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

The car headlights pierced the thick fog, illuminating the two dusty stone lions standing before the Ministry of Aerospace's gate. He Yuzhu leaned against the window, watching the lions' silhouettes flicker in the light, their mouths open, revealing indistinct teeth. He remembered Professor Zhou's shout of "The Great Qing Dynasty is restored!" from yesterday; the sound still echoed in his mind, sharp and shrill, like fingernails scratching a blackboard. A man who had taught his entire life, uttering such words at the end—He Yuzhu felt a lump in his throat.

Yang Xiaobing turned off the engine and looked back at him. "Commander, we've arrived."

He Yuzhu pushed open the car door, and a gust of cold wind rushed in, causing him to shrink his neck. Two sentries stood at the door, checking his identification and saluting. The corridor lights were on, glaringly bright, illuminating the green-painted wainscoting, on which lay a black mark, whether from a shoe sole or a mop, it was unclear. He Yuzhu's footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, one after another, as if someone was following him.

Dean Sun was waiting at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a slightly worn military uniform, the collar buttoned up tightly, and the wrinkles on his face were deeper than when He Yuzhu had last seen him. He took two steps forward to greet him, lowering his voice.

"Director He is in the small conference room on the third floor. Security personnel are guarding him; he's only saying it's a normal conversation."

He Yuzhu nodded and followed him upstairs. The stair railing was made of wood, creaking underfoot. The paint had worn away, revealing grayish-white wood shavings underneath. He Yuzhu's hand rested on it; it was icy cold.

At the end of the third-floor corridor, the door to the small conference room was closed. Two security guards stood at the door; upon seeing Dean Sun, they stepped aside. Dean Sun pushed open the door, didn't go in, nodded to He Yuzhu, and turned to leave.

He Yuzhu stood at the door and glanced inside.

A man in his forties sat in a chair, clutching an enamel mug. The water in the mug had long since gone cold; he hadn't drunk from it. He was thin, with high cheekbones, and wore black-rimmed glasses. The lenses reflected the light, obscuring his eyes. He wore a faded blue cotton jacket, the cuffs worn and frayed, the threads hanging loosely. He heard the door open, looked up, saw He Yuzhu, paused for a moment, and then stood up.

"You...you are..."

He Yuzhu went in and sat down opposite him. Yang Xiaobing stood at the door, and Lao Lu leaned against the wall, closing the door behind him. The room fell silent, so quiet that you could hear footsteps in the corridor, leather shoes clicking on the terrazzo floor, fading into the distance.

"Zhang Jianguo is a researcher at the Fifth Academy of the Ministry of Aerospace Industry, specializing in attitude control systems for communication satellites."

Zhang Jianguo's hand tightened on the enamel mug, his knuckles turning white. "I...I'm a pose fetishist. Who are you?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He pulled the curtains open a crack, and the sky outside was gray and hazy. The streetlights were still on, illuminating the bicycle shed downstairs, where bicycles lined up one after another, their handlebars frosted over.

"Mr. Zhang, how many people are in your family?"

Zhang Jianguo was taken aback. "Three...three people."

How old is the child?

"Ten...thirteen."

"Boy or girl?"

"girl."

He Yuzhu turned around, walked back, and sat down opposite him. "Thirteen years old, time to go to junior high. How are your grades?"

Zhang Jianguo rubbed his hand on the jar. "It's...it's alright."

Where does your wife work?

"Cotton mill. Workshop 3."

He Yuzhu nodded and asked no more questions. The room fell silent again. Zhang Jianguo couldn't sit still any longer. He shifted his leg, crossed it over another leg, then put it down again. He twirled the enamel mug in his hand a couple of times, placed it on the table, and then picked it up again.

"Director He, what brings you here?"

He Yuzhu took the stack of names out of his pocket, didn't put it on the table, but held it in his hand, slowly turning it around. The edges of the kraft paper envelopes were a little curled, but he pressed them down with his hand until they were flat.

There is a letter for you.

He pulled the letter out of the envelope. The letter paper, folded twice, was yellowed and written with a brush in vertical lines. He unfolded it, pointing to the two characters "Brother Zhang" with his finger, and slowly pushed it over.

Zhang Jianguo stared at those two words, his Adam's apple bobbing. He wanted to speak, his mouth opening and closing again. He raised his hand from his knee, reaching for the letter, but pulled it back halfway, wiping it twice on his trouser leg.

"No...I don't know him."

His voice was weak and shaky; even he himself didn't believe it. He Yuzhu didn't speak, just stared at him. Zhang Jianguo's gaze began to wander, sometimes looking out the window, sometimes at the doorway, sometimes at his own hands. His hands were trembling, and the water in the enamel mug spilled out, splashing onto the table and spreading in a small patch.

"Professor Zhou confessed. Your name is on his list."

He Yuzhu's voice wasn't loud, but every word resonated in the quiet little conference room, like pebbles being thrown into a pond, circling around and around.

Zhang Jianguo's hands stopped. The jar sat motionless on the table. He lowered his head, his shoulders beginning to tremble slightly, like someone standing in the wind in winter, shrinking back, trying to hide himself.

When did you meet Professor Zhou?

Silence. Zhang Jianguo didn't speak, his lips pressed together until they turned white.

"He called you 'Brother Zhang' in the letter, saying you're quite skilled at satellite development. He also said that the 'Prince' thinks highly of you."

He Yuzhu pushed the letter right in front of Zhang Jianguo's eyes. Zhang Jianguo stared at the calligraphy for a long time, his Adam's apple bobbing again. He reached out and touched the letter, but his fingertips barely touched the edge of the paper before he pulled back, as if he had been burned.

"Where is the head, I..."

His voice was stuck in his throat and couldn't come out.

He Yuzhu waited a while, then stood up and walked to the window. It was already bright outside; the sun peeked through the clouds, shining on the aerospace department's courtyard, gilding the gray buildings with a pale gold hue. The bicycle shed downstairs was bright, and the frost on the handlebars began to melt, dripping down one by one.

"You worked at the Fifth Academy for twelve years."

He Yuzhu didn't turn around; his voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

"You were in charge of developing the attitude control system for the communications satellite. Whether the satellite can stay aligned with the ground in space depends entirely on your system. If you transmit the data out, the satellite is rendered useless. Do you understand that?"

Zhang Jianguo gripped the enamel mug so tightly that the water inside sloshed out. His lips trembled; he opened his mouth, then closed it again. He repeated this three or four times before finally managing to squeeze out a single sentence.

"I...I didn't mean to harm the country."

"Then who do you want to harm?"

He Yuzhu turned around, walked back, stood in front of him, and looked down at him.

Zhang Jianguo raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, tears welling up but not falling. He opened his mouth, but the voice was hoarse and strained, forced out from his throat.

"A man surnamed Chen claimed to be a 'prince' doing business in Southeast Asia. He approached me and said he would give me money and send me out if I gave him the data from the posture control system."

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on the table, his nails digging into the wood, leaving four shallow marks. "How many were passed on?"

Zhang Jianguo lowered his head. "Just a part. The design concept, control algorithm, key parameters. I hadn't even finished sending it when you arrived."

He Yuzhu stared at him for several seconds, then slowly straightened up and walked to the window. The sunlight outside was blinding; he squinted at the gray buildings. His mind raced with the satellite data—design concepts, control algorithms, key parameters—sent from Beijing to Hong Kong, then to Southeast Asia, and finally to Pu Zheng. Who would Pu Zheng give those things to? Taiwan? The United States? The Soviet Union? He didn't know.

"What's that guy surnamed Chen's name?"

"Chen Zhiyuan".

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on the windowsill. Chen Zhiyuan. That "gentleman" from back then, fled from Guangzhou, chased him to Hong Kong, and then fled from Hong Kong again. Now he's in Southeast Asia. He thought he'd be safe there.

Where is he?

"I don't know. He's always the one who contacts me, by phone or letter. We've never met."

He Yuzhu turned around. "You're talking about 'the Prince's' people. Who is 'the Prince'?"

Zhang Jianguo shook his head. "Never seen him. I've only heard Chen Zhiyuan mention him. He said 'Prince' is in Hong Kong, a businessman, and very wealthy."

He Yuzhu walked back to the table and sat down. "What else do you know?"

Zhang Jianguo lowered his head and thought for a long time. "Chen Zhiyuan once said something. He said that 'the Prince' has recently been in contact with an American who works on satellites. He came from NASA and has more advanced technology."

The room fell silent. He Yuzhu stared at Zhang Jianguo, who kept his head down, not daring to look at him. The water in the enamel mug had cooled completely, a thin film forming on the surface. He picked it up, intending to take a sip, but his hand trembled violently, spilling water all over his hand, and he put it down again.

He Yuzhu stood up and walked over to him. Zhang Jianguo sat in a chair, his legs trembling, his trouser legs shaking. He looked up, and tears finally fell, streaming down his cheeks and down his neck.

"Director He, I...I have let my country down."

His voice trembled, like he was crying, or like he was begging for something.

He Yuzhu didn't say anything. He turned around, walked to the door, and opened it.

"take away."

Yang Xiaobing walked over and helped Zhang Jianguo up. Zhang Jianguo's legs went weak as he stood up, and he almost fell. Yang Xiaobing grabbed his arm and dragged him outside. At the door, he suddenly turned back and looked at He Yuzhu.

"Director He, my wife and children..."

He Yuzhu didn't turn around. "I've said everything that needed to be said, and explained everything that needed to be explained. Someone will take care of things at home."

Zhang Jianguo opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Yang Xiaobing pulled him away. The footsteps in the corridor grew fainter and fainter, the soles of shoes scraping the ground, making a soft, rustling sound, like a broom sweeping across the concrete. Old Lu followed behind, closing the door with a click.

He Yuzhu stood by the window and lit a cigarette. He didn't usually smoke, but he felt like it now. The smoke drifted in the sunlight, wisps of smoke, like the transmitted satellite data, never to be retrieved. The attitude control system needed to be redesigned, and key parameters needed to be changed. At least a year. Who knew what would become of that transmitted data once it fell into Pu Zheng's hands, into the hands of that NASA-trained American.

He stubbed out his cigarette and walked out of the conference room. The lights in the corridor were still on, glaringly white. Dean Sun stood at the top of the stairs, his expression unreadable.

"Where is the director, Zhang Jianguo, he..."

"They've caught it. Some of the satellite data has been transmitted. You need to assess the damage; the attitude control system needs to be redesigned, and all the key parameters need to be changed."

Dean Sun's face turned pale. "Where has it been reported?"

"Hong Kong. Southeast Asia. A man named Chen Zhiyuan is 'Prince's' contact. You need to hurry."

He Yuzhu went downstairs and walked out of the Ministry of Aerospace's gate. Yang Xiaobing was waiting in the car, the engine still running, white smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe.

"Commander, shall we return to the research institute?"

He Yuzhu sat down, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes. "Go back."

As the car drove out of the Ministry of Aerospace's gate, the two stone lions cast long shadows in the morning light. He Yuzhu opened his eyes and looked at them through the car window, their mouths agape, revealing their indistinct teeth, as if they were shouting something.