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

Yang Xiaobing squatted in the bushes outside the east wall of the research institute for two nights.

Nothing happened the first night. Mosquitoes swarmed around his face, but he dared not swat them, afraid of making too much noise. At two o'clock in the morning on the second night, a figure emerged from behind the sycamore tree and moved slowly along the base of the wall.

Yang Xiaobing held his breath, placed his palms on the muddy ground, and dug his fingertips into the damp soil.

The dark figure stopped in front of the ventilation duct and raised a camera. The metallic click of the shutter sounded crisp in the night, like the snapping of a dry twig.

"Don't move."

Yang Xiaobing lunged forward. His knee slammed into the man's lower back, one hand twisted his left arm backward, while the other pressed down on the back of his head, slamming it to the ground. The man's face slammed into the mud with a muffled groan, and his camera flew out of his hand, crashing onto the concrete steps, shattering the lens.

"What's your name?"

"I...I'm a reporter."

"A reporter taking pictures of the wall in the middle of the night?" Yang Xiaobing pulled the man up from the ground and handcuffed his wrists. He bent down to pick up the camera, then felt for a tripod and a kraft paper envelope on the ground. Inside the envelope were several rolls of film that had been taken, as well as a hand-drawn floor plan of the research institute. The location of the ventilation duct was marked with a red cross.

Twenty minutes later, He Yuzhu pushed open the door to the security department's interrogation room.

The incandescent light made it hard for the man to open his eyes. He sat on an iron chair, his trouser legs covered in mud, his black-rimmed glasses askew, the left lens cracked. He dared not look up, his shoulders trembling.

Yang Xiaobing placed the camera and envelope on the table. "We found this on you. There was also a train ticket from Guangzhou to Beijing, with the name Lin Zhiyuan on it."

He Yuzhu pulled out a chair and sat down without saying a word. He laid out the contents of the envelope one by one: the film reel, the floor plan, and the train ticket. After laying them out, he lightly tapped the train ticket twice with his finger.

"Lin Zhiyuan?"

The man looked up, his lips trembling. "My name is John Smith. An American."

"Americans coming to China to bang on walls?"

Smith swallowed hard. "The CIA hired me. They paid me to film this research institute, especially that big circular thing."

"Who told you there was a big circle here?"

"A Hong Kong man, surnamed Chen. I only knew him as Mr. Chen. He gave me a camera and five thousand US dollars and asked me to come to Beijing."

"How many days did you film?"

"Four days. I only filmed the exterior before, but tonight I want to film the inside of the ventilation ducts..."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. It was pitch black outside, with a searchlight sweeping back and forth on the courtyard wall. He turned around, took the camera from Yang Xiaobing, and looked at the serial number on the bottom of the camera body under the light.

"A custom-made unit costs three thousand US dollars. Journalists can't afford that."

He placed the camera on the table, the lens pointing towards Smith. The sound of metal hitting the table was faint, but in the quiet interrogation room it sounded like a stone being struck.

"You are spying on Chinese secrets for the US intelligence agencies. Under criminal law, espionage can be punished with more than ten years in prison."

A soft sound escaped Smith's throat. He lowered his head, his chin resting on his chest, beads of sweat forming on the thinning hair.

"I can let you go back."

Smith suddenly looked up.

"But you need to take something back for me." He Yuzhu pulled a manila envelope from his briefcase, placed it on the table, and pushed it towards Smith. "An internal document introducing our fusion device. We'll replace three key films from those you photographed. Go back and tell Mr. Chen that you've obtained the research institute's floor plan and the device's exterior, and also a copy of the internal document. The price is ten thousand US dollars."

Smith stared at the envelope, not daring to reach for it. "You...you're letting me go? Aren't you afraid I'll go back and tell everyone?"

"You were arrested once in China. When you go back, if you say you were arrested, the CIA will suspect you were recruited. If you say you weren't arrested, you won't be able to explain the origin of the photos you took. You need to weigh the pros and cons yourself."

Smith's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

He Yuzhu pushed the envelope forward another half an inch. "Take this back with you. Whether you can exchange it for money depends on your own abilities."

After a long silence, Smith finally reached out, his fingers trembling as he picked up the envelope.

The door opened. Old Sun walked in with a cup of tea, leaned against the doorframe, glanced at Smith, and then at He Yuzhu.

"Old Sun, you've come at the right time. Investigate a Hong Kong man named Chen Yongkang, who smuggled himself out of Guangdong in the 1960s and is now working for the CIA."

Old Sun placed the teacup on the table. "How did you know it was this person?"

"That's what Smith said. His surname is Chen, he's from Hong Kong, and he's using a trading company as a cover. Have someone in Guangzhou check the port records; this person may have entered the country more than once."

Old Sun nodded, turned to leave, then stopped. "You really want to let him go back?"

"If we don't release him, who will relay our message?"

Old Sun left with a frown on his face.

Yang Xiaobing escorted Smith to complete the deportation procedures. He Yuzhu sat alone in the interrogation room, picked up the film reels on the table, and examined them one by one under the light. Close-ups of ventilation vents, weak points in the courtyard wall, the location of the exhaust pipes in the underground laboratory. He pulled out three sheets and put them in his pocket, returning the rest to the envelope.

At daybreak, Yang Xiaobing called from the airport.

"Director He, the person has boarded the plane. Before leaving, he said something—Mr. Chen asked me to tell you that the Americans are very interested in China's nuclear fusion project, and the people who come next time won't be as stupid as I was."

"Threat or warning?"

"Yes, we have them all."

He Yuzhu hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

Old Sun pushed open the door, holding a telegram in his hand. "The reply from Guangzhou is here. Chen Yongkang, 45 years old, originally from Zhongshan, Guangdong, smuggled himself to Hong Kong in 1962 and became a U.S. citizen in 1971. He registered a company in Hong Kong called 'Yongkang Trading,' which imports and exports electronic products. He entered the mainland three times last year, visiting Shenzhen, Guangzhou, and Shanghai. Customs records show that he didn't carry much each time, but he used a different passport each time."

"Have the border checkpoint keep an eye on this person. Next time he enters the country, find a reason to detain him."

Old Sun placed the telegram on the table, staring at He Yuzhu. "What did you write in that false intelligence report?"

"Tokamak fusion devices are mainly used for power generation. They have broad prospects for civilian applications." He Yuzhu picked up his teacup and took a sip. The tea had gone cold and tasted bitter.

"That's it? Americans will believe that?"

"Whether they believe it or not is not important. What's important is that they have to take the time to verify it. By the time they've finished verifying it, our superconducting ring will have been reinforced."

Old Sun was silent for a moment, then picked up the cup of iced tea and took a sip. "You're gambling."

"How can you win without gambling?"

The phone on the table suddenly rang. He Yuzhu picked up the receiver.

"Xiao He, come to the sea tomorrow and tell me about your Kunlun."

The voice on the other end of the phone was deep and steady, each word like a nail hitting the ground. He Yuzhu tightened his grip on the receiver, his back straightening unconsciously.

"Sir, what time tomorrow?"

"Someone will meet you at the main gate at nine o'clock in the morning."

The call ended. He Yuzhu put the receiver back, his fingertips still lingering on it. He sat in his chair for a few seconds, then stood up, took out the latest plan for the Kunlun from his drawer, and flipped through it page by page. The core data was all represented by coded symbols; he read it quickly, mentally reviewing all the key indicators.

Old Sun hadn't left yet when he noticed his expression change. "What's wrong?"

"Report on the Kunlun to the top leader tomorrow."

Old Sun gasped. "You're going alone?"

"I brought Lin Jianguo along; he explained the technology."

He Yuzhu picked up the phone and dialed Lin Jianguo. "Jianguo, come with me to the sea tomorrow. You'll be in charge of explaining the fusion device and the warp drive part."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. "Are you sure?"

"Confirmed. See you at the research institute entrance at 7:00 AM tomorrow."

After hanging up the phone, He Yuzhu walked to the window. It was already daylight; sunlight shone on the gray walls of the research institute, illuminating the outline of each brick clearly. There was no one in the courtyard, only the five-starred red flag on the flagpole fluttering in the morning breeze.

When Yang Xiaobing returned from the airport, he opened the door and saw He Yuzhu standing by the window, lost in thought.

"Director He, is there anything else?"

"Security at the research institute will be raised to the next level. Access to the underground laboratory will be restricted to only you, Qian Zhiyuan, and Lin Jianguo. From today onward, if anyone inquires about my whereabouts, you are not to be given any explanation."

Yang Xiaobing stood at attention. "Understood."

He Yuzhu turned around and picked up the briefcase on the table. He walked to the door, then stopped and glanced back at the interrogation room. The incandescent light was still on, the iron chair was empty, and there were mud marks left by Smith on the floor.

Tomorrow is a crucial day.

He closed the door and walked into the corridor. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, and motion-activated lights went out behind him.