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

He Yuzhu stood at the highest point of Bailongwei Peninsula, looking south. The sea was a hazy gray, blending seamlessly with the sky, with fishing boats bobbing up and down like rotten leaves. The wind was strong, making his collar slap against his face. He turned his collar up, put his hands in his pockets, and felt the keys digging into his palms.

Staff Officer Wei squatted on a nearby rock, rolled a cigarette, and only managed to light it after three strikes of the match. The flame flickered precariously in the wind. He cupped his hand around it, finally managing to light it, took a drag, and squinted at the sea.

"Where is the boat? Fishermen don't like to come here. The wind is strong, the waves are rough, and the boats can't dock."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He walked down the mountain, the loose stones sliding under his feet. He held onto the thatch beside him, the blades of grass cutting his hands. Staff Officer Wei followed behind, stopping every few steps to glance south.

"This will do," He Yuzhu said. Staff Officer Wei stubbed out his cigarette on the stone and nodded.

The equipment hadn't arrived. He Yuzhu waited at the foot of the mountain for three days. Every day he climbed up, stood at the highest point, and looked south. The sea was empty, with nothing on the horizon. The fishing boats were gone too; the wind whipped up the waves, creating a white expanse.

On the fourth day, Staff Officer Wei ran up the mountain, his face flushed. "Chief He, the convoy has reached Nanning, but they've stopped us. They say we need to complete some paperwork, and they won't let us leave without it."

He Yuzhu rushed to Nanning overnight. The military personnel sat in the office, the document spread out on the table. They looked at it for a long time before looking up.

"Dean He, there needs to be a reason why this stuff is being transported to the coast."

He Yuzhu took the radar station construction permit out of his pocket and placed it on the table. The man picked it up, looked at it, put it down, picked it up again, and put it down again.

"Okay." He signed the document and pushed it back. "But we have to be quick. Things aren't peaceful over there."

He Yuzhu put the documents away and rushed back that night. At dawn, the convoy reached the foot of the mountain. There were three trucks, their canvas tarpaulins completely covered, and their headlights were still on, illuminating the swaying mountain road.

The workers carried the wooden crates down the mountain, chanting as they slowly made their way up. Ma Yuejin squatted beside one of the crates, inserted a crowbar into a crack, and with a pull, the wooden plank creaked open. Inside were radar parts, neatly packed and wrapped in oiled paper. He picked up a circuit board, examined it in the moonlight, and then put it back.

"Dean, once this thing is installed, how far can we see?" He didn't look up, his voice muffled.

He Yuzhu flipped the circuit board over, looked at the solder joints on the back, and then flipped it back over. "One hundred and fifty kilometers. We can see the US military planes as soon as they take off from Da Nang, before they even reach the coastline."

Ma Yuejin stood up, his knees numb from squatting, and swayed slightly before steadying himself by holding onto the box. He glanced south, but the sea was pitch black, and he couldn't see anything.

"What about Vietnam?" he asked, his voice still muffled.

He Yuzhu knew what he was thinking. Vietnam also had planes and warships. With the radar station built here, they could see not only American troops but also Vietnamese. He was silent for a moment, then closed the lid of the box.

"It's visible too."

It rained the next day. Not a light drizzle, but a downpour, pounding loudly on the tent roof. The mountain path turned to mud, sinking up to the ankles. Workers carried boxes up the mountain, slipping with every step; some fell, boxes rolling off their shoulders down the slope. Ma Yuejin rushed over, grabbing a corner of a box, falling himself in the process. His knee hit a rock, tearing a hole in his trousers, blood seeping through. He gritted his teeth and pulled the box back.

"This godforsaken place." He put the suitcase down on the ground, panting heavily. He Yuzhu hoisted the suitcase onto his shoulder and started walking up the mountain. Ma Yuejin hesitated for a moment, then followed behind, limping.

On the fifth day, they discovered a missing part. Ma Yuejin searched all the boxes, but couldn't find it. There wasn't enough time to get one from Beijing, so He Yuzhu searched the Guangxi Military Region's warehouses and found an old one, but the model was wrong, half a size off. He squatted on the warehouse floor, examining the part from all angles for a long time.

"Can it be used?" Staff Officer Wei asked from the side.

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He went back up the mountain and handed the part to Ma Yuejin. Ma Yuejin took it, looked at it, then looked at the radar interface, and said nothing. He took a file and filed it, filing once, testing once, filing once, testing once. After filing for half an hour, he installed it.

The antenna was erected on the evening of the seventh day. The iron frame, over ten meters high, was welded crookedly, but it was stable. He Yuzhu stood at the bottom, looking up. The top pierced the sky, and clouds drifted slowly by.

"Give it a try," he said.

The operator turned on the machine, and the radar started spinning, a low but deep hum. The screen lit up, the green scan line circling like a pendulum. He Yuzhu stood behind, staring at the screen. The scan line circled once, twice, three times. The screen remained blank. The operator's hand rested on the knob, motionless. It circled a few more times. The edge of the screen seemed to flicker. He rubbed his eyes, staring at that spot. It flickered again. This time he saw it clearly: a small dot of light that jumped once on the green scan line and then disappeared.

His hands began to tremble. He wanted to shout, but his throat was dry and he couldn't make a sound. He swallowed and adjusted the gain. The light spot reappeared, this time brighter, slowly moving across the screen from the edge to the center.

"Caught... caught." His voice was weak, as if it didn't come from his own mouth.

He Yuzhu stared at the point of light. Ma Yuejin squeezed in and stared too. "Is it an American plane?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He walked to the front of the map, traced his finger from Da Nang to the radar station, and measured the distance. "One hundred and twenty kilometers. It took off from Da Nang. It hasn't even reached the coastline yet."

The operator shouted from the other end, "The signal has disappeared. They've probably returned to base."

He Yuzhu walked back to the screen, which was empty except for the scanning lines. He stared at the green lines for a while.

"Write it down. What time, what direction, how long it took."

The operator responded and picked up a pen to write it down in his notebook. He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking at the sea outside. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, shining silvery light on the sea. In the darkness, airplanes were flying overhead.

The radar station operated normally for a few days, detecting aircraft daily, sometimes one, sometimes two. The operators went from excitement to numbness, staring at the screen, yawning, making tea, and chatting with those around them. He Yuzhu began to ponder the patterns in the signals. He noticed that before each aircraft appeared, there was a small, very faint clutter on the screen, like someone flicking a finger. He assumed it was an equipment problem and asked Ma Yuejin to check it. Ma Yuejin checked for three days but couldn't find the issue.

"Could it be interference?" Ma Yuejin squatted behind the radar, clutching a multimeter in his hand.

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He stood in front of the screen, waiting for the noise to appear.

Yang Xiaobing and his men crouched in the bushes behind the radar station, waiting for three nights. The first two days were uneventful, and the mosquitoes were so numerous they could kill you. Someone muttered a curse, but Yang Xiaobing ignored him. At dawn on the third day, the lights in the duty room went out, and a figure slipped out through the back door, crouching low, and walked south along the ridge. He walked quickly, as if in a hurry, and crouched down under a crooked pine tree, pulling something from his pocket. By the moonlight, Yang Xiaobing saw it was a small radio, barely bigger than the palm of his hand. The man pulled out the antenna and began transmitting, the beeping sounds muffled by the wind.

Yang Xiaobing waited until the man finished sending the telegram, retracted the antenna, and stood up before leading his men to pounce on him. The man ran a few steps, tripped over a stone, and fell to the ground, the radio flying a considerable distance. Yang Xiaobing pinned him down, but he continued to struggle, shouting loudly, "What are you doing?" as if deliberately trying to wake someone.

Yang Xiaobing twisted his arm behind his back and pressed his knee against his waist. "Stop shouting. We all heard you when you were sending the telegram." The man stopped moving. In the moonlight, his face was as white as paper.

When Lao Sun arrived, it was already the afternoon of the next day. He stood at the entrance of the radar station, a cigarette between his fingers, unlit. He followed He Yuzhu out of the duty room, sat down in a chair, put the cigarette on the table, picked it up again, and put it down again.

"Old He, there's something I need to tell you," he said, his voice lower than usual.

He Yuzhu waited for him to continue. He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled. "Someone in China is relaying information about US military movements to Taiwan." He paused, looking at He Yuzhu. "They tell Taiwan exactly where the US planes take off, when they arrive, how high they fly, and where they're heading."

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on the table without speaking. Old Sun flicked his cigarette ash, which fell onto the table but he didn't wipe it away. "The signal was sent from Guangxi," he said, his voice lower, "and it coincides with the appearance of the American reconnaissance plane."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. The sky outside was overcast and looked like it was about to rain. Fog had risen over the sea, obscuring everything. He stood there for a long time before turning around.

Not many people know about the radar station.

Old Sun stubbed out his cigarette, twisted the butt in the ashtray, and then twisted it again. "So. It's among these people."

He Yuzhu recalled the workers carrying boxes up the mountain, the technicians adjusting parameters, and the operators staring at the screens. Anyone could have been involved. He walked back to his desk and opened the duty log. The names flashed before his eyes, one by one.

"Check. Check them one by one."

Old Sun nodded and left. He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking at the sea outside. The fog grew thicker and thicker, until nothing could be seen. When those points of light jumped out from the edge of the screen, someone had sent out a message. He didn't know who that person was, but that person was on this mountain.

He turned around, took the list out of the drawer, and placed it on the table. The page for the radar station was blank. He looked at it for a long time, then closed the list and locked the drawer. Outside the window, it was getting dark.