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

When Old Sun came in, He Yuzhu was staring blankly at the photograph on the wall. The photograph was blurry; it was of a rubber plantation in Brazil, with Pu Zheng standing in front of a rubber tree, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, a dark suit, and his hair neatly combed. He Yuzhu had been looking at it for almost a month, glancing at it every day, but he hadn't noticed anything new.

"sit."

Old Sun didn't sit down. He placed a brown paper bag on the table, untied the string, and pulled out a stack of papers inside. The pages were yellowed, the edges were curled up, and names were densely written on them. He spread the stack of papers out; three pages, covering half the table.

"Pu Zheng handed it over to the Americans. In 1968, when he first entered Kunming, he handed over the first batch of names."

He Yuzhu didn't move. He looked at the stack of papers for a few seconds before reaching for the first page. Names, organizations, positions, code names. He recognized some of the names; he'd seen them in the ledger, in Professor Zhou's study, and in Jin Dehou's confession. Some names were unfamiliar, but he knew the organizations well—military industry, aerospace, nuclear industry, communications—all key departments.

"How many?"

Old Sun took out a cigarette, put one in his mouth, but didn't light it. "A little over three hundred. It was paid in six batches, from 1968 to this year."

He Yuzhu put down the first page and picked up the second. His hand didn't tremble, but his knuckles were white.

"How many were arrested?"

"More than 280. Of the rest, some ran away, some died, and a few are still hiding; we're digging them out."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He finished reading the three pages, stacked them neatly, and put them back on the table. There were birds chirping outside the window, chattering away, and he couldn't tell what they were arguing about. He listened for a while before speaking.

"What is Pu Zheng exchanging these lists for?"

Old Sun took the cigarette out of his mouth and crumpled it. "Exchange for money, for protection, for residency. That rubber plantation in Brazil, the Americans bought it. Those bio-soldiers, the Americans sent them to protect him. He sold himself to the CIA."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. The sky outside was overcast, threatening rain. The big-character posters on the courtyard wall had long been torn down; the wall was a dull gray, revealing the underlying blue bricks. He stood there for a while, then turned around.

"We're not arresting him for revenge. Cutting off the US's intelligence foothold in Asia is worth more than anything else."

Old Sun collected the stack of papers, put them back in the brown paper bag, and tied it with a string. "Things are difficult in Brazil. The police are rotten to the core, they're in cahoots with the CIA. If we go through official channels, the Brazilians will turn around and notify the Americans, and Pu Zheng will disappear without a trace."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He walked back to the table, sat down, picked up the enamel mug on the table, and took a sip. It was cold, but he didn't refill it.

Where is Yang Xiaobing?

"Wait downstairs."

"Let him come up."

He Yuzhu put the jar down, took down the photo on the wall, and glanced at the back. Blank. He pinned it back.

Yang Xiaobing pushed open the door and came in, wearing a gray cloth jacket and holding a straw hat in his hand. The scar on his face ran from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, appearing dark red under the fluorescent light. He didn't sit down, but stood in front of the table.

"Commander, I have a connection in Brazil."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

Yang Xiaobing said, "There was an overseas Chinese man named Chen Guoliang. He ran a security company in St. Paul, with dozens of men under him, all of whom were veterans. You know his younger brother, Chen Guodong. He went with him to Nagqu, Tibet that year."

He Yuzhu thought for a moment. Chen Guodong, dark-skinned, taciturn, and an excellent marksman. In the mountains of Nagqu, he single-handedly took down three Tibetan separatists, each shot a headshot. Later, he retired from the army, saying he was going to Brazil to join his brother.

"Can I trust you?"

Yang Xiaobing nodded. "He's trustworthy. His younger brother served in the military here, a special forces soldier. Chen Guodong himself hasn't come back, but his brother is here; he can't hide forever."

He Yuzhu didn't rush to express his opinion. He stood up, walked to the front of the map, and found Brazil. São Paulo, a large red dot. The rubber plantations were in the suburbs, small blue dots. The two dots were dozens of kilometers apart, with winding roads passing through farmland and forests. He stared at it for a long time.

"Can you arrest them?"

Yang Xiaobing thought for a moment. "A direct assault won't work. There are biological soldiers in the rubber plantation, more than a dozen of them, all former US special forces. We'll be at a disadvantage if we fight them head-on. We have to wait for him to come out. He goes to São Paulo once a month to meet clients and discuss business. We'll make our move on the way."

He Yuzhu turned around. "Are Chen Guoliang's men knowledgeable?"

Yang Xiaobing said, "I understand. He has several veterans under his command, some of whom served in the French Foreign Legion, and others who worked in security in Israel. They can kidnap someone without alerting the police."

He Yuzhu walked back to the table, picked up the jar, and then put it down again. The water had cooled completely, but he didn't pour it out.

"What's the route?"

Yang Xiaobing pulled a crumpled map from his pocket and spread it on the table. Several lines, red and blue, were marked on it with pencil, winding and turning.

"Once they catch the person, they'll leave Brazil, go through Peru, then Ecuador, and finally return to China via Mexico. Chen Guodong has traveled that route before; he knows it well. They won't take a plane, they'll take a car, they'll travel overland. The border checks aren't strict; they'll just pay a little money and get through."

He Yuzhu stared at the map for a long time. Then he looked up at Yang Xiaobing.

"What if we mess it up?"

Yang Xiaobing was taken aback.

"The CIA is also in Brazil. If things go wrong, no one can bail you out."

Yang Xiaobing folded the map and stuffed it back into his pocket. "I can't afford to mess it up."

He Yuzhu didn't ask any more questions. He walked to the window and drew back the curtains. The sky outside was overcast, and the clouds hung low. He stood there for a while, then turned around.

"Go ahead. Contact Chen Guodong. Figure out Pu Zheng's schedule first, don't rush into action. Once you have a clear understanding, then set a time."

Yang Xiaobing responded and turned to leave. But as he reached the door, he turned back.

"Commander, there's one more thing."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

Yang Xiaobing said, "Chen Guodong made a condition."

"What are the conditions?"

"After it's done, let his brother stay in Brazil and never come back."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He looked at Yang Xiaobing, and Yang Xiaobing looked back at him. The room was silent for a few seconds.

"OK."

Yang Xiaobing nodded, pushed open the door, and left.

Old Sun came in from the corridor and stood in the doorway. "You agreed?"

He Yuzhu walked back to the table and sat down. "I agree."

Old Sun didn't ask any more questions and turned to leave.

He Yuzhu sat alone in his office, taking the list out of his drawer. Turning to the page with "Pu Zheng," he wrote a few lines: "List of over 300 Manchu remnants transferred in six batches starting in 1968. Brazilian police are unreliable; we plan to secretly arrest them through an overseas Chinese security company. Chen Guodong will provide the route, on the condition that his younger brother stays in Brazil."

He finished writing, put the list back, and locked the drawer. He stood up and turned off the light. The room darkened, leaving only the dim, yellowish light of the streetlamp outside the window, illuminating the photograph on the wall. Pu Zheng stood in front of the rubber tree, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, his hair neatly combed.