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

The photograph sat on He Yuzhu's desk for three days. He would take it out and look at it every day, then put it back. Pu Zheng stood in a Brazilian rubber plantation, wearing a dark suit, gold-rimmed glasses, and his hair neatly combed. Jiacuo, dressed in a Tibetan robe, stood beside him, the two shaking hands and smiling at the camera. He Yuzhu turned the photograph over; the back was blank, with nothing written on it.

Yang Xiaobing stood in front of the table, his sunburn still fresh on his face, the skin on his cheekbones red and peeling. His lips were chapped and painful as he spoke, and he unconsciously licked them.

"Gyatso confessed everything. Puzheng signed an agreement with the CIA, and he was in contact with the remaining forces in Asia—Tibetan remnants, Manchu remnants, and people in Taiwan. The Americans gave him money, equipment, and protection. The rubber plantation was just a front; the base was hidden underneath."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He stood up, walked to the wall, and looked at the world map. Brazil was in South America, a big red dot with a red pin next to it. Tibet was in Nagqu, a small blue dot with a blue pin next to it. The two dots were separated by the entire Pacific Ocean. Pu Zheng's hand could reach over from that side and deliver money, guns, and explosives to Gyatso.

"What are the Americans' intentions?"

Yang Xiaobing opened his notebook. "Making chaos. Making chaos wherever it happens. Taiwan, Tibet, Xinjiang, and the mainland. They provide the money, the equipment, and the instructors. Pu Zheng provides the connections and the channels. Manchu remnants, Tibetan separatists, and Taiwanese spies have all become his pawns."

He Yuzhu turned around and walked back to the table. He picked up the photo, pressed his thumb against Pu Zheng's face for a while, and then put it down.

"Is it feasible to take action in Brazil?"

Yang Xiaobing shook his head. "It's out of reach. We don't have diplomatic relations, no embassy, ​​and no connections. If our people go there and something goes wrong, no one will bail them out. Overseas Chinese can help keep an eye on things, but they can't take action."

He Yuzhu remained silent. He recalled Yang Xiaobing's trip to Burma that year, where he spent three months in the jungle, his face covered in mosquito bites. Brazil was now much farther than Burma. Overseas Chinese could keep watch and pass messages, but they couldn't arrest people. Pu Zheng was huddled in the rubber plantation, with biological warfare soldiers patrolling outside and Americans backing him up. If he didn't come out, there was nothing anyone could do.

"Wait," He Yuzhu said.

Yang Xiaobing nodded. "Wait."

Footsteps suddenly echoed in the corridor. Not walking, but running; the soles of shoes clicked and clattered on the terrazzo floor, growing closer. Before there was a knock, the door was pushed open.

Lin Jianguo stood at the door, his glasses fogged up, panting and unable to speak. He clutched a stack of printing papers in his hand, the edges rolled up and soaked with sweat. He opened his mouth but no sound came out; he took a few more breaths before he could catch his breath.

"Dean, Starship VI is installed."

He slammed the printout on the table, the pages unfurling to reveal densely packed data curves. He raised his hand, pointing to the highest peak of the curve, his finger trembling.

"The first system-wide joint test was successful, and the data flow is working."

He Yuzhu stood up, walked around the table, and headed for the door. Lin Jianguo turned around and walked quickly, with He Yuzhu following behind. The lights in the corridor were on, dazzlingly white. Yang Xiaobing also caught up, and the sound of the three of their footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The computer room door was open, and the room was brightly lit. The server racks in Galaxy VI were twice the size of those in Galaxy 5, painted light gray, with rows of indicator lights in red and green that stood out starkly in the dim room. The fans hummed, not loud, but heavy, like something large breathing steadily beneath them.

Several young technicians sat at the control panel. Some were staring at the screen, some were typing on the keyboard, and some were writing data in notebooks. When they saw He Yuzhu enter, they stood up.

He Yuzhu waved his hand. "Sit down, keep working."

He walked to the control panel and looked at the screen. The data was fluctuating, scrolling upwards line by line. Temperature, pressure, magnetic field strength, fusion power—each curve steadily extended forward.

Lin Jianguo stood to the side, his hands on the keyboard, his knuckles white.

"Dean, the Starship VI fusion calculation is a hundred times faster than the Starship 5. What used to take a month to calculate a model can now be completed in a few hours. Our tokamak project, calculated using this machine, can produce preliminary results in six months."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He reached out and touched the outer shell of the server rack; it was cool and vibrated slightly. He remembered when Xinghe-1 started operating that year, Lin Jianguo's eyes reddened. Now his eyes weren't red, but his hands were trembling.

"Okay. Hurry up and calculate. Chief Engineer Qian is waiting for the data."

Lin Jianguo nodded. "Okay. I'll arrange for three shifts, so the machines keep running even when people rest. I just don't know if the machines can handle it."

He Yuzhu glanced at him. "If it can't hold up, fix it. Once it's fixed, we'll settle the score."

Lin Jianguo didn't say anything more. He turned around and clapped his hands at the technicians. "Did you all hear that? Three shifts, the machines won't stop. You can schedule your own shifts."

The technicians nodded and then buried their heads in the screen again.

He Yuzhu walked out of the computer room and stood in the courtyard. Yang Xiaobing followed him out and stood beside him. The moon was bright, shining on the courtyard wall, its gray plaster casting long shadows of the two men.

He Yuzhu turned his head and glanced at Yang Xiaobing. The sunburn on his face hadn't healed yet, and there was a crack on his lip covered with dark red scabs.

"Go back once you're healed. Rest for the next few days."

Yang Xiaobing paused for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

He Yuzhu turned around and looked at the dark sky outside the courtyard wall.

"Have the overseas Chinese in Brazil keep an eye on things. Don't get too close."

Yang Xiaobing responded and turned to leave. His footsteps faded into the distance in the corridor.

He Yuzhu stood alone in the courtyard for a long time. The moonlight cast his shadow on the ground, motionless. He thought of Pu Zheng's photograph, of him standing in the rubber plantation, wearing a suit, shaking hands with the Americans. He couldn't escape, but he couldn't catch him either. Separated by the Pacific Ocean, separated by thousands of mountains and rivers.

He turned around, walked back to his office, and sat down. The phone rang.

He answered the phone, and it was Sun Xiuying on the other end, her voice hoarse.

"Director He, the second batch of Huayuan No. 1 has been completed. Five thousand doses. The clinical trial data is also in—three hundred volunteers, all had their liver fibrosis reversed, and there were no side effects."

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "Okay. Give them to the astronaut candidates first. The rest will be distributed to major hospitals, with priority given to retired cadres and key research personnel."

Sun Xiuying responded and hung up.

He Yuzhu put down the phone, opened the drawer, and took out the list. Turning to the page with "Pu Zheng," he added a line below it: "It has been confirmed that Pu Zheng is deeply entrenched with the US, responsible for liaising with remnants of Asian forces, providing funding, equipment, and instructors. His base is a Brazilian rubber plantation, protected by bio-engineered soldiers."