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

The hospital is in the west of the city, a three-story gray building with dark green window frames. It's old, but it's always spotless. There are two ginkgo trees at the entrance, their leaves half-yellow. When the wind blows, they rustle down and fall, covering the steps in a thin layer.

He Yuzhu stood in front of the building, looking at the white sign with black lettering—"Beijing Municipal Cadre Sanatorium." The sign was polished to a shine, and the lettering was clear. He stood there for a while, then pushed open the door and went inside.

Someone was mopping the floor in the corridor; the water stains hadn't dried yet, and the air smelled of disinfectant mixed with traditional Chinese medicine. The young nurse at the nurses' station looked up and asked him who he was looking for. He said he was looking for Sun Deming, and the young nurse pointed to the innermost room on the second floor.

The stair railing was made of wood, polished to a shine, and made no sound when stepped on. He walked slowly, taking one step at a time, the name swirling in his mind. Sun Deming, sixty-two years old, retired from the Ministry of Machinery Industry, had worked under his old leader for over ten years, and retired after the old leader passed away. He had written Zhou Weixian's letter of recommendation. That year, Zhou Weixian had just graduated and been assigned to the research institute, needing a recommender. Sun Deming wrote one, a rather long one, praising the young man as reliable, hardworking, and promising.

The second-floor corridor was darker than the first floor, with a layer of dust on the lampshades, casting a dim, yellowish light. The door at the end was open, and the sound of a radio could be heard from inside, playing intermittently the story of "The Empty City Stratagem," where Zhuge Liang was waiting for Sima Yi on the city tower.

He Yuzhu stood at the door and knocked twice.

"Come in."

He pushed open the door and went in. The room wasn't big; there was a bed, a cabinet, and a table. The window faced south, so the light was good, and a potted asparagus fern sat neatly trimmed on the windowsill. Lying on the bed was a thin man with sagging skin, prominent cheekbones, and sunken eyes. He was wearing a faded blue striped hospital gown, the collar loose and baggy.

When Sun Deming saw him, he was stunned for a moment. He propped himself up and sat up slowly, holding onto the edge of the bed. He took a couple of breaths before he was able to sit up properly.

"Who are you……"

He Yuzhu sat down on the chair beside the bed. "Director Sun, I am He Yuzhu from Chengshan Research Institute."

Sun Deming stared at him for a while, then nodded. "I've heard of you. My old leader mentioned you. He said you were involved in a lot of things, tanks, satellites—you were the one who spearheaded them all."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He noticed a photograph on the bedside table, framed in wood and polished to a shine. The photograph showed two people, one young and one older, standing in front of a pine tree. He recognized the young man; he was his former leader. The older man was Sun Deming.

"That photo," Sun Deming followed his gaze, "was taken in 1962. My old leader came to see me here and told me to take good care of myself and come back to work when I recovered." He paused, "but he never did."

He Yuzhu turned his gaze back. Birds were chirping outside the window, one call after another, slowly.

"Director Sun, I've come today to ask you about someone."

Sun Deming looked at him. "Who?"

He Yuzhu took a piece of paper out of his bag, folded it twice, unfolded it, and placed it on the bed. It was a photocopy of the recommendation letter, with the old leader's handwriting, neat and tidy, stroke by stroke.

Sun Deming picked it up and examined it closely. He took out his reading glasses and put them on; the temples were wrapped with tape. After looking at them for a while, he put them down.

"Zhou Weixian. What happened? Did something happen to him?"

The voice wasn't loud, but it was steady.

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He took out a few more sheets of paper from his bag; they were photocopies of remittance slips from Hong Kong, with Zhou Weixian's name listed as the payee. He laid the papers out one by one on the bed, in a row.

Sun Deming lowered his head, looking at the papers. He picked up the first one, looked at it for a few seconds, and put it down. He picked up the second one, ran his fingers along the edge, and put it down again. He didn't pick up the third one; he just stared at it. His hand began to tremble, and the edges of the paper rustled.

"This is……"

"It was wired from Hong Kong. It was found in his residence."

Sun Deming took off his glasses and placed them on the bedside table. He leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed. The room was quiet; the radio was still playing Zhuge Liang's song, drawing out the line, "I am viewing the mountain scenery from the city tower."

After a while, he opened his eyes.

"I have no idea."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

Sun Deming turned to look at him. His eyes were red, but no tears fell. "Dean He, I don't know. That year he came to me, saying he wanted to do research and asked me to write a letter of recommendation. I saw he was young and ambitious, so I wrote it. When the old leader passed away, he asked me to keep an eye on those young people, to make sure they didn't go astray." He paused, "I didn't do a good job."

The voice was very soft, as if it were squeezed out of the throat.

He Yuzhu carefully collected the papers one by one, folded them neatly, and put them back in his bag. "Director Sun, have you seen him recently?"

Sun Deming thought for a moment. "Last year. He came to see me, bringing a bag of apples. He sat for half an hour, then said he was busy with work and left. He's never come back."

"What did he say to you?"

"He talked about the research institute, the project progress, and how good his superiors were to him." He frowned, as if deep in thought. "He also mentioned that his former boss had been kind to him, giving him the opportunity to study in Hong Kong. He didn't want to go, saying he was fine in China."

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on his knee. "Who told him to go?"

Sun Deming shook his head. "He didn't say. I didn't ask either."

He Yuzhu stood up. The chair shifted, scraping against the floor with a creak. He pushed the chair back to its original position and walked to the bedside.

"Director Sun, please take good care of yourself. We will handle Zhou Weixian's matter."

Sun Deming looked up at him. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He Yuzhu stood there, waiting. After a few seconds, Sun Deming looked down at his hands.

"Dean He, I'm sorry to my former leader."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He looked at those hands, so thin they were just skin and bones, and at that wrinkled face. He remembered that year when his old leader was on his sickbed, holding his hand and saying, "From now on, you'll walk this road alone."

"Director Sun, this has nothing to do with you."

Sun Deming shook his head and didn't say anything more. He Yuzhu stood for a while, then turned and walked out. Reaching the door, he glanced back. Sun Deming leaned against the pillow, eyes closed, motionless. The photograph was still on the bedside table, polished to a shine. He gently closed the door.

When he went downstairs, the corridor lights were still dim. The person who mopped the floor had left, and the water stains had dried. He pushed open the door, and a cool breeze blew in, causing a few ginkgo leaves to flutter down the steps. Yang Xiaobing was waiting in the car. Seeing him come out, he opened the car door.

"Commander, shall we return to the research institute?"

He Yuzhu sat down. "Mm."

The car drove out of the courtyard gate and onto the main road. He Yuzhu leaned back in his seat, looking out the window. Most of the leaves on the roadside trees had turned yellow, and they fell with a gust of wind. Sun Deming's words kept replaying in his mind, "I'm sorry to my old leader," his voice was very soft, as if squeezed out from his throat. Yang Xiaobing glanced at him in the rearview mirror, didn't say anything, and slowed down the car a little.

Back at the research institute, it was getting dark. The courtyard was nearly deserted; a few streetlights had just come on, casting a cold glow on the concrete. He Yuzhu walked past the document room and paused. The door was closed and securely locked. The key, heavy in his pocket, remained. He continued walking, pushed open the office door, and sat down in a chair without turning on the light.

The letter of recommendation was still in his bag. He took it out and spread it on the table. His old boss's handwriting was neat and tidy, stroke by stroke. He picked up the letter, looked at it for a few seconds, and put it down. He picked it up again, and put it down again. Then he took a bottle of liquor from the cabinet, unscrewed the cap, and poured himself a glass. The liquor was white, and it burned his throat. He took a sip and coughed twice, choking. He took another sip, swallowed it, and felt the burning sensation travel from his throat all the way to his stomach.

The door opened. Qin Huairu stood in the doorway, wearing an apron, her hands still covered in flour.

"Nianhua is asleep. I noticed you hadn't returned yet, so I came to check on you."

She walked over, saw the wine bottle on the table, and didn't say anything. After standing there for a while, she reached out, took the bottle, screwed the cap back on, and put it back in the cabinet.

"What's wrong?"

He Yuzhu shook his head. "It's nothing."

Qin Huairu didn't ask any more questions. She sat down beside him and leaned on his shoulder. He Yuzhu didn't move; he just sat there. It was dark outside, the streetlights were on, and the light shone in through the window, casting their shadows on the wall.

After a long silence, He Yuzhu finally spoke. "That old leader, his subordinate, was manipulated. He didn't know anything. He knew absolutely nothing. But he felt it was his fault."

Qin Huairu didn't speak. She placed her hand on the back of his hand; his palm was warm.

The phone rang. He Yuzhu didn't move. After three rings, Qin Huairu said softly, "Answer it."

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

"Old He, we caught someone. He's from Pu Zheng's side, he came from Hong Kong and was intercepted in Guangzhou. His code name is 'Second Master'."

He Yuzhu held the microphone, remaining silent for a few seconds. "Has the interrogation taken place?"

"They've questioned him. He's stubborn and hasn't said a word yet."

"I'll be right there."

He put down the phone and stood up. Qin Huairu also stood up, took off her apron and draped it over the back of her chair.

"Going out?"

He Yuzhu nodded. "Mm."

Qin Huairu didn't ask any more questions. She walked to the door, glanced back at him, and said, "Come back soon."

He Yuzhu put on his coat and followed her out of the office. The corridor was dark, except for the green light on the emergency exit. He passed the door of the records room, paused for a moment, and then continued walking. He pushed open the door, and a cool breeze blew in. He took a deep breath and headed towards the task force.