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

As the car traveled south from Kashgar, the road grew narrower and narrower. The cement road turned into a gravel road, and the gravel road into a dirt road. He Yuzhu leaned against the car window, looking at the barren mountains outside. The mountains weren't high, but they stretched endlessly, gray and devoid of any vegetation. Occasionally, a few mud-brick houses could be seen, their walls peeling away to reveal the mud bricks inside.

"Dean, the mountain pass ahead is 4,200 meters above sea level." Driver Lao Zhou gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the winding mountain road ahead.

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He could feel the air getting thinner and thinner, each breath feeling like a thread being pulled. Ma Yuejin sat in the passenger seat, his face pale, his lips purple, his eyes closed, it was hard to tell if he was asleep or just carsick.

The car climbed halfway up the mountain, then suddenly jolted, the engine made a few sputtering noises, and then stalled.

Old Zhou pressed the accelerator a few times, but there was no response. He pulled the handbrake, jumped out of the car, and opened the hood. A burnt smell wafted in. He Yuzhu also got out of the car and stood by the roadside looking down. The mountain road wound its way up like a gray-white snake lying on the brown hillside. In the distance were snow-capped peaks, dazzlingly white.

"The fuel line is clogged." Old Zhou pulled a wrench from his toolbox and squatted down in front of the engine to remove the pipes. He Yuzhu squatted beside him, handing him the tools. His hands were frozen stiff, and the wrench almost slipped from his grasp.

Old Zhou removed an oil pipe, blew on it, and then put it back. "That's it."

The car started again. He Yuzhu returned to his seat, his legs feeling a little weak. Ma Yuejin opened his eyes and said weakly.

"Dean, please come here by yourself next time."

He Yuzhu ignored him.

As darkness fell, the car finally arrived in Tashkurgan. He Yuzhu lay down in the guesthouse, his heart pounding like a drum, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. At two in the morning, he heard Ma Yuejin coughing next door, one cough after another, as if he were coughing up his lungs. He put on his clothes, went over, and knocked on the door.

"Yuejin, are you alright?"

The door opened. Ma Yuejin stood in the doorway, his face as white as paper and his lips purple. He waved his hand.

"It's nothing. Just a bit of oxygen deprivation, a rest will do."

He Yuzhu took out a few Rhodiola rosea tablets from his pocket and handed them over. Ma Yuejin took them, put them in his mouth, chewed them a couple of times, and swallowed them.

"Go to sleep, we still have a long journey ahead tomorrow."

The next morning, they continued south. The road was even worse, full of potholes, and the ride was so bumpy it hurt their bones. He Yuzhu gripped the handrail, looking out the window. The snow line was getting lower and lower; the snow on the hillsides hadn't melted yet, a vast expanse of white. Around noon, they finally arrived at Khunjerab Pass.

The microwave station is nestled in a mountain valley. Several drab houses stand there, the tallest topped with an iron tower, its dish pointing skyward. The tower gleams coldly in the sunlight, and whistles through the wind.

Stationmaster Zhao Tiezhu ran out, his face red from the cold, his lips chapped, and snot dripping from his nose. He ran up to He Yuzhu, saluted, touched his hand to the seam of his trousers, and then lowered it.

"Hey, Chief He, this is Zhao Tiezhu reporting for duty at the Khunjerab Microwave Station."

He Yuzhu returned the greeting. "Let's go in and take a look."

The server room wasn't large; the equipment hummed, and the indicator lights flashed. He Yuzhu walked to the front of the server rack and reached out to touch the casing. It was cool and vibrated slightly. He squatted down, looking at the vacuum tubes, each one glowing a dark red light in the dim light.

"Station Chief Zhao, have you encountered any problems lately?"

Zhao Tiezhu rubbed his hands together. "Everything else is fine, except for the third signal, which is intermittent. We've been checking for days, but we can't find the problem."

He Yuzhu walked to the front of the third line of equipment, opened the cabinet door, and shone his flashlight on the wires. After looking at it for a while, he noticed that one of the connectors was oxidized, its surface blackened, as if it had rusted.

"Bring me sandpaper."

Zhao Tiezhu paused for a moment, then turned and ran out, returning with a piece of fine sandpaper. He Yuzhu took it, tore off a small strip, folded it, and inserted it into the connector, rubbing it back and forth a few times. The black oxide layer peeled off, revealing the silvery-white metal underneath. He tightened the connector and closed the cabinet.

"Give it a try."

Zhao Tiezhu walked to the duty station and dialed a number. The call was answered clearly without any background noise. Zhao Tiezhu glanced back at He Yuzhu, his expression changing.

"It's connected."

He Yuzhu stood up and dusted off his hands. "These kinds of minor problems can't wait. Regular checkups are necessary, and we need to address each one individually."

Zhao Tiezhu nodded and clenched the sandpaper in his hand.

Zhao Tiezhu handed over the microphone, saying that a soldier from the Third Company wanted to say a few words to He Yuzhu. He Yuzhu took it, and after a few seconds of silence on the other end, a young voice came through, hoarse and with a Northeastern accent, as if he was holding back something.

"He...He is the commander. I am Wang Jianguo from the Third Company."

He Yuzhu waited for him to continue.

There was silence for a few more seconds on the other end.

"I...I can hear my family's voices now. My mom...she broke her leg last year, and my dad wrote to say she was fine. But I still want to hear her voice. Before, I would wait a month for a letter. Now...now..."

He couldn't continue; heavy breathing came through the microphone, as if something was pressing down on him.

He Yuzhu held the microphone, not urging him.

After a while, the person on the other end said, "Director He, thank you."

The voice softened, as if the person was vomiting something that had been weighing on their chest.

He Yuzhu recalled the Korean War years ago, lying in the snow waiting for supplies, his radio broken, not knowing what was happening outside. He understood that loneliness, that helplessness.

"Wang Jianguo, do a good job."

The person on the other end gave a soft "hmm" and hung up.

He Yuzhu put down the microphone and walked to the window. The snow-capped mountains outside were a vast expanse of white, and the wind blew down from the mountaintops, stinging his face like knives. He stood there for a long time before turning around.

"Station Chief Zhao, thank you for your hard work."

Zhao Tiezhu shook his head. "It's not hard work. It's worth it."

He Yuzhu walked out of the machine room and stood under the iron tower. The antenna dish pointed towards the sky, slowly rotating in the wind. He looked up and stared for a long time. The wind was strong, making his clothes flutter, but he didn't move.

Ma Yuejin walked over from behind and stood next to him.

"Dean, it's time to go. We need to get down the mountain before dark."

He Yuzhu nodded, took one last look at the iron tower, and turned to walk down the mountain.

It was already evening the next day when they returned to Kashgar. He Yuzhu sat on the bed in the guesthouse and took the list out of the system space. Turning to the page on "Xinjiang," after the words "microwave communication," he added a line: More than 20 stations have been built throughout Xinjiang, border communication is clear, and the equipment has been running stably for ten years.

Once you're done writing, put the list back and lock it.

On the train journey to Beijing, He Yuzhu leaned against the window, watching the Gobi Desert recede into the distance. The sky was a hazy gray, the ground a dusty gray, indistinguishable from place to place. Ma Yuejin was asleep opposite him, snoring. He Yuzhu closed his eyes, his mind filled with images of those iron towers, standing in the valleys, on the mountaintops, in the snow. They were silent, yet their voices carried thousands of miles away.

As the train approached Beijing, He Yuzhu got up to get some water. Passing through the connecting area between the carriages, he saw Ma Yuejin standing there smoking, staring blankly out the window.

"Yuejin, what are you thinking about?"

Ma Yuejin stubbed out his cigarette. "Dean," he said, "I'm wondering, was it worth it for those soldiers to spend their entire lives guarding that kind of place?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He remembered Wang Jianguo's choked voice on the phone, the two purplish-red patches on Zhao Tiezhu's face from the cold, and the antennas of those iron towers spinning in the wind.

Whether it's worth it or not, they know for themselves.

Ma Yuejin nodded, threw his cigarette butt into the trash can, and followed He Yuzhu back to the carriage.

It was already dark when He Yuzhu exited the station. Just as he stepped into the square, a young man in military uniform ran up to him, panting heavily.

"Director He, Team Leader Lin asked me to pick you up. There's a problem with the computers at the research institute..."

He Yuzhu paused. "What's the problem?"

The young man shook his head. "He can't explain it clearly; he wants you to go back immediately."

He Yuzhu handed the canvas bag to Ma Yuejin and got into the jeep. The car drove fast, the streetlights outside the window flashing. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Galaxy IV, please, please don't let anything happen to it.