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

"Director He, something has happened."

When Ma Yuejin pushed open the office door, he was clutching an envelope, the opening torn crookedly. His face was pale, a thin layer of sweat beaded on his forehead, and he spoke with shortness of breath.

"Old Zhao, the gatekeeper, found a camera at the main gate; it was full of pictures of our research institute."

He Yuzhu took the envelope and emptied its contents. It was a Leica M3, the body still warm from use, with mud splattered on the front cap of the telephoto lens. He held the camera to his ear, and the film advance lever clicked—there was still film inside.

Where are they?

"He got away. Old Zhao chased him for two blocks but couldn't catch him. That guy was incredibly fast; he disappeared as soon as he turned into an alley." Ma Yuejin swallowed hard. "Old Zhao said the guy was about 1.75 meters tall, wearing black-rimmed glasses, a gray jacket, and a square-faced Swiss watch on his wrist. He'd been squatting at the entrance of the research institute for three days, pretending to wait for the bus, but he didn't get on even after seven or eight buses had passed."

He Yuzhu put the camera back on the table, his finger lingering on the body for two seconds. "Call Lao Zhao over."

When Old Zhao came in, his legs were still a little unsteady; he had aggravated his old injury from chasing people so fast. He stood in front of He Yuzhu, unsure of where to put his hands, and finally clasped them together in front of his lower abdomen.

"Dean He, when that man dropped his camera, I saw the watch on his wrist. The dial was square; my son had seen it in a magazine. It's called 'Jaeger-LeCoultre,' and it costs several thousand dollars. An ordinary person can't afford a watch like that."

He Yuzhu stared into Lao Zhao's eyes. "You saw his face clearly?"

"I saw it clearly. He had a pale face, black-rimmed glasses, and his left shoulder was slightly lower than his right, as if he had been carrying a heavy load. He took long strides when he ran, but his left leg dragged slightly when it landed; you wouldn't notice it unless you looked closely."

Where is Yang Xiaobing?

"Set up guards at the entrance," Ma Yuejin replied.

"Let him in."

When Yang Xiaobing pushed the door open, there was a fresh bloodstain on the back of his right hand. It wasn't his blood; the blood droplets trickled down the back of his hand, spreading into a small dark patch on his sleeve.

"You caught up?" He Yuzhu's gaze fell on the bloodstain.

Yang Xiaobing shook his head, the scar on his face taut and turning purple. "I chased him to the train station, and he boarded a train to Guangzhou. By the time I rushed onto the platform, the train had already started moving, and I couldn't jump on." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, "But he dropped this."

He Yuzhu took the wad of paper and unfolded it. A line of words was hastily written in pencil, the strokes so rapid they tore the paper in places: "Next Tuesday, Haizijiao, goods exchanged."

Where is Haizi Cape?

"There are a few abandoned warehouses in Daxing, near the suburbs," Yang Xiaobing said. "I checked the ticket records at the train station for the physical characteristics Lao Zhao described. Three days ago, a passenger named Lin Zhiyuan from Guangzhou filled in 'photographer' as his occupation. The photo I retrieved matches what Lao Zhao described."

He Yuzhu folded the note and put it in the drawer along with the camera—actually transferring it to the system space. "Don't alert him before next Tuesday. Set up surveillance around Haizi Cape in advance. Since he arranged a transaction, he will definitely show up again."

Yang Xiaobing responded and turned to leave.

"Wait. Whose blood is on the back of your hand?"

Yang Xiaobing glanced down and wiped his trouser leg with the back of his hand. "When I was chasing him, I bumped into a pork stall and got pig's blood on my hand, not human blood."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything more. Yang Xiaobing went out, the door closed behind him, and the sound of his hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor, fading into the distance.

He Yuzhu had just picked up the documents on the table when the phone rang. Old Sun's voice came through the receiver, low and urgent.

"Director He, we just received intelligence from the front lines. The Americans have deployed a new force in Vietnam, and they wiped out three North Vietnamese strongholds overnight, leaving no survivors."

He Yuzhu loosened his grip on the microphone. "What unit?"

"The scouts reported that those men ran faster than cars and could crush a helmet with their bare hands. They wouldn't fall even after being shot, their wounds wouldn't bleed, as if they didn't feel pain." Old Sun paused for a moment. "The Soviets also made moves in Afghanistan. The guerrillas ambushed a transport convoy in the mountains, but were killed in the ensuing counterattack. The survivors said that those Soviet soldiers could still charge after being shot four or five times, their faces expressionless like those of the dead."

"Bio-soldiers".

"Most likely." Old Sun's voice was even lower. "Director He, both sides have revealed their cards at the same time. The American project is called 'Jedi Knight,' which involves giving death row inmates a cocktail of drugs that significantly enhances their strength, speed, and pain perception for six to eight hours. The cost is organ failure after the effects wear off, and they won't live more than three months. The Soviets' product is called 'Hero No. 3,' a long-acting drug that lasts a year with one injection. The effects are less pronounced, but it can be mass-produced."

The sound of a lighter came from the other end of the phone. Old Sun lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and his breath came out with a whooshing sound from the receiver.

"Director He, could you come over here? I have some photos here that are hard to explain over the phone."

"You came to the research institute. Something's happened here too."

Less than forty minutes later, Lao Sun appeared in He Yuzhu's office. He dumped a manila envelope on the table, revealing more than twenty black-and-white photographs. The photos showed American soldiers with bloodshot eyes, pupils shrunk to pinpoints, and veins bulging on their faces like earthworms. There were also images of Soviet soldiers charging through the Afghan mountains, riddled with bullet holes, their uniforms riddled with bullet holes, yet still running.

"This was obtained from the front lines in Vietnam," Old Sun said, pointing to the photo. "These soldiers were all death row inmates who had signed death waivers. After one injection, they were no longer human."

He Yuzhu picked up a photograph showing an American soldier smashing through a brick wall with his bare hands. His fist was a bloody mess, with bone exposed, but the man showed no pain; there was even a slight smile on his lips.

"They used these soldiers as the vanguard, and North Vietnam couldn't withstand them."

Old Sun gathered the photos and put them back into the file folder. "North Vietnam can't hold out, and the next threat could be our southern border. The Soviets tested the waters in Afghanistan, and the next target might be Central Asia, which isn't far from us."

He Yuzhu leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly twice on the table. "What do you want to say?"

"Upgrade the electromagnetic rifle." Old Sun stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, the butt standing upright. "The current handheld version can only fire single shots, with a range of 200 meters, which is fine for dealing with one or two enemies. But against organized biological warfare units, we need vehicle-mounted and airborne versions, with a range of over 500 meters, capable of continuous fire, and armor-piercing."