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

He Yuzhu stood by the office window and saw Lin Jianguo enter through the main gate. Lin Jianguo kept his head down, an old leather bag tucked under his arm, and walked slower than usual, each step seeming like he was counting the bricks on the ground. Reaching the middle of the courtyard, he stopped, bent down, picked up a crumpled piece of newspaper, unfolded it, glanced at it, crumpled it up again, and threw it into the trash can. Only then did he continue walking into the building.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway from the stairwell, drawn out and hesitant. Reaching the door, He Yuzhu didn't knock. After a moment, he heard the key turn twice in the lock—he had locked the door. He never used to lock it. The door opened, and Lin Jianguo stood there, key in hand. Without looking at He Yuzhu, he bent down to remove the key from the key ring and held it tightly in his palm.

He Yuzhu didn't speak or move. Lin Jianguo walked in, sat down in a chair, placed his briefcase on his lap, and pressed his hand against the bag's flap, his knuckles turning white. After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Dean, about my things at home..."

He stopped halfway through his sentence. He Yuzhu waited. He looked down at his hands, where the key in his palm had left a red mark.

"Those books, tear them up, we can always buy more." He paused, then turned the key over. "But what if the documents are gone..."

Before he could finish speaking, He Yuzhu stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open a crack. The sky outside was overcast, and people were putting up big-character posters outside the courtyard wall, wearing red armbands. They left quickly after finishing.

"Have you thought it through?"

Lin Jianguo said from behind, "I thought about it all night."

He Yuzhu turned around. "Come on, I'll go with you."

The archives were at the far end of the corridor. When He Yuzhu arrived, Old Zheng was already standing at the door, leaning against the wall smoking. He nodded when he saw He Yuzhu. The two of them didn't speak, waiting for Lin Jianguo. About five minutes later, Lin Jianguo walked over from the other end of the corridor. He walked quickly, but slowed down when he got to the lock. His hand trembled as he took out his key, and it took him two tries to insert it into the lock.

The three keys turned simultaneously, and the iron gate opened. He Yuzhu walked in, stopped in front of the innermost row of cabinets, and pulled open the cabinet labeled "Computer·Galaxy III". The cabinet was empty, the metal gleaming dimly under the light. Lin Jianguo stood in the doorway, not coming in, his old leather bag tucked under his arm, his fingers gripping the strap, his knuckles white.

He Yuzhu turned around. "Come in."

Lin Jianguo walked in, placed his briefcase on the table, and unzipped it. Stacks of papers were piled inside, some clipped together, some bound with rubber bands, and some just lying loose, their edges curled up. He took out the first stack, smoothed out the curled edges with his hands, and after a long time, put it in the cabinet. He took out the second stack, smoothed it out again, and put it away. After putting away the last stack, he stood in front of the cabinet, looking at the papers, without moving.

"Dean, is it safe to leave this here?"

He Yuzhu closed and locked the cabinet door. "Safe."

Lin Jianguo nodded. He removed the key from the key ring, found a thin string, threaded it through the keyhole, tied a knot, hung it around his neck, and tucked it inside his clothes. He felt the key through his clothes; it was digging into his chest, making a small bulge.

"Let's go," He Yuzhu said.

Lin Jianguo followed him out of the archives room, his hand pressed against the bulge in his chest. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and glanced back at the archives room door. The door was closed and securely locked.

"Dean, I'll head back now."

He Yuzhu nodded. Lin Jianguo went downstairs, his footsteps growing fainter and fainter until they could no longer be heard.

In the afternoon, Old Sun arrived. He stood at the office door, not coming in, a cigarette between his fingers, unlit. He Yuzhu looked up, and Old Sun walked in, closed the door, sat down in the chair, placed the cigarette on the table, picked it up again, and then put it down again.

"Old He, besides you, Lin Jianguo, and Old Zheng, who else knows about those files of yours?"

He Yuzhu looked at him. "No."

Old Sun lit his cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled. "Now some people know."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. Old Sun took another drag, and the ash fell onto his trouser leg, but he didn't flick it off.

"Li Jianguo received an anonymous letter with your name on it."

He Yuzhu waited for him to continue. Old Sun stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, pressing it twice before it went out.

"They accused you of hoarding technical documents and running your own independent kingdom. The letter stated that the things in the archives shouldn't be under your sole jurisdiction."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. It started raining again outside, the raindrops fine and dense. The big-character posters outside the courtyard wall were soaked by the rain, the ink bleeding and becoming a mess.

"What did Li Jianguo say?"

Old Sun said from behind, "He suppressed the letter. Let me ask you something: what's the deal with those documents?"

He Yuzhu turned around. "The things in the archives don't just belong to me. They belong to the country."

Old Sun looked at him. "You know, I know. But the person who wrote the letter doesn't know."

He Yuzhu walked back to the table and sat down. Old Sun stood up, walked to the door, and then turned back.

"Old He, hand over what you should hand over, and transfer what you should transfer. Don't give anyone a handle to use against you."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. Old Sun opened the door, and the light from the corridor shone in, casting a long shadow of him. He stood there for a moment, then closed the door and left. His footsteps echoed a few times in the corridor before fading into the distance.

He Yuzhu sat alone in his office, taking the list out of his drawer. Qian Lao, Yuan Lao, Lin Jianguo, Ma Yuejin. After each name, he added a line: "Galaxy-3 backup data, transferred to the archives." He put the list back and locked the drawer. Outside, the rain intensified, pattering against the glass. He drew the curtains, muffled the sound.

When He Nianhua got home that evening, she hunched over the table and started practicing calligraphy, switching from a pencil to a brush, her hands covered in ink. Qin Huairu was busy at the stove, the spatula clanging against the iron pot. Seeing He Yuzhu come in, He Nianhua held up the paper.

"Dad, look what I wrote."

He Yuzhu walked over, and there was a "person" character written on the paper. It was crooked, with one stroke too long and the other too short.

"What did the teacher say?"

He Nianhua thought for a moment. "The teacher said, 'The character for "person" is easy to write, but being a person is difficult.'"

He Yuzhu squatted down, took his hand, and wrote another "正" (zhèng, meaning upright/tight) character on the paper. Each stroke was neat and precise.

What's the pronunciation of this character?

He Nianhua stared at the character. "正 (zhèng). 正直 (zhèng zhí)."

He Yuzhu released his grip. "Got it?"

He Nianhua nodded and then lowered his head to write again. Qin Huairu brought over the dishes, glanced at the writing on the table, said nothing, put the dishes down, and went back to get the soup.

During the meal, Qin Huairu placed an egg on He Nianhua's plate.

"The neighborhood committee came today."

He Yuzhu looked up. "What did you say?"

Qin Huairu placed another piece of food on his plate. "They checked our household registration. They asked how many people are in our family, where you work, and where I work. They sat there for half an hour before leaving."

She paused. "They even asked where we kept our household registration booklet."

He Yuzhu paused, his chopsticks still. "What did you say?"

Qin Huairu said, "I said it was locked in the drawer."

He Nianhua chimed in from the side, "Dad, is our family register really in the drawer?"

He Yuzhu patted his head. "Yes. Eat well."

He Nianhua lowered her head and ate her rice, while Qin Huairu remained silent. The rain outside the window continued to fall, pattering against the windowsill.

At night, He Yuzhu lay on the kang (a heated brick bed), listening to the rain. He Nianhua turned over, her small hand resting on his face—warm and soft. He opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling. Rain dripped from the eaves, pattering slowly on the stone slab of the windowsill. He gently placed He Nianhua's small hand back under the covers and turned over. Qin Huairu was also awake, her back to him, breathing softly.

"Go to sleep," she said.

He Yuzhu hummed in agreement and closed his eyes. His mind was filled with Old Sun's words, Lin Jianguo's trembling fingers as he pressed the documents, and the character "人" (person) written by He Nianhua. The rain outside had stopped sometime earlier; only the sound of dripping water from the eaves remained, drop by drop, like someone hammering nails in the distance.

He tossed and turned until dawn before finally drifting off to sleep.