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

Do you know who I am?

Sun Demao's face was pressed against the terrazzo floor of his living room, one arm twisted behind his back, the veins on his forehead throbbing with pain. He didn't look at the people holding him down, but shouted towards the door, his voice shrill and hoarse, like a rooster being choked.

"Sun Demao of the Ministry of Aerospace, I report directly to Vice Minister Zhang. Who approved the arrest warrant?"

No one answered him. The hand twisting his arm tightened its grip, and he heard a crack in his shoulder joint.

"I've rendered meritorious service to the country!" His voice suddenly changed, from anger to a roar, "Dongfeng-5, Long March-1, go check the records! I, Sun Demao, have three third-class merits and one second-class merit, and my name has been on the honor roll for five years! You can't treat me like this!"

Old Sun walked in through the door, holding a brown paper envelope. He squatted down in front of Sun Demao, waved the envelope in front of Sun Demao, but didn't open it.

"Director Sun, your hometown is Keqiao, Shaoxing, Zhejiang. Your parents farmed all their lives, and your monthly salary is ninety-eight yuan." Old Sun's voice wasn't loud, but he enunciated each word clearly. "There are forty-three gold bars hidden in a hidden wall of your ancestral home. Each bar weighs five taels, totaling over twenty-one jin. Where did these gold bars come from?"

Sun Demao's struggle paused for a moment. His lips trembled twice, opening and closing repeatedly. "I...I saved it. The price of gold went up, and I had good foresight."

"You started working in 1965, and by 1971, even if you didn't eat or drink for six years, your total salary was less than seven thousand yuan. Forty-three gold bars, worth forty-three thousand two hundred yuan on the market." Old Sun stood up, dusting off his knees. "What did you use to buy them?"

Sun Demao fell silent. His upper lip clicked against his lower lip, making a soft tapping sound.

"take away."

Twenty minutes later, the incandescent light in the Security Bureau's interrogation room came on. Sun Demao sat in an iron chair, handcuffed to the armrests, forcing him into a semi-sitting, semi-reclining position. His hair was a mess, a red mark was smeared on his face from the floor, and a trace of liquid—whether saliva or sweat—clung to the corner of his mouth. He looked down at his knees, as if counting the creases of the fabric.

The interrogation room door opened. He Yuzhu walked in, not in military uniform, but in a dark blue cotton jacket, carrying a brown paper envelope. He sat down opposite Sun Demao, placed the envelope on the table, and left it there without opening it.

"Director Sun, in your hometown of Keqiao, Shaoxing, there's a place called Anchang, famous for its sausages. Is your home not far from Anchang?"

Sun Demao looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're checking my household registration?"

"It's not a household registration check, it's to verify something." He Yuzhu pushed the envelope forward. "In the hidden wall of your ancestral home, among those forty-three gold bars, one has the words 'Hong Kong Hengtong' engraved on it. Hengtong Trading Company was registered in Hong Kong in 1971, and the registrant was Lin Bingkun, a Taiwanese citizen. Guess where Lin Bingkun is now?"

Sun Demao's Adam's apple bobbed. He didn't speak.

"Lin Bingkun is currently detained in a Taipei detention center. The Taiwanese authorities arrested him because he laundered money for Pu Zheng for eight years." He Yuzhu pulled a piece of paper from the envelope, turned it over in front of Sun Demao, not letting him see the words clearly, only the watermark on the back of the paper. "He confessed everything about you. In March 1971, three thousand US dollars. In August 1972, five thousand US dollars. In December 1973, ten thousand US dollars. All three sums of money were transferred to your Swiss bank account through Hengtong Company's account. You exchanged the money for gold bars and brought them back to Shaoxing in four installments, hiding them in a hidden compartment in the bedroom of your ancestral home. The last time was when you returned home to visit relatives for the Spring Festival in 1974."

Sun Demao's breathing changed. Not faster, but erratic. His inhalations were short, his exhalations long, as if someone was choking him.

"Do you want me to tell you what Pu Zheng wrote about you in his diary?"

Sun Demao's eyes reddened. He started sniffling, once, twice, and on the third sniff, tears fell, landing on the armrest of the iron chair with a soft thud.

"Pu Zheng wrote—'This person is usable, greedy, lustful, and without faith.'" He Yuzhu slowly put the page back into the envelope, as if handling something fragile. "Director Sun, you were a top student in the 1965 graduating class of Harbin Military Engineering Institute. You took an oath before the national flag the year you enrolled. You ran across the Gobi Desert for three months and almost died there. Your merits are written in your file; no one can erase them. But what you did later is also a fact."

Sun Demao's mouth opened, closed, and opened again. His voice squeezed out from deep in his throat, so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

"They...they forced me. When the first payment came in, I was shocked and wanted to return it. But the people from Hengtong Company said that returning it would be considered 'non-cooperation,' and that they had my photos. They took photos of me while I was in a meeting in Hong Kong, with someone..."

He couldn't continue. His head drooped completely, his chin resting on his chest. His shoulders began to tremble, from a slight tremor to a violent shaking, his whole body swaying like a leaf. He didn't cry out loud, but tears and snot streamed down his face, glistening on the armrests of the iron chair.

He Yuzhu stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back at him.

"Sun Demao, the intelligence you leaked to Pu Zheng regarding the Kunlun project site, including geological fault data for three candidate sites: Jiuquan, Xichang, and Hainan, was given to the CIA by Pu Zheng. The CIA's analysis report stated that the Kunlun project 'would require at least five years to complete its infrastructure and was most likely to be located in Jiuquan.' We have obtained that report now as well."

Sun Demao abruptly raised his head, his expression not one of fear, but of confusion. "Jiuquan? I didn't say Jiuquan. I said Xichang. Jiuquan's geological fault lies on a Quaternary active zone, and the data I reported indicated it was 'unsuitable.' How could Jiuquan be the most likely site selection?"

He Yuzhu's hand stopped on the doorknob. He turned around and walked back to Sun Demao.

"What did you say?"

"I clearly stated in my report that Jiuquan had the worst geological conditions. The data I gave Pu Zheng marked Jiuquan's fault activity rating in red, recommending 'exclusion'." Sun Demao's voice suddenly gained strength, like a drowning person grabbing onto the last piece of wood. "It's a fact that I sold intelligence, I admit it. But I didn't list Jiuquan as a top choice. That CIA analysis report either had data they altered themselves, or Pu Zheng lied to them."

He Yuzhu stared into Sun Demao's eyes. Those eyes were bloodshot, but the pupils didn't waver. He had seen too many people's eyes when they lied; this wasn't it.