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

Pu Zheng was locked inside the iron gates of the St. Paul Detention Center for seven days.

For the first three days, he didn't touch a single bite of food. The black bean rice that was brought in was brought out untouched, and the water in his cup remained undisturbed. The Brazilian police panicked and called a military doctor to give him an IV drip. As soon as the needle was inserted, he pulled it out himself, and beads of blood trickled down his arm, but he didn't even look at it.

On the evening of the fourth day, Yang Xiaobing asked Mr. Lin to pass on a message. Mr. Lin leaned over the viewing window and said in a low voice, "Old man, Brother Yang said that if you really leave, it will be easier for them to go back and report—I just don't know if Director He will think you've backed down."

There was a long silence inside. So long that Mr. Lin thought the person had already died.

Then I heard the sound of a spoon hitting the rim of a bowl. It rang once, stopped, then rang again.

Old Lu later told He Yuzhu about this, gesturing with his hands: "When that old man was drinking porridge, his hands trembled like a leaf, but his eyes... his eyes were like a dry well, bottomless, but there was a fire burning at the bottom of the well."

He Yuzhu waited in Beijing for three weeks.

I check the Ministry of Foreign Affairs fax three times a day. The news Lao Sun brings is like a rollercoaster – Portugal nodded in agreement today, but direct extradition is not possible. The Portuguese have been in Macau for centuries and have influence with the Brazilian military. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs officials went to Lisbon, to Brasilia, five times before reaching an agreement: Brazil will arrest Pu Zheng on charges of "illegal entry," hand him over to Portugal, and then Portugal will transfer him to China.

The US referred to Pu Zheng as a "political refugee" and demanded that Brazil release him or extradite him to the US. He Yuzhu made more than a dozen copies of the list of Pu Zheng's collaborations with the CIA, and gave them to the Portuguese and Brazilians through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, while also keeping a copy for reporters.

The press conference was held at the Beijing Hotel. He Yuzhu stood on the stage, held up the list, turned to the first page, and asked the reporters to take pictures.

"These are the names of more than three hundred Chinese people, including those from the military, aerospace, nuclear industry, and government agencies. Pu Zheng used these people's lives to exchange for his own wealth and glory."

The flashbulbs of cameras went off in the audience. An American reporter stood up to ask a question, but He Yuzhu ignored him and turned away.

That evening, a spokesperson for the U.S. State Department expressed "concern." The following day, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs issued a strongly worded statement. The third day, the Americans remained silent. Old Sun said that the evidence shut them up—who would admit to conducting intelligence work in China?

It was before dawn on the day Pu Zheng was escorted back to Beijing.

He Yuzhu stood at the airport arrival gate, watching the plane descend from the night sky, taxi, and come to a stop. The boarding stairs drove over, and the cabin door opened. Two uniformed men came out first, followed by Yang Xiaobing, the scar on his face glowing dark red under the lights. Old Lu followed behind him, carrying the canvas bag. Finally, Pu Zheng was escorted by two policemen, one on each side, his handcuffs behind his back. He wore a gray suit, his hair was completely white, and his wrinkles were etched into his face like knife cuts. His eyes were closed. He walked very slowly, his feet shuffling along the ground.

As he passed He Yuzhu, Pu Zheng opened his eyes, glanced at him, and then closed them again.

He Yuzhu smelled the sour, pungent odor of prison on him, and his stomach churned. He didn't say anything.

The interrogation took place at the Public Security Bureau.

He Yuzhu stood outside the interrogation room, looking at the person inside through the glass. Pu Zheng sat in a chair, handcuffed, head bowed. Old Sun sat opposite him, placing the stack of names on the table.

Old Sun didn't rush to ask. He lit a cigarette, took a couple of puffs, and then spoke: "Pu Zheng, this list has over three hundred people. Did your hand shake when you wrote them down one by one?"

Pu Zheng raised his head, glanced at the papers, and then lowered his head again.

Old Sun stood up, walked over to him, and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "You lived in Brazil for several years. The Americans gave you money, protection, and rubber plantations. You know how much you did for them."

Pu Zheng remained silent.

Old Sun picked up the stack of names and read a few. They were all arrested; some had been sentenced, and some were still under trial. Pu Zheng's shoulders twitched.

"These people are all because of you. You gave their names to the Americans, who then passed them on to Daodao, who then sent people to contact them. Some were turned, some were coerced. How many people have you harmed?"

Pu Zheng raised his head, his eyes bloodshot. "The Qing Dynasty is gone. The Manchus are gone too. But your path will be difficult as well."

Old Sun stared at him. "What did you say?"

Pu Zheng stopped speaking.

He Yuzhu stood behind the glass, hearing those words, his nails digging into his palms. He remembered the photo of Pu Zheng from that year—a thin old man, gold-rimmed glasses, a dark suit, standing in front of that small Western-style building in Hong Kong, his hair neatly combed, like a respectable businessman. Later, he ran away, ran halfway around the world, and was finally pinned down by Yang Xiaobing in that narrow alley in St. Paul, his face pressed against the cold cement ground.

He pushed open the door, walked into the interrogation room, and sat down opposite Pu Zheng.

Pu Zheng looked up, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Are you He Yuzhu?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He looked at Pu Zheng for a long time, then asked, "Is there anything else you want to say?"

Pu Zheng was silent for a moment. "The Qing Dynasty cannot be restored. But your path will also be difficult."

He Yuzhu stood up, walked to the door, then turned back. Pu Zheng sat in a chair, head down, shoulders trembling. He Yuzhu pushed open the door and went out.

The voice in my head rang.

[Side Mission: Hunt down Pu Zheng and the remaining Manchu remnants - Completed]

[Mission Reward: 100,000,000 points]

[Current total points: 44,830,000]

He glanced at it. His points had been converted to positive, forty-five million. He closed the interface and walked out of the police station.

Daylight broke outside. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting a pale golden glow on the courtyard wall, its gray surface tinged with gold. He stood there for a long time, then turned and walked towards his office.

Pu Zheng was sent to a detention center to await trial.

He Yuzhu sat in his office and took the list out of his drawer. Turning to the page with "Pu Zheng," he added a line after the word "extradition": Brazilian police arrested him for illegal entry; he was extradited back to China through Portuguese mediation. The US protested, presented evidence of CIA cooperation, and then remained silent. Pu Zheng went on a hunger strike for three days before beginning to eat. During the trial, Pu Zheng stated, "The Qing Dynasty cannot be restored, but your path will be difficult too."

He finished writing, the pen nib piercing the paper, ink spreading in a small blot. He tore off that page, rewrote it, his hand as steady as a machine.

He put the list back and locked the drawer. He stood up and walked to the window. The moon was bright, shining on the courtyard wall, making it look grayish.

The phone on the table suddenly rang. Three rings, then it went dead.

That was the special forces' emergency code.

He Yuzhu grabbed the microphone, and only one sentence came from the other end: "There's a problem with the model of the Kunlun."