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

The lights in the radar station's duty room had been out for a while, making the room dim and casting a dull, grayish glow on the logbooks on the wall. He Yuzhu sat at the table, flipped to the last page of the stack of duty logs, and ran his finger across the page, tracing lines from the first to the last. The number of US reconnaissance aircraft sightings had doubled compared to the previous month, and their flight paths had shifted nearly fifty kilometers northward.

When Old Sun pushed the door open, He Yuzhu didn't look up. Old Sun stood at the door for a while, then closed it, walked over, and sat down opposite him. After a moment, He Yuzhu finally closed his notebook.

"That guy surnamed Liu has confessed again." Old Sun took out a cigarette, didn't light it, and twirled it between his fingers twice. "There are others in the military-industrial system. They're higher in rank and have more responsibilities than him."

He Yuzhu's hand remained on the notebook, motionless. "Who?"

Old Sun tucked the cigarette behind his ear, pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and opened it. "An engineer at a certain research institute, surnamed Fang, works on missile control. Liu said that Fang is on the same line as him, and they are connected through the same person. Fang is responsible for keeping track of our missile deployment—where the missiles are, what type they are, how many there are, and in which direction they are being launched. He reports all of this to Taiwan."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He stood up and walked to the window. The sky outside was overcast, threatening rain. The large-character posters on the courtyard wall had been replaced; the new paper was blindingly white, the ink still wet, seeping down the edges. He stood there for a moment, then turned around. "Where is he?"

"At the research institute. I went to work today."

He Yuzhu threw on his coat and went outside. Yang Xiaobing waited in the car, the engine still running, white smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe. He Yuzhu opened the car door, sat down, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes. The car drove out of the radar station and onto a dirt road, bumping violently. He didn't open his eyes, his mind racing with those numbers—range 35 kilometers, speed Mach 0.9, accuracy 85%. If these numbers were reported, those missiles wouldn't be effective. They would know how far you could hit, how you would hit, and how you would dodge.

Fang's office was the innermost room on the third floor. Half of the corridor lights were broken, and the green light from the emergency exit shone from both ends, casting long and short shadows. He Yuzhu walked in front, followed by Lao Sun, while Yang Xiaobing led his men past the stairwell.

The door was closed, but a sliver of light shone through the crack.

Old Sun glanced at He Yuzhu. He Yuzhu nodded. Old Sun raised his foot and kicked the door open.

Fang was sitting at the table, his back to the door. The radio was on, the headphones were on, and his fingers were still pressing the buttons. Hearing the door open, he whirled around and reached under the table. Yang Xiaobing rushed in from behind He Yuzhu, grabbed his hand, and pulled a pistol from under the table. Old Sun overturned the radio from the table, scattering parts all over the floor, and several broken wires dangling in the air.

Fang was forced to sit in a chair, handcuffed, head bowed. His shoulders were trembling violently, causing the chair to shake. Old Sun placed the gun on the table, then pulled a small notebook from a drawer; it had a worn-out kraft paper cover. He opened to the first page, glanced at it for a few seconds, and handed it to He Yuzhu.

He Yuzhu took it. The first page listed the missile model, quantity, deployment location, and launch parameters. He recognized the numbers; they were exactly the same as those in his mind. He flipped through the pages, his fingers pausing on the third page. That page listed the radar station's location, detection range, and blind zone. He closed the notebook and placed it on the table.

"Mr. Fang, did you report these things?"

Fang didn't speak. His shoulders were still trembling, and the chair creaked. Old Sun picked up the notebook, opened it, and placed it in front of him. "Liu has already confessed. Your superior is the same person, surnamed Chen, from Hong Kong."

Fang raised his head. His face was ashen, his lips were chapped, and his eyes were bloodshot. He stared at the notebook for a long time. "What did Liu confess?" His voice was hoarse, as if it were being squeezed out of his throat.

"I've given you your contact information, the handover location, and the codebook." Old Sun pushed the codebook forward. "You've worked at the research institute for over a decade. The country nurtured you, gave you the best equipment and the best conditions. Is this how you repay us?"

Mr. Fang lowered his head, his shoulders trembling even more violently. After a long while, he raised his head, his face covered in tears. "My son is studying in England. They contacted me, saying they needed money. I sent it a few times, and they seized on this as leverage, making it impossible for me to refuse." He paused, his voice even lower. "I didn't want to either."

He Yuzhu stood at the door, watching the thin figure's back. He recognized the man; he sat in the back row during meetings, rarely speaking, but answering questions logically and clearly. Who would have guessed he was doing this behind the scenes? He Yuzhu wanted to ask, "Does your son know?" but swallowed the words back.

"Who else?" Old Sun asked.

Fang lowered his head. "From a military factory. They handle missile parts." He named a factory and then a part. He Yuzhu listened, his hands clenching tightly in his pockets. He knew that factory, those parts. Whether a missile could hit its target depended on the accuracy of those components.

Old Sun turned around and looked at He Yuzhu. "I'll go arrest them."

He Yuzhu nodded. "Arrest him tonight. Don't let him get away."

When Fang was led away, his legs were weak and he couldn't stand steadily. Two policemen supported him on either side, their shoes scraping against the ground with a soft rustling sound. As they passed He Yuzhu, he stopped, opened his mouth as if to say something, but didn't. He Yuzhu didn't look at him. Yang Xiaobing tucked his dagger back into his waistband and followed them out.

He Yuzhu stood alone in that office. Radio parts were scattered on the floor, and broken wires dangled from the edge of the desk, swaying gently. He squatted down, picked up a circuit board, looked at it for a few seconds, and put it down. He then picked up the notebook and opened it to the first page. He knew all the numbers, but seeing them written in someone else's notebook, in someone else's handwriting, stroke by stroke, left him with a strange feeling.

He tucked the notebook into his coat and walked out of the office. The corridor was dark, except for the green light at the emergency exit. He walked slowly, descending the stairs one step at a time, the handrail icy cold, the notebook clutched in his hand, the edges of the pages digging into his palm.

Back in his office, it was almost dawn. He Yuzhu sat down at his desk, took the notebook out of his pocket, and placed it on the table. He opened to the first page: missile models, quantities, deployment locations, and launch parameters. He looked at it for a long time, then closed the notebook and put it in his drawer.

The phone rang. He answered it, and it was Old Sun on the other end, his voice strained. "The guy's been caught. Caught in the factory, working on the production line. They found a lot of stuff, blueprints and process parameters for missile parts, all photographed and ready to be sent out." There was a whooshing sound on the other end of the line, and Old Sun had to shout to speak.

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "Has the interrogation taken place?"

"They've interrogated him. He's on the same line as Fang, and his supplier is that Hong Kong guy surnamed Chen. He confessed a lot. There are a few more in the military-industrial system; we're investigating them." Old Sun paused. "Pu Zheng's men are well-hidden."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He put down the phone and sat down at the table. Outside the window, it was dawn; the sun peeked through the clouds, shining on the window and turning the curtains white. He stood up, pulled back the curtains, and saw that the large-character posters on the courtyard wall had been replaced with new ones, the edges of the paper curling up and rustling in the wind. He looked at them for a while, then closed the curtains and sat back down at the table.

The notebook was still in the drawer. He didn't open it again.