transferred through Hong Kong and then to the mainland. Pu Zheng acted as the middleman, contacting those Manchu remnants." He paused, "and sent them to an address in Hong Kong that we knew about but couldn't access."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the wall. The photos were still pinned there: Pu Zheng's, Chen Zhiyuan's, Wang Defa's, Sun Dewang's. One by one, from top to bottom, from Hong Kong to Shenyang, from Shenyang to Beijing. The top photo showed Pu Zheng standing in front of a Western-style building, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, a dark suit, his hair neatly combed, and a respectable smile. The bottom photo was of Old Liu, the short, stout man from the research institute's logistics department, who always had a beaming smile. The photo was taken from the archives; he was wearing a blue cloth jacket, standing at the warehouse door, holding a notebook.

He Yuzhu reached out and straightened Lao Liu's paper. The thumbtack was loose; he pressed it twice, but it wouldn't go in, so he replaced it with a new one. The sound of the thumbtack hitting the corkboard was clear in the quiet office.

Yang Xiaobing stood at the door, I don't know when he arrived. He didn't come in, but leaned against the door frame, looking at the photos.

"Commander, what about Pu Zheng...?"

He Yuzhu didn't let him continue.

"Can't reach it."

As he uttered those two words, his hand was still pressing the new thumbtack against the wall. The thumbtack was already in, but his finger lingered there for a couple more seconds.

Yang Xiaobing remained silent. He Yuzhu took a step back, looking at the photos from top to bottom, from Pu Zheng to Lao Liu. Pu Zheng's photo was at the very top, its edges curled up. He reached out and pressed it down, but couldn't flatten it, so he let go.

"Does the higher-ups know?"

Old Sun lit his cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled.

"Understood. The telegram has been sent. They're taking it very seriously."

He Yuzhu turned around and saw Old Sun flicking cigarette ash into the ashtray, taking two flicks before it went in.

The Ministry of Public Security building was on Wangfujing Street, dusty and drab. The sentries at the entrance had changed shifts. The one going off duty stamped his foot; his legs had probably gone numb from standing for so long. The one going on duty took the gun; the butt of the rifle hit the concrete ground with a dull thud.

When He Yuzhu arrived, one of the light bulbs in the corridor was broken, causing the light to flicker. As he walked by, the light went out briefly, causing him to slow his pace slightly before continuing. The task force's office was at the far end of the third floor, the door open, with smoke billowing out like smoke from a boiled-out stove.

Li Jianguo sat in the main seat, with an ashtray piled high in front of him. He stood up and shook hands with He Yuzhu, the calluses on his hands making He Yuzhu's palm itch.

"Where is the head? Sit down."

He had a heavy Shandong accent, and his speech sounded like he was chewing something hard. When He Yuzhu sat down, the chair leg scraped on the ground with a jarring sound. Several people in the room looked up at him, then looked down again.

The map was spread out, and someone flicked cigarette ash onto it. Li Jianguo wiped it with his hand, and the ash smeared between the red and blue arrows, forming a small, dusty patch. Red dots lined the map, one after another, from north to south, from east to west. Pu Zheng had people in Shenyang, Beijing, Guangzhou, and Shanghai.

After Li Jianguo finished recounting the case, he paused and looked at He Yuzhu. His gaze wasn't one of seeking opinion; it was one of weighing something.

"You'll take the lead on the technical investigation."

The room was quiet for a few seconds. Someone walked in the hallway, leather shoes clicking on the terrazzo floor, getting closer and then further away.

He Yuzhu looked down at the map and pressed his finger on the spot where Pu Zheng's photo was.

"Team Leader Li, I can handle the technical investigation. But the task force needs someone to take the lead."

Li Jianguo's lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile, but he didn't.

"We have a pillar of support now." He patted his chest pocket. "I'm here. You focus on your skills, don't worry about anything else."

He Yuzhu didn't speak again. He picked up the work ID from the table; it had a red cover, and the three gold-embossed words "Ministry of Public Security" gleamed under the light. He opened it, and inside was his photo and an official seal. The position section read: Deputy Head of the Special Task Force (Technical Investigation).

He closed his work ID and put it in his pocket.

As he stepped out of the building, the wind was strong on the steps. He Yuzhu stood there and lit a cigarette. He didn't smoke often; it took him two tries to light the match. The smoke was blown away by the wind, and after taking a drag, he coughed twice, choking on the smoke.

People came and went on the street, but no one paid him any attention. A child ran past him, holding a bright red candied hawthorn stick, a stark contrast to the dusty street. A woman chased after him, calling out, "Slow down, slow down!" He Yuzhu watched the child run away, then stubbed out his cigarette and threw it in the trash can.

Yang Xiaobing's car was parked across the street, the engine still running, white smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe. As He Yuzhu crossed the street, a bus drove past, its front panel displaying the words "Unite the People of the Nation" in large red letters, flashing briefly in front of him.

He opened the car door and got in. Yang Xiaobing didn't ask him how the car was going, but turned the heater up a bit.

"go home."

The car started moving. The streetlights outside the window receded one by one. He Yuzhu took his work ID out of his pocket, twirled it in his hand, and then put it back. Yang Xiaobing glanced at it in the rearview mirror but didn't say anything.

He Nianhua was squatting in the corner of the yard, drawing something on the ground with a twig. He Yuzhu walked over and looked down. He saw that it was a tank with a crooked cannon barrel and several people standing next to it, their heads drawn particularly large.

"Who is this?"

He Nianhua looked up, his face covered in ash.

"Uncle Yang. And Dad. And me."

He Yuzhu squatted down, took the branch, and straightened the tank's cannon barrel a little. He Nianhua was not satisfied, snatched the branch back, and drew it crooked again.

"Dad's tank is crooked."

He Yuzhu smiled. He Nianhua looked at him and suddenly asked, "Dad, are you leaving again?"

He Yuzhu paused for a moment. He Nianhua lowered her head and continued drawing the tank. After a couple of strokes, she said, "Mom didn't sleep well last night."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked into the house. Qin Huairu was busy at the stove, her back to the door. The pot lid on the stove was bouncing with the steam, but she didn't lift it.

Nianhua said you didn't sleep well last night.

Qin Huairu paused for a moment, the spatula hovering in mid-air.

"He's talking nonsense."

She placed the spatula down, lifted the lid, and steam billowed up, obscuring her face. He Yuzhu stood there, waiting for the steam to dissipate, while she began serving the food, not looking at him.

"How long will this take?"

He Yuzhu thought for a moment. "I don't know."

She slammed the plate on the table; the bottom of the plate hit the table with a soft but solid sound.

"Have a meal."

He Nianhua ran in, wiped the dust off his hands on his pants, and climbed onto the stool. He picked up a piece of meat, put it in his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, then picked up another piece and put it in He Yuzhu's bowl.

"Dad eats."

He Yuzhu lowered his head and stuffed the piece of meat into his mouth. Qin Huairu sat down opposite him, picked up her chopsticks, but didn't eat anything. She glanced at He Yuzhu. There was something in that glance, but she didn't say anything and lowered her head to eat.

He Nianhua stood in the middle, looking at this and that, and pushed her bowl forward a little.

"Mom, you eat too."

Qin Huairu picked up a piece of green vegetable with her chopsticks, put it in her mouth, and chewed it for a long time.

That night, He Nianhua fell asleep, her little hand resting on He Yuzhu's face. He Yuzhu didn't move, listening to her breathing slowly become deeper. Qin Huairu lay on the other side, her back to him. The room was quiet; the wind in the yard could be heard, making a clanging sound as it blew something.

"That task force," Qin Huairu's voice came from the shadows, "how long will it take?"

"I don't know. Pu Zheng is in Hong Kong, out of reach. But his people are on the mainland, they can be arrested."

Qin Huairu turned over, facing the ceiling.

"Can they catch them all?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He thought of the photos on the wall, from top to bottom, from Pu Zheng to Lao Liu. Those red dots, from north to south, from east to west.

He Nianhua's hand slid down his face and landed on the pillow. He gently tucked the blanket around him.

Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, illuminating the courtyard in a white light. The tank with the crooked cannon was still crouching in the corner of the yard; the one drawn on the tree branch was blurred by the wind, and the cannon barrel was crooked even more.