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

Rest and recuperation? That's just a word on paper.

The soldiers had barely caught their breath after retreating from Vulture Valley when new orders arrived along with the muddy trousers of the division messengers—continue the retreat, move to the designated area, and establish a new defensive zone.

Retreat is not as simple as just turning around and leaving.

Above them, the enemy's iron birds had become more sophisticated. They no longer only targeted the front lines, but instead preyed on the tail ends of marching columns, valley passes, and places that appeared to be logistics depots. Those planes flew high, their wings reflecting the cold sunlight, circling like vultures that had caught the scent of blood. Once they spotted a target, a piercing swoop tore through the air, followed by an explosion and plumes of black smoke.

The supply lines were torn to shreds by the relentless aerial attacks. Transport convoys, already struggling due to muddy roads, suffered even greater losses. Food, ammunition, and medicine—especially medicine—were dwindling rapidly.

The situation was particularly bad for the reconnaissance battalion.

After continuous fierce fighting, men and horses were exhausted. Nearly a third of the soldiers were wounded. Medicine was the first to run out; several seriously wounded soldiers' wounds began to worsen, and they developed persistent high fevers. The medic was so anxious that blisters appeared on his lips; he used the last bit of sulfanilamide powder repeatedly, washing the gauze again and again, but it still couldn't stop the festering. Food was also scarce; two meals a day of thin porridge mixed with fried noodles were gone in a few bites, barely enough to fill their stomachs, let alone help them recover their strength. Ammunition was still somewhat available, but everyone knew that at this critical juncture, every bullet fired was one less available, leaving a deep sense of emptiness.

Non-combat casualties began to occur.

They weren't deserters; they simply couldn't hold on any longer and collapsed. Malnutrition, infected wounds, and the lingering chill of spring meant that even a common cold could bring down a strong young man. During the march, the column had to frequently stop, strapping the wounded who couldn't walk to makeshift stretchers and carrying them along. The pace was as slow as a snail's crawl.

He Yuzhu felt as if a lead weight was pressing down on his heart.

He unfolded the map, his finger tracing the marked temporary supply points—most of which were now marked as ruins. The promises from above were too late to solve his immediate problem. He could exchange items in the system, but how could he actually take them out? Conjuring canned medicine out of thin air was suicidal.

He squatted on a rock by the roadside, rolled a cigarette, but didn't light it; he just held it to his nose and inhaled its pungent, bitter aroma. The rough scent of tobacco pierced his nostrils, briefly clearing his head.

Old Geng leaned closer, his face ashen: "Battalion Commander, if this continues, we'll fall apart even without the enemy's attack. Little Li from the third platoon, who's wounded in the abdomen, started speaking this morning. If we don't get the inflammation treated soon, I'm afraid..."

He Yuzhu remained silent. His gaze passed over Lao Geng's shoulder and landed on several faint ruins in the distant mountain valley. These were temporary supply points that both sides had briefly used and subsequently destroyed.

A thought flashed through his mind like a match struck in the dark.

Faint, yet burning hot.

"Old Geng," he lowered his voice, "select a few of the most discreet and efficient men, and you will personally lead the team. They must be absolutely trustworthy—from families with three generations of poor farmers, and of unwavering resolve."

"What are you doing?"

"In the dark, let's check those flattened supply depot 'ruins'," He Yuzhu's voice was almost a whisper. "The enemy retreated hastily, and our attack was rushed. Maybe... there are still some corners that weren't completely destroyed. What if we find some loot?"

Old Geng's eyes flickered, and he understood.

This explanation fools the higher-ups, their own people, and even any potential eyes watching. He nodded: "Understood. I'll take Tie Niu and Shuanzi with me. These guys came from my hometown with me; they might not be the brightest, but they're tight-lipped."

"Remember," He Yuzhu stared into his eyes, "no matter what you 'find,' keep the same story: abandoned by the enemy, hidden under collapsed roof beams or in half-buried pits, the packaging is torn, but the contents are still usable. Tell everyone that. Especially... that reporter surnamed Qin is still wandering around the camp; she has a keen sense of smell."

"Understood."

The night was deep and clear.

There was no moon, only a few cold stars hanging in the sky. Old Geng, leading five shadowy figures, slipped out of the camp like cats and disappeared into the darkness leading to the ruins.

He Yuzhu didn't sleep.

He leaned against the shelter, his consciousness sinking into the system.

Points: 5,168,398.

[Redeem: 200 cans of canned meat (generic brand, worn appearance), -4,000 points]

[Redeem: 100 kg of compressed biscuits (damaged packaging), -3,000 points]

[Redeem: 50 servings of sulfonamide drugs (unlabeled, simple packaging), -15,000 points]

[Exchange: Battlefield First Aid Kit (basic contents, dirty packaging) x 100, -8,000 points]

Total: -30,000 points.

He deliberately chose unassuming, even tattered, packaging, and the items were of the kind that might exist in this era, only slightly better quality. The exchange location was specified as a hidden corner of the ruins that Lao Geng and his team were exploring—a half-collapsed cellar, under a broken roof beam, deep within piled rubble.

[Exchange complete. Resources have been delivered to the designated coordinates.]

Battlefield Points: 5,168,398 - 30,000 = 5,138,398 points

After doing all this, He Yuzhu's back was covered in a fine layer of sweat.

It wasn't fatigue, it was tension. It was like walking a tightrope with a bottomless abyss beneath your feet. He both hoped that Lao Geng would have a bountiful "harvest," and feared that his "luck" would be too conspicuous.

Old Geng and the others returned late at night.

Each person carried a bulging sack or a tattered box on their back, their faces showing suppressed excitement and a hint of barely perceptible fear.

"Commander! It's true! This is bizarre!" Old Geng carefully put the things down, his voice low but trembling. "It's in the corner of the cellar of that main house that was half-collapsed, piled with rotten wood. We dug it open—and there were these hidden underneath! The tin cans were rusted, the biscuit bags were torn, but this medicine…this medicine looks alright!"

He Yuzhu squatted down, picked up a packet of unlabeled sulfanilamide powder, and then looked at the mud-covered canned goods and biscuits. The system's weathering was incredibly realistic. He nodded, his face expressionless: "Inventory and record. Remember what you said?"

"Remember! The enemy dropped it, and it was well hidden. It wasn't bombed or searched. We were lucky to find it!" Several soldiers nodded hurriedly, their eyes filled with joy, awe for the battalion commander's "prophetic" abilities, and the tension of completing a special mission.

There wasn't much, but it was enough to tide us over.

Canned food and biscuits were immediately distributed to each company, with priority given to the wounded and sick. When the first-aid kits and sulfanilamide powder arrived at the medical station, the helpless medic almost cried and immediately used them on Xiao Li and several seriously wounded soldiers.

The news quietly spread throughout the camp, boosting morale. Although they were still hungry and exhausted, at least there was some hope—fate hadn't completely closed its eyes yet. The groans of the wounded seemed to lessen.

Qin Huairu discovered the abnormality the next morning.

She saw several soldiers sharing canned food they had never seen before, and a medic changing the bandages of a wounded soldier with an unlabeled medical kit. She discreetly inquired, and the answers she received were remarkably consistent: "Hey, lucky us! Last night on patrol we stumbled upon a bombed-out enemy-occupied village. We pulled it out of the rubble; I bet the Americans didn't even have time to take it with them."

When she found He Yuzhu, he was examining a map, studying the next leg of the march. The map was spread out on an ammunition box, its edges damp with dew.

"Battalion Commander He, I heard the soldiers found some supplies?" Qin Huairu asked casually.

"Hmm, coincidence." He Yuzhu didn't even look up, tracing the location of a stream on the map with his finger. "The enemy retreated in a hurry, leaving behind some loose ends. This solved our immediate crisis."

"Finding relatively well-preserved medicine and food in the completely destroyed ruins... that's really lucky," Qin Huairu said slowly, her gaze falling on He Yuzhu's profile to observe his reaction.

He Yuzhu finally raised his eyelids to look at her. His gaze was calm, even carrying a weary indifference: "Anything can happen on the battlefield. Sometimes getting bombed is bad luck, sometimes getting lucky is good luck. Reporter Qin, do you also study luck?"

These words lightly deflected the question, carrying a subtle barb. Qin Huairu wasn't angry; instead, she smiled slightly. The smile was faint, yet it seemed to see through something, but she chose not to expose it.

"I just feel that Battalion Commander He seems particularly concerned about the soldiers' 'luck.' That's a good thing." She paused. "Regardless of where the supplies came from, their greatest use is saving lives and stabilizing the ranks. I won't delve into their origin—that's my professional ethics, and also... my understanding of war."

He Yuzhu remained silent for a moment, then looked down at the map again, only giving a faint "hmm." But his tense shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.

Qin Huairu didn't ask any more questions and turned to leave. She took out her notebook, but didn't write down a single word about the "mysterious supply." She only drew a small question mark on the edge of the page and wrote next to it:

"The resilience to survive often lies in the gray areas. The loneliness of a leader lies in having to bear the weight of certain choices alone."

This batch of "scavenged" supplies acted like a shot in the arm, allowing the reconnaissance battalion to barely survive the most difficult phase of the retreat and finally stagger to their new pre-designated defensive zone. Thanks to timely medication, the wounded soldiers' conditions did not worsen, and several seriously wounded even pulled through the critical period. The food replenishment helped the soldiers regain some strength.

He Yuzhu stood on the earthen slope of the new camp, watching his men dig fortifications and build bunkers. A gust of wind blew by, carrying the smell of fresh earth. His points had decreased by another 30,000.

But He Yuzhu felt that this deal was worthwhile.

I just don't know if I'll be this lucky next time.