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

He Yuzhu stood at the foot of the tenement building for a while. The curtains on the third floor were drawn, and the lights were off. Two of the motion-activated lights in the hallway were broken. Yang Xiaobing led the way with a flashlight, the beam sweeping across the chalk graffiti on the walls from the fake ID posters and children. The third-floor corridor was piled with honeycomb briquettes and old cardboard boxes, and the air smelled of bitter Chinese medicine being brewed. Someone was decocting medicine, the bubbling sound like they were cooking up some old grievances.

The doorknob at Professor Zhou's house was sticky, as if no one had cleaned it in a long time. Yang Xiaobing took out his key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it twice before it opened. When the door opened, a musty smell of old books wafted out, mixed with the sour odor of ink and aged paper.

The room was dark. The living room wasn't large; a stack of newspapers sat on the square table, pressing down on half a half-eaten steamed bun, covered by a bowl. A calligraphy scroll hung on the wall, reading "A Study of Qing Dynasty History," with a red seal at the end. Old Lu stood in the middle of the living room, looking around without saying a word.

The study was at the far end. The door was ajar; when pushed open, the light cord twitched, and the bulb flickered twice before turning on. A dim, yellowish light illuminated the wall-to-wall bookshelves, stretching from floor to ceiling. The books, spines facing outwards, were crammed together, some of the thread-bound books already unbound, held together with rubber bands. On the desk lay an open manuscript, written with a brush, the handwriting neat and orderly, titled "A Study of the Loyalists of the Qing Dynasty."

He Yuzhu didn't touch the manuscript; he first glanced at the table. Several calligraphy brushes were stuck in the pen holder, and the ink in the inkstone had dried and cracked. There were three cigarette butts in the ashtray, all crowded on the rim, as if the owner had been thinking about something while smoking and had forgotten to flick them.

"Search." He Yuzhu stood beside the desk, not moving.

Yang Xiaobing started from the leftmost bookcase, pulling out books one by one, flipping through a couple of pages, and putting them back. Old Lu squatted on the floor, opened the cabinet door, and rummaged through the stacks of newspapers and magazines inside, piling them up one stack after another. He Yuzhu picked up the manuscript and stood under the lamp to flip through it. Inside were some names, birth and death dates, places of origin, and information about their descendants. Some were descendants of Manchu officials, some were distant relatives of the imperial family, and he had seen a few of the names in those account books before.

After searching for more than ten minutes, Yang Xiaobing found nothing. He stood in front of the bookshelf, wiping the sweat from his brow, a little anxious. "Commander, could it be hidden somewhere else?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He walked around the bookshelf and stopped at the innermost shelf. The back panel of the bookshelf was against the wall, but he noticed that the back panel was thicker than the sides. He tapped it with his hand, and the sound was dull, not like it was against the wall.

"Move this cabinet away."

Yang Xiaobing and Lao Lu moved the cabinet aside, revealing the back panel. He Yuzhu squatted down, ran his fingers around the edge of the back panel, and found a crack. He pried it open with his fingernail, and peered inside. It was dark, and there was something there.

Yang Xiaobing reached inside and pulled out a bulging manila envelope. He opened it; inside was a stack of neatly folded papers. He Yuzhu took it and stood under the light to flip through it. The papers were covered with densely packed names, followed by their organizations, positions, and codes. Peking University, Tsinghua University, Beijing Normal University, and several research institutes. There were more than a dozen universities alone.

"There's more." Yang Xiaobing reached in again and pulled out two more envelopes, one thicker and the other a small notebook with a red cover and frayed edges.

He Yuzhu opened the thickest envelope first. Inside, besides the list, were several letters, written with a brush, vertically arranged, and addressed to "Brother Zhou." He opened one; it discussed research on the history of the Qing Dynasty, but there was a line of small characters circled in red: "The time is not yet ripe; do not act rashly. Wait for the Prince's return, and we will work together on this grand undertaking."

He folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket. Then he opened the red notebook. Inside were dates, places, and names. Some were underlined, others crossed out. He turned to the last page, where a few lines were written: "March 17, 1968, Cuihu Hotel, Your Highness. Two hours of discussion, hand over a list."

He Yuzhu's finger paused on that line of text. 1968, before Zhenbao Island. Pu Zheng dared to enter the country, stayed in Kunming for three days, and met with five people. Professor Zhou was one of them.

"take away."

When Professor Zhou was brought into the interrogation room, his legs were already weak. Two policemen supported him on either side, their shoes scraping against the cement floor. He was pressed into a chair, handcuffed, head down, silent.

He Yuzhu sat opposite him, placing the lists and letters on the table without speaking. The interrogation room was so quiet you could hear the bulb humming. Professor Zhou kept his head down, his shoulders trembling slightly. His reading glasses had slipped off his nose and were just hanging there without being adjusted.

"Professor Zhou, these things were found in your study." He Yuzhu pushed the stack of names forward.

Professor Zhou looked up, glanced at them, then looked down again. His voice was very soft. "I don't know these people."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. After waiting a while, he took out the letter addressed to "Brother Zhou" and placed it on top.

Professor Zhou stared at the letter, his fingers beginning to rub against his knee. He rubbed for a few moments, then stopped. He looked up at He Yuzhu, then looked down again.

"When...when did you start targeting me?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He opened the red notebook, turned to the last page, and turned it around to show Professor Zhou the line of text.

Professor Zhou glanced at it, and his expression changed. His lips began to tremble; he wanted to say something, but couldn't. His hands gripped the armrests of the chair, his knuckles turning white.

"March 17, 1968, Cuihu Hotel, Your Highness." He Yuzhu read slowly, word by word. "Professor Zhou, you met with him, talked for two hours, and handed over a list. Is that right?"

Professor Zhou fell silent. The interrogation room fell silent again, the light bulb buzzing like a fly buzzing.

After a long while, Professor Zhou raised his head. His eyes were red, but he didn't cry. His voice trembled, but he spoke each word clearly.

"He approached me. He said he was a businessman and wanted to learn about Qing Dynasty history. I believed him. Later I found out who he was, but it was too late."

He Yuzhu looked at him. "Too late? You knew who he was before you even met him. You gave him that list; it included your students, your colleagues, and people from the research institute. You had them replace the Manchurian veterans' affairs officers. Didn't you?"

Professor Zhou lowered his head, and his shoulders began to tremble.

"Professor Zhou, you've taught at the university for so many years. Those students trust you, they treat you as a teacher, as an elder. You've dragged them in, made them pass on messages for you, and made them risk their lives for the Manchu remnants. How can you sleep at night?"

Professor Zhou's shoulders trembled even more violently. He looked up, tears streaming down his face. "I...I didn't mean to harm them. I just wanted them to learn more about Qing Dynasty history and Manchu culture. They did it willingly."

He Yuzhu picked up the stack of names and read a few. "Peking University, Li Moumou. Tsinghua University, Wang Mou. Beijing Normal University, Zhao Mou. These people are all your students. Where are they now? Doing research, teaching, working at the Ministry of Aerospace. How much stuff did you have them pass on for you?"

Professor Zhou fell silent. He lowered his head and looked at the handcuffs on his hands.

The light in the interrogation room flickered. He Yuzhu stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open a crack. The sky outside was hazy, the streetlights had just come on, and the dim yellow light shone in, illuminating Professor Zhou's face and making his wrinkles appear even deeper.

He Yuzhu turned around, walked back to the table, and sat down. "Professor Zhou, you still have a chance. Tell me everything you know. Who else is still in contact with 'the Prince'? What are the people on the list doing? Telling you will be good for yourself and for your students."

Professor Zhou looked up. A light suddenly appeared in his eyes, a light He Yuzhu had seen before—on the faces of captured spies, in the eyes of those dragged out of interrogation rooms. It wasn't fear, but something else entirely.

"The Qing Dynasty will not perish." Professor Zhou's voice was not loud, but every word was emphasized. "The Prince said that when the time is right, the Manchus will rise again."

He Yuzhu looked at him without saying a word.

"You've arrested me, but there are others. You can't arrest everyone on the list." Professor Zhou's voice rose, echoing in the interrogation room. "The restoration of the Qing Dynasty—"

He Yuzhu stood up and stopped looking at him.

"Take him away."

Professor Zhou was helped up and led outside. He tried to call out at the door, but Yang Xiaobing pushed him, and he stumbled out. The footsteps in the corridor faded into the distance and soon disappeared.

He Yuzhu stood in the interrogation room, looking at the lists and letters on the table. He stood there for a long time before finally putting things away and leaving.

One of the corridor lights was broken, and the green light from the emergency exit illuminated the water stains on the floor. Yang Xiaobing followed from behind.

"Commander, when are we going to arrest the people on the list?"

He Yuzhu didn't stop. "Arrest them tonight. From universities to research institutes, leave no one out. Don't alarm the one from the Ministry of Aerospace yet, wait for me to get there."

Yang Xiaobing responded and turned to leave.

That evening, He Yuzhu sat alone in his office. He spread the list out on the table and read it from top to bottom. Peking University, Tsinghua University, Beijing Normal University, the Ministry of Aerospace Industry, and several research institutes. The names and institutions looked like ants crawling on the paper.

He picked up a pen and added a line at the end of the list: "Professor Zhou has been arrested. A list of members of a Manchurian academic network was discovered, involving more than ten people from universities and research institutes such as Peking University, Tsinghua University, and Beijing Normal University. Pu Zheng entered the country in 1968 to meet with him, and Zhou confessed to leaking nuclear weapons principles. One person from the Ministry of Aerospace Industry is involved and awaits trial."

After finishing writing, put the list back and lock the drawer.

The phone rang. He answered it, and it was Yang Xiaobing on the other end, his voice very low.

"Commander, that guy surnamed Chen from the aerospace department has been arrested. He's in his dorm, reading a book. When we went in, he paused for a moment, but didn't resist."

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "Did you search?"

"I searched it. There was a Russian magazine on the desk with a note tucked inside, listing several frequencies. It didn't seem to be his area of ​​expertise."

He Yuzhu slammed his hand on the table. "Interrogate him. Interrogate him tonight. See what he confesses."

Yang Xiaobing responded and hung up.

He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking at the night outside. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the courtyard wall, casting patches of shadows from the big-character posters on the ground. He remembered the words Professor Zhou shouted as he was dragged away, his voice shrill, like something cracking open. A man who had taught his whole life, his last words were "Restore the Qing Dynasty!"