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

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. So long that He Yuzhu thought the line had been cut off, that Lin Jianguo's voice finally came through again, very low, as if afraid something would hear it.

"Dean, 'Falcon' has made a move."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He waited. From Lin Jianguo's side came the rustling sound of turning pages.

"He came from Ruili last night. The border guards saw him; the features matched. He was carrying a canvas bag and heading north."

"Head north." He Yuzhu repeated the three words, tapping his finger on the table.

"Yes." Lin Jianguo paused. "They're heading north, specifically towards us."

He Yuzhu switched hands with the microphone. "Is the signal reliable?"

"Yes." Lin Jianguo's voice suddenly quickened, then subsided. "It was intercepted at Guangzhou station, the frequency is the same as last time. They said the target is 'data'."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He looked at the map on the table, the winding line from Ruili to Beijing, spanning most of China. That man, carrying a canvas bag, came from Myanmar, taking back roads, crossing mountains, taking a car, and then crossing mountains again. No matter how slowly he walked, he would get there.

"Does Yunnan know about this?"

"Understood. The Public Security Bureau has already set up a perimeter. However, the terrain there is complex, and the border defense regiment doesn't have enough manpower."

He Yuzhu hung up the phone and stood by the window. The windowpane was covered with a layer of dust, and the sky outside was hazy and gray, like a dirty rag. He rolled up the map and stuffed it into his briefcase.

Li Jianguo was still in the task force office, hunched over the large map, a red pen still clutched in his hand. He heard the door open, looked up, saw He Yuzhu enter, and put the pen down.

"Old He, we're short-handed in Yunnan." He Yuzhu placed his briefcase on the table. "I'll take some men."

Li Jianguo looked at him but didn't reply immediately. He stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open a crack. It was getting dark outside, and the lights in the yard weren't on yet.

"Conditions over there are terrible. There are no guesthouses; you have to stay in the border troops' barracks. There are lots of mosquitoes and snakes. Can your legs handle it?"

He Yuzhu did not answer the question. "The people came from Myanmar, taking the caravan route. The forests there are dense; people unfamiliar with the terrain could go in and not find their way out for ten days or half a month."

Li Jianguo turned around. "How long are you going to be gone?"

"Come back as soon as you catch them."

Yang Xiaobing was cleaning the dagger when he received the notification. He drew the dagger from its sheath and slowly wiped it with a soft cloth, wiping it once, turning it over, and wiping it again. Old Lu sat opposite him, his eyes closed, as if asleep. Hearing footsteps, he opened his eyes and saw He Yuzhu standing in the doorway.

"Commander, are we going to Yunnan?"

He Yuzhu nodded. "Call Zhao Tiezhu, and pick a few more clever ones."

Yang Xiaobing sheathed the dagger and stood up. "I'll go call them."

The train journey from Beijing to Kunming requires three transfers. First, it goes to Zhengzhou, where you wait for half a day before transferring to another train. Then it goes to Xi'an, where you wait again before transferring once more. By the time you arrive in Chengdu, it's already the third day, and you have to transfer again. Each stop is long, and the platforms are crowded with people carrying large and small bags.

He Yuzhu leaned against the car window, watching the scenery outside slowly change. The plains disappeared, replaced by hills. The hills disappeared, replaced by mountains. One after another, endlessly. Yang Xiaobing sat opposite him, drawing his dagger from its sheath, glancing at it, then sheathing it again. A moment later, he drew it again, glanced at it, and sheathed it again.

Old Lu leaned back in his chair, motionless. Zhao Tiezhu sat in the aisle, clutching his military binoculars, turning them over and over. As the train passed Guiyang, tunnel after tunnel appeared, one moment a glimpse of light, the next plunged back into darkness. Yang Xiaobing sheathed his dagger, tucked it behind his waist, and sat up straight.

"Commander, could they have already escaped?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He looked out the window, the lights at the tunnel entrance flickering, casting an intermittent glow on his face.

It was four in the morning when we arrived in Kunming. The platform lights were still on, casting a dim yellow glow on the people squatting on the ground waiting for their trains. A middle-aged man in a police uniform stood at the exit, holding a sign that read "Picking up Comrade He Yuzhu from Beijing," being jostled about by the crowd. He saw He Yuzhu, pushed his way through, and reached out his hand.

"Where is the director? I'm Lao Fang from the Yunnan Provincial Department."

He Yuzhu shook hands with him. Old Fang's hands were rough, with dirt stuck in his fingernails, his face was tanned dark red, and he spoke with a heavy Yunnan accent.

"We haven't caught him yet. He showed up in Ruili three days ago, disappeared into the woods, and we haven't been able to catch him."

He Yuzhu followed him outside. "What features?"

Old Fang pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and flipped through it as he walked. "Around thirty years old, not tall, thin. Wearing a blue cloth shirt and carrying a canvas bag. According to the locals, he came from northern Myanmar and can speak a few words of Mandarin."

He paused, his pace slowing. "He might have something on him."

The jeep took two days to drive from Kunming to Ruili. After passing Mangshi, the road narrowed, turning from asphalt to gravel, and then to dirt. Both sides were lined with dense forests, so thick you couldn't see the sky. Old Fang, sitting in the passenger seat, pointed ahead. "Beyond that river is Myanmar."

He Yuzhu got out of the car and stood by the roadside looking ahead. The river wasn't wide, and the water was shallow enough to see the stones at the bottom. The opposite bank was also covered in woods, exactly the same as this side. The sun was setting, turning the river water a dark red.

The border regiment's barracks were on an open space by the river, consisting of several rows of brick houses with snow-white walls and asbestos-tiled roofs. A thin, dark-skinned soldier stood at the door, saw He Yuzhu, ran over, and saluted.

"Where is the commander? Wang Dehou, from the border defense regiment."