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

Yang Xiaobing squatted in the stairwell, his knees long since numb.

He slowly straightened his leg, letting the blood flow down, then curled it back up. A layer of ash covered the windowpane; he wiped a small patch off with his sleeve and pressed it against his eye. The streetlamp in the alley wasn't lit yet; several small stickers were stuck to the utility pole, their corners curling up in the wind, revealing the yellowed plaster beneath. The Fu Man Lou sign was lit, red characters, like a small, dying flame against the gray sky.

Mr. Lin's voice came through the earpiece, very low: "He's not out yet."

Yang Xiaobing didn't respond. He glanced at his watch. 12:40. Pu Zheng had been inside for twenty minutes.

Old Lu squatted by the back door of the restaurant, a greasy exhaust fan above his head whirring and dripping black water. He wore a tattered straw hat and clutched a wrench in his hand. He'd brought this wrench from Anshan Iron and Steel Company; it had been with him for over a decade, its handle worn smooth and shiny. Chen Guodong was in the dilapidated van at the alley entrance, the engine still running, white smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe. His younger brother, Chen Guodong, sat in the passenger seat, disassembling and cleaning a gun, then reassembling it three times.

"They're here."

Mr. Lin's voice came through the earphones, and Yang Xiaobing pressed his eyes back against the glass. A black sedan with Brazilian license plates turned into the alley and stopped in front of Fumanlou Restaurant. The door opened, and Pu Zheng climbed out of the back seat.

He'd aged. Yang Xiaobing stared at his face. His hair was completely white, his face was sagging, his cheekbones were prominent, and his eyes were sunken. His eyes hadn't changed; they were like dry wells, bottomless. He wore a dark gray suit with a gold brooch on his lapel, the design illegible. Two white bodyguards followed behind him, much taller than him, their faces half-hidden by sunglasses, their hands bulging in their pockets.

Pu Zheng entered the restaurant. His bodyguard followed him in.

Yang Xiaobing emerged from the stairwell, walked to the alley entrance, and stood against the wall. He lit a cigarette, but didn't smoke it, holding it between his fingers and letting the ash slowly fall. Old Lu came around from the back door, squatted down beside him, still clutching the wrench in his hand. He pulled his straw hat down further and lowered his voice: "Is he alone?"

"Two bodyguards." Yang Xiaobing stubbed out his cigarette, threw the butt on the ground, and ground it with the toe of his shoe. "When you make your move, you hold off the one in the back. I'll handle the one in the front. Chen Guodong, block the driver."

Old Lu nodded, stood up, stretched his knees, and then squatted back down.

It was 1:20. The door of Fu Man Lou opened.

Pu Zheng came out first, flanked by two bodyguards. As they walked towards the alley entrance, passing the dilapidated van, Chen Guodong opened the car door, rushed out, and punched the bodyguard on the left in the face. The bodyguard, though punched, didn't fall, but took a step back, reaching into his pocket.

Yang Xiaobing rushed forward and kicked the bodyguard in the wrist. The gun flew out, landed on the ground, bounced twice, and slid under the bread cart. The bodyguard didn't pick up the gun; instead, he swung his other fist. Yang Xiaobing dodged to the side, his fist grazing the bodyguard's ear, creating a gust of wind. He grabbed the arm and kneed the bodyguard in the stomach. The bodyguard groaned, bent over, and Yang Xiaobing slammed an elbow into the back of his head. The bodyguard went limp and slumped forward.

Old Lu pounced from behind, grabbed the bodyguard on the right by the waist, and slammed him against the wall. The bodyguard struggled, his elbow hitting Old Lu in the chest. Old Lu grunted, but didn't let go, pressing the bodyguard's head against the wall. Once, twice. The bodyguard's glasses shattered, blood flowed from his nose, trickling down his lips. He was still struggling when Old Lu punched him in the temple, and he went limp.

Pu Zheng stood there, watching his two bodyguards being pinned to the ground, his expression unchanged. He turned to run, overturning a nearby table, shattering dishes and utensils everywhere. Mr. Lin rushed out of the restaurant, tripped him, and Pu Zheng fell to the ground, his gold-rimmed glasses flying off, the lenses shattering and the frames warped. He lay on the ground, panting heavily.

Yang Xiaobing rushed up, pinned him to the ground, twisted his arm behind his back, and pressed his knee against his lower back.

"Your Highness, you can't escape now."

Pu Zheng turned his face to the side, pressing it against the cold cement floor, and twitched the corner of his mouth as if he were smiling.

"Arresting me won't do you any good."

He took a breath.

"Everything that needed to be spread... has been spread."

Yang Xiaobing pulled out nylon cable ties from behind his waist and tied them around his wrists and ankles. Old Lu stood up and tied up the two bodyguards as well, tightening the ties so that white marks appeared on their wrists. Chen Guodong pulled the driver out of the driver's seat, pressed him against the wall, and tied him up as well.

Mr. Lin walked over, squatted down, and looked at Pu Zheng. Pu Zheng kept his eyes closed and didn't speak. Mr. Lin stood up and dusted off his trousers.

"Captain Yang, what's the next step?"

Yang Xiaobing pulled Pu Zheng up from the ground. "Go to Peru as planned."

They shoved Pu Zheng into the dilapidated van. The two bodyguards and the driver were put into another car. Chen Guodong drove, Yang Xiaobing sat in the passenger seat, and Lao Lu watched Pu Zheng from the back. Pu Zheng leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, and remained silent. The car drove out of the alley and onto the main road. Yang Xiaobing glanced back. The lights at Fumanlou were still on, and the streetlamp at the alley entrance had just come on, its dim yellow light illuminating the oily puddles.

The car had been driving for almost four hours, and the scenery outside the window had changed from city to wilderness. The road was getting narrower and narrower, the streetlights had disappeared, and only the headlights illuminated the section of asphalt ahead. Yang Xiaobing's hands were still trembling. He put his hands in his pockets, clenched them, and waited for the trembling to subside. Old Lu, in the back seat, kept his hand on the wrench, his fingers tightening and loosening on the handle.

Pu Zheng didn't open his eyes. After a long time, he finally spoke.

"Are you one of He Yuzhu's people?"

Yang Xiaobing ignored him.

Pu Zheng added, "He's been chasing me for ten years. From Hong Kong to Thailand, from Thailand to Myanmar, from Myanmar to Taiwan, and from Taiwan to Brazil. Now you can come and arrest me."

Yang Xiaobing looked out the window without turning around.

"Those lists were submitted back in '68," Pu Zheng muttered softly to himself. "Those that were meant to be circulated have already been circulated."

Yang Xiaobing's fingers slowly clenched on his knees.

The car continued driving. The Peruvian night was dark; there were no lights, only the car headlights illuminating the road ahead, drawing two white lines in the darkness. Yang Xiaobing leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He could hear Pu Zheng's breathing beside him, very soft, rhythmic.

At four in the morning, the car arrived at a small pier on the Peruvian coast. A fishing boat was waiting; the captain, a man of few words and a friend of Mr. Lin's, was from Fujian. They escorted Pu Zheng onto the boat, with Chen Guodong and Lao Lu following behind. Yang Xiaobing stood on the pier, watching the fishing boat slowly sail away, its bow lights flashing in the darkness, growing farther and farther away until finally disappearing below the horizon.

He took out his satellite phone and dialed He Yuzhu's number. It rang once and was answered.

"Commander, the man has been arrested."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

Yang Xiaobing then said, "Pu Zheng."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. He Yuzhu spoke, his voice low: "Are you injured?"

"No. The two bodyguards struggled a bit, but they were fine."

"Okay. Be careful on the road."

The call ended. Yang Xiaobing stood on the pier, the sea breeze carrying a salty, chilly scent. He put the phone in his pocket and turned to walk ashore. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back at the sea. He couldn't see anything, only darkness, only waves lapping against the pier.