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

After the spy who had returned from Zhenbao Island finished speaking, Old Sun closed his notebook and walked out of the interrogation room. He Yuzhu stood in the corridor, waiting for him to speak. One of the corridor lights was broken, and the green light from the emergency exit cast long shadows on the wall. Old Sun didn't rush to speak; he first took a cigarette out of his pocket, tapped it on his fingers twice, and then lit it.

"He confessed what he had previously leaked. The locations of radar deployments, detection ranges, blind spots, our troop deployments on the border, firepower configurations, and ammunition reserves—all of it was given to the Soviets."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He remembered the snow on Zhenbao Island that year—it was so heavy and so cold. Those people lying prone in the snow, their rifle bolts wouldn't pull back, their hands frozen to the butts of their rifles. They didn't know that someone had let those planes in from above.

"Is there anything else?"

Old Sun took a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled. "The Soviets are reinforcing their troops on the border—tanks, armored vehicles, helicopters, they've all come up. He confessed that the Soviets didn't gain anything in '69, so this time they're going to go all out."

He Yuzhu turned around and walked towards his office. He pushed open the door, walked to the wall, and stared at the map that had been hanging there for half a year. Zhenbao Island was on the Ussuri River, a narrow strip like a willow leaf. Red dots were drawn on both sides of the river. He stretched out his hand and slowly traced the border line from the Soviet side with his finger, stopping at the location of Zhenbao Island.

"Old Sun, are our communications unit on the border?"

Old Sun followed him in and closed the door. "Here. There's a company, a dozen or so people doing wiretapping, their equipment is outdated. The Soviets changed the frequency, and they're completely lost."

He Yuzhu turned around. "I'll coordinate. Get new equipment, send more people. Build a few monitoring stations on the border to keep an eye on Soviet communications."

Old Sun looked at him. "Is it too late?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for the communications headquarters. A staff officer answered; the voice was unfamiliar. He Yuzhu gave his name, said a few words, and the phone was transferred to the commander. The commander's surname was Wang; his voice was hoarse, as if he had just been dragged out of bed.

"Director He, what's the matter in the middle of the night?"

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "Commander Wang, we need new equipment on the border. The Soviets are reinforcing their troops, and our listening station equipment is too old to keep up. I need to build several monitoring stations on the border to keep an eye on Soviet communications."

Commander Wang was silent for a few seconds. "We have the equipment. We have the manpower. But it's cold over there, below minus thirty degrees Celsius. The equipment will freeze and stop working."

He Yuzhu said, "Add insulation. Add antifreeze. Add backup power. Whatever is lacking, I'll provide it."

Commander Wang was silent for a few seconds. "Alright. I'll make the arrangements. The personnel and equipment will be there within three days."

The phone call ended. He Yuzhu stood at the table, opened the small notebook he had taken from the Zhenbao Island spies, and read through it page by page. The numbers, frequencies, and codes were written neatly, line by line. He looked at it for a long time, then closed the notebook and put it into his system space.

The day the new equipment arrived at the border, the temperature dropped to minus thirty-five degrees Celsius. Company Commander Zhou cursed on the phone, saying the generator was frozen and wouldn't turn; the antenna support was unstable due to the strong wind; and the soldiers' hands were stuck to the wrenches, tearing off layers of skin. He Yuzhu hung up after listening and said to Yang Xiaobing, "Get the vehicle ready, I'm going."

Yang Xiaobing glanced at the dark sky outside the window. "Shall we go tomorrow?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer, but pulled his coat off the hanger. Halfway there, the radiator froze and cracked. The driver used a blanket to plug the crack, poured in hot water, and continued driving. When they reached the riverbank, it was still dark; the moon was obscured by clouds, and the snow shimmered with a greyish-white light. He Yuzhu walked on the ankle-deep snow, the crunching sound under his feet like he was crushing something.

The one leading the way was Company Commander Zhou, whose face was red from the cold, his lips were chapped, and puffs of white breath came out of his mouth when he spoke.

"It's over there," he said, pointing to a few tents ahead. "They've been setting it up for three days, and the equipment is just installed. The Soviets can hear it, but the signal is weak; they have to get close to listen."

He Yuzhu lifted the tent flap and crawled inside. It was warm inside; the stove was burning brightly, its sheet metal walls glowing red. Several soldiers were squatting in front of the equipment, wearing headphones and staring at the screen. One soldier took off his headphones and stood up.

"There's some activity from the Soviets. It's intermittent and hard to hear clearly. But we've matched the frequency; they've switched to a new channel."

He Yuzhu walked over, took the earphones, and put them on. There was static and chattering inside, some people talking, Russian, but he couldn't make it out. He adjusted the frequency, and the sound became clearer. Someone was shouting commands, someone was reciting numbers, and someone was cursing. He listened for a few minutes, then took off the earphones.

"Can you record it?"

Company Commander Zhou nodded. "Yes. The new equipment has this function."

He Yuzhu said, "Record. Translate after you're done. Report any abnormalities immediately."

Company Commander Zhou responded. He Yuzhu stepped out of the tent and stood on the riverbank, looking across. The river was frozen, a vast expanse of white, making it impossible to distinguish where the river ended and the bank began. The Soviet outpost across the river was lit up, its dim light casting a small patch of light on the snow, like an open eye. He watched for a while, then turned and walked back.

When the monitoring station intercepted the first crucial intelligence, He Yuzhu was in his office reviewing the list. The phone rang, and he answered it. It was Company Commander Zhou on the other end, his voice low, as if afraid something would overhear.

"Director He, there's something... I'm not sure about."

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "Speak."

Company Commander Zhou swallowed hard. "The Soviets... seem to be sending an order. We recorded it, and the translated text is... 'At 3:00 AM the day after tomorrow, attack from three directions simultaneously.'"

He paused, catching his breath. "I'm not sure. Maybe I misheard, maybe the translation is wrong. You see…"

He Yuzhu didn't let him finish. "Was it recorded?"

"It's recorded."

Play it once.

Company Commander Zhou held the microphone close to the recorder. Screeching Russian came through the loudspeaker; someone was shouting, someone was reciting numbers, and the last voice was deep and deliberate, enunciating each word slowly. He Yuzhu listened, then remained silent for a few seconds.

"Listen to it again."

Company Commander Zhou played it again.

"Listen to it again."

After listening to it for the third time, He Yuzhu said, "Send the recording over. Send it over tonight."

He pressed the receiver down on the table, his fingers hovering over it for a moment before slowly releasing it. When he stood up, his legs were a little stiff, and he steadied himself against the edge of the table. The moon had just peeked out from behind the clouds, its pale light casting a stark glow on the courtyard wall, the shadows of the large-character posters cast on the ground like tombstones. He remembered what the spy from Zhenbao Island had told him—radar blind spots, troop deployments, firepower configurations—all given to the Soviets. Now the Soviets were about to make their move. He turned around, picked up the phone, and dialed the General Staff's number. He paused halfway through, put the phone down, picked it up again, and this time dialed it all in one go.

The person on the other end answered; it was a staff officer, and he sounded very anxious.

"Where does it grow?"

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "The Soviets will attack Zhenbao Island at 3 a.m. the day after tomorrow. From three directions: tanks, armored vehicles, and infantry."

There was a two-second silence on the other end. "Is the intelligence accurate?"

He Yuzhu said, "Accurate. It was intercepted by the listening station; it was an order from their commander. The recording will be sent over immediately."

There was another two seconds of silence on the other end. "I'll report it right away."

The phone call ended. He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking at the night outside. He took the gloves out of his pocket, clenched them tightly in his hand, then put them back.

At three in the morning, the phone rang. He Yuzhu answered it, and on the other end was a staff officer from the General Staff Department, whose voice was much steadyer than before.

"Commander He, preparations are underway on the border. The troops have moved into position, and the artillery is ready. Continue monitoring and report any new developments immediately."

He Yuzhu said, "Understood."

The phone call ended. He sat down at his desk, took the list out of the drawer, and flipped to the last page. After the name of the spy from Zhenbao Island, he added a line: "Leaked, arrested. Soviet troop buildup, listening station intercepted attack plans, providing early warning." He finished writing, put the list back, and locked the drawer.

At daybreak, Company Commander Zhou called again.

"The Soviets have postponed the meeting. It's been changed to 4 a.m. Everything else remains the same."

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "Keep monitoring."

"Okay," said Company Commander Zhou.

The phone call ended. He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking at the sky outside. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the courtyard wall, making the gray paint tinge with a pale gold. He drew the curtains and sat back down at the table.

At four in the morning, the sound of artillery fire came from the northeast, muffled and resonant, like someone hammering iron in the distance. He Yuzhu stood by the window, listening to the sound without moving. The phone rang, and he answered it. It was a staff officer from the General Staff on the other end; his voice was shaky, but every word was clearly enunciated.

"Chief, the Soviets have attacked. From three directions: tanks, armored vehicles, and infantry. We are prepared."

He Yuzhu held the receiver, remaining silent. The staff officer spoke a few more words, to which he responded with a grunt and put down the phone. Outside the window, the sound of artillery fire grew increasingly intense, becoming a continuous barrage, indistinguishable from one another. He turned around, walked back to the table, and sat down. On the list in the drawer, the ink was still wet after the name of the spy from Zhenbao Island that he had written.