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

The security gates arrived in Beijing just a week before National Day. He Yuzhu stood on the edge of Tiananmen Square, watching the workers erect the silver-white gate frames one by one. Yang Xiaobing squatted beside him, reached out and touched the gate frame, then stood up.

"Commander, can this thing detect explosives?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He took a test piece from his pocket, stuffed it into his trouser pocket, and walked through the middle of the door. The red light turned on, and the alarm blared shrilly. The workers nearby stopped what they were doing and looked over. Yang Xiaobing ran over, took the test piece from He Yuzhu's pocket, and clutched it in his hand.

"spirit."

He Yuzhu looked up at the highest points around the square: the Monument to the People's Heroes, Zhengyang Gate, the Arrow Tower, and the gray buildings on the east and west sides. He counted about ten locations.

"Deploy surveillance at high points. Two people at each point, equipped with binoculars and walkie-talkies. Report any suspicious persons immediately."

Yang Xiaobing responded and ran away.

On National Day, the sky cleared. He Yuzhu stood in a room on the side of Tiananmen Gate, looking out the window at the square. A sea of ​​people, red flags waving. Workers, students, and government officials, dressed in festive attire, carrying wreaths and colorful flags, marched along Chang'an Avenue towards Tiananmen. He checked his watch. 9:30. In half an hour, the celebration would begin.

Yang Xiaobing's voice came through the walkie-talkie. "Commander, the eastern high ground is normal. The western side is normal. The security gate at the plaza entrance is normal."

"Keep an eye on it."

The words had barely left his lips when another voice came through the walkie-talkie. "A suspicious person has been spotted at the plaza entrance. One person, around forty years old, carrying a black leather bag, refuses to go through the security gate."

He Yuzhu gripped the walkie-talkie tightly. "Stop him. Don't let him in."

"clear."

A few dozen seconds later, a commotion came through the walkie-talkie. People were shouting, running, and there were muffled thuds as things fell to the ground. He Yuzhu's palms were sweaty. He stared at the walkie-talkie as if it were the fuse of a bomb.

Yang Xiaobing's voice finally came through, panting heavily. "Commander, we've caught him. The bag contained explosives, detonators, and a timer. He was trying to stuff the bag under the reviewing stand."

He Yuzhu closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Where is he?"

"It's held down. The explosive charge was kicked aside."

He opened his eyes and looked at the jubilant crowd in the square. A young mother held her child aloft; the child, holding a small red flag, grinned, revealing a gap-toothed smile. The explosives had almost been buried beneath their feet. He cursed under his breath and pressed the call button.

"Take him back. Interrogate him. Find out who ordered it."

The white walls of the interrogation room were blindingly white. He Yuzhu stood outside the glass, looking at the person inside. He was in his forties, thin, with high cheekbones and thin lips. He wore a gray cloth jacket, the cuffs worn and patched at the elbows. He looked like an ordinary worker. Old Sun sat opposite him, placing explosives, detonators, and timers one by one on the table. There was also a hand-drawn map of Tiananmen Square, with the location of the viewing platform marked in red.

Old Sun stared at him. "Who told you to do it?"

The man kept his head down and didn't speak. Old Sun picked up the detonator and placed it in front of him. His shoulders began to tremble, and he dug his fingers into his knees a couple of times before letting go.

"One of the 'Prince's' people?"

The man looked up, his eyes reddening. His lips trembled several times before he managed to squeeze out a single word: "...Yes."

"What did he ask you to do?"

The man remained silent for a long time, so long that Old Sun thought he wasn't going to speak. Then he suddenly raised his head, his voice sounding like it was being squeezed out of his throat. "Put the things under the viewing platform. Wait...wait until the celebration starts before you explode."

He Yuzhu stood outside the glass, his hands clenched tightly in his pockets, his nails digging into his flesh.

Old Sun put down the detonator. "Where is 'the Prince'?"

The man lowered his head, his voice weak. "Taiwan. He's in Taiwan."

He Yuzhu came out of the interrogation room and leaned against the wall in the corridor. Old Sun followed him out and closed the door behind him.

"There was another one. He was on the west side of the square, carrying a knife. He was arrested too."

He Yuzhu remained silent. He recalled Pu Zheng sitting in his Yangmingshan villa, drinking tea—a thin old man, gold-rimmed glasses, and a dark suit. Those explosives, those knives, those people he wanted to kill—were nothing more than a line of text in his telegram.

"Old He?" Old Sun called out.

He Yuzhu snapped out of his daze. "Continue the interrogation. Find out if there are any accomplices."

Old Sun nodded and turned back to the interrogation room.

He Yuzhu walked out of the police station. The sky outside had cleared, and the sun shone on the courtyard wall. He stood there for a long time before getting into his car.

That evening, He Yuzhu sat in his office and took the list out of his drawer. Turning to the page on "National Day Security," after the word "spies," he added a line: Two spies were apprehended in Tiananmen Square; explosives, detonators, timers, and knives were seized. They confessed to being instructed by "the Prince."

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, the guy who carried the explosives has confessed again."

He Yuzhu slammed his hand on the table. "What did you say?"

"He said, 'The Prince' has an even bigger plan. The target is the Chengshan Research Institute. He wants them to take action during the National Day holiday and bomb the archives."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. 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 stood there for a long time.

"Who's in charge? When will they take action?"

Yang Xiaobing said, "He hasn't finished confessing yet. Old Sun is interrogating him. He only knows there's such a plan, but he doesn't know who's specifically in charge."

"Continue the investigation. Until it's resolved."

Yang Xiaobing responded and hung up.

He Yuzhu stood by the window and took the list out of the drawer again. Turning to the page for "Chengshan Research Institute," he added a line after the words "Records Room": Pu Zheng planned to blow up the records room during the National Day holiday. Two spies have been arrested, and the rest are still under investigation.

He finished writing, put the list back, and locked the drawer. He stood up and walked out of the office. The corridor was dark, except for the green light on the emergency exit. He passed the door of the records room and paused. The door was closed and securely locked. The key was in his pocket, feeling heavy.

He pushed open the door, and a cool breeze blew in.

He Nianhua was already asleep, and Qin Huairu was sewing clothes under the lamp. She looked up and glanced at him.

Have you eaten?

He Yuzhu shook his head. Qin Huairu put down his needlework, went to the kitchen, and brought out a bowl of noodles, placing it on the table. It was noodles with soybean paste; the noodles were a little clumped together, but still steaming. He sat down, picked up his chopsticks, and ate a few bites.

"Two people were arrested in the square today."

Qin Huairu paused for a moment. "Who is it?"

"A spy. He's carrying explosives and wants to blow up the reviewing stand."

Qin Huairu didn't speak. She lowered her head and continued sewing, the stitches very fine, one after another. He Yuzhu finished the noodles in his bowl and drank the soup. Qin Huairu collected the bowl, washed it, and put it back in the cupboard.

Be careful.

He Yuzhu nodded. "I understand."

The light went out. He Yuzhu lay on the kang (a heated brick bed), listening to the wind outside. He Nianhua turned over, her little hand resting on his face—warm and soft. He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the room. He gently placed He Nianhua's little hand back under the covers and turned over as well.

Pu Zheng was going to blow up the archives. The spies were hiding in the shadows, waiting for orders. He still had the key, and the door was still locked. But they wanted to blow it up, not steal it. Explosives, detonators, and timers were piled up against the walls of the archives; if they exploded, everything in those metal cabinets would be gone. He had to guard it.