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

The clean and efficient ambush by the anti-infiltration unit was like boiling oil poured back, scalding the enemy's outstretched hand and forcing it to retreat. For the next two weeks, the telephone line never went down at night. But He Yuzhu knew—a much bigger wave was brewing beneath the calm. The other side had suffered a loss and would definitely seek revenge. The most direct way would be to test just how strong this newly built "iron gate" really was.

Summer in North Korea comes fiercely, the sun scorching the rocks. On the defensive line, the tunnel framework has been buried deep in the mountainside, and the soldiers are busy covering and reinforcing it, and digging firing holes. They are covered in mud and dust, but they have a sense of security—at least when they are shelled, they have a decent place to hide.

Qin Huairu occasionally appeared at the most critical construction sites. She didn't conduct interviews, but silently handed out tools and water bottles. She rarely saw He Yuzhu. This regimental commander was always on the move: from one hilltop to another, pointing at blueprints, or squatting on the ground gesturing with the engineering company commander. His brows were always furrowed, as if he was constantly rehearsing a chess game in his mind.

That afternoon, just as He Yuzhu emerged from the Third Battalion's tunnel, Lao Geng rushed over with a telegram: "Regimental Commander, urgent telegram from Division Headquarters. The enemy artillery is unusually active, and reconnaissance planes are appearing on our front lines twice as frequently. It is predicted that within 24 to 48 hours, there will be a regimental-level probing attack. The main target is likely our No. 1 and No. 2 forward support points."

"They've finally arrived." He Yuzhu took the telegram, glanced at it, and said calmly, "Notify all battalions to enter Level Two combat readiness. Execute Plan No. 3. Except for necessary observation posts, all personnel and supplies must be moved underground. Check the camouflage and decoys of the surface positions again. Deploy the anti-infiltration units to monitor the area. The regimental artillery companies should calculate the support data and prepare ammunition to the highest standards."

The order was swiftly issued. The noise of construction abruptly ceased, replaced by a subdued and orderly pre-battle preparation: the clanging of metal during weapons inspections, the thud of ammunition boxes being moved, and the officers' hushed instructions.

He Yuzhu returned to the regimental command post—an underground bunker buried deep on the reverse slope of the main peak, covered with reinforced concrete. The battle map was already hanging, densely marked with red and blue markers. A telephone operator guarded the hand-cranked radio and the main radio. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and engine oil.

Qin Huairu was allowed into the observation area surrounding the command post. She saw He Yuzhu standing motionless in front of the map, only occasionally tapping his fingers lightly on a spot. The flickering lamplight illuminated the cold, hard contours of his face.

"Are you scared?" she asked softly. Her voice sounded abrupt in the silence.

He Yuzhu glanced at her sideways, then looked back at the map: "I'm afraid. Afraid of insufficient preparation, afraid of misjudging, afraid that the newly dug tunnels won't withstand the first round of heavy artillery." He paused, "But what I'm even more afraid of is that the enemy won't come."

Night fell, followed by the most agonizing darkness before dawn. The only sounds in the command post were breathing and the static of electrical circuits. At 4:20 a.m., the telephone operator looked up sharply: "Forward observation post reporting—enemy artillery fire is ready! It's begun!"

Almost simultaneously, a muffled, thunderous tremor reverberated through the thick soil and concrete roof, sending waves of shockwaves through the air. Dust fell from overhead. Then, a series of explosions followed—a sharp whistling sound and a deafening roar; even deep underground, the mountain could be felt trembling violently.

The shelling lasted a full forty minutes, longer and more intense than any previous probing attack. Telephone lines were severed several times, but were repaired by the communications troops. Reports from the front lines continued: "Surface fortifications severely damaged, core tunnel entrance intact!" "No major casualties, personnel have moved into positions as planned!"

The artillery fire began to extend deeper into the enemy lines. He Yuzhu grabbed the phone: "All positions, prepare to engage the enemy. Let them get close and fire. Be wary of artillery fire."

As dawn broke, the smoke of battle still lingered. Through binoculars, enemy infantry, under the cover of tanks, surged towards strongpoints one and two. Their formation was loose, seemingly convinced that the intense artillery fire had destroyed the surface resistance.

As the vanguard approached within a hundred meters, countless tongues of fire suddenly erupted from the seemingly ruined scorched earth and rubble! Machine guns and submachine guns roared from cleverly camouflaged firing ports, creating a crossfire network with flanking and oblique shots. At the same time, mortar shells precisely struck the enemy ranks from pre-positioned positions in the rear tunnels, while snipers calmly picked off officers and machine gunners.

The attacking enemy forces were like crashing into an invisible iron wall, instantly stunned and falling in droves. Tanks attempted to suppress the enemy with direct fire, but struggled to find clear firing positions—the firing ports were small, concealed, and constantly changing location.

The battle quickly intensified. The enemy, being veterans, quickly organized their fire support after the initial panic, advancing in small, alternating groups in an attempt to close the tunnel entrance. Close combat broke out at several junctions of the positions.

In the command post, He Yuzhu continuously adjusted the deployment based on the battle reports: "Area 3 is under great pressure. Send the 2nd Battalion reserve to reinforce from trench 3." "Regimental artillery company, concentrate fire to cover the enemy's follow-up echelon assembly area, coordinates XX, fire immediately!"

His commands were clear and concise, his face expressionless, only the throbbing veins at his temples betraying his taut nerves. Qin Huairu watched him like a calm chess player maneuvering each piece within the mountain. The explosions and gunfire outside were transformed here into the movement of symbols on a map and brief reports over the phone.

The battle lasted for over two hours. The enemy, with their numerical superiority, briefly breached a small section of the surface trench at strongpoint number two. Upon receiving the report, He Yuzhu paused for a few seconds, then grabbed the phone to the reserves: "Guard Company, launch a counter-attack from the western exit of tunnel number two and plug the gap! Tell Wu Dayong—the movement must be fierce and swift!"

Wu Dayong led his guard company out of the tunnel like red-hot daggers. After a brief and fierce firefight, the infiltrating enemy troops were either annihilated or driven away.

Around 9 a.m., the enemy's offensive momentum waned, and they began to retreat. The battlefield was a scene of devastation, littered with hundreds of corpses. The sounds of gunfire gradually subsided.

He Yuzhu slowly exhaled a long breath, rubbing his throbbing temples. "Calculate casualties, repair fortifications, replenish ammunition, and prepare for retaliatory artillery fire," he ordered, his voice slightly hoarse.

He left the command post and came to an observation post overlooking the front lines. In the morning light, the rugged mountains appeared even more ravaged: charred shell craters, twisted metal, and glaring human figures. The wind carried the smell of gunpowder and blood. Medics and stretcher bearers were busy at work, and soldiers dragged their weary bodies to repair the damaged firing ports.

Qin Huairu followed him out and stood beside him. She didn't speak, but silently took out her notebook and quickly sketched the scene before her with a pencil: weary soldiers, a silent commander, and the lingering smoke of battle in the distance.

"Reporter Qin," He Yuzhu suddenly spoke, his gaze still fixed ahead, "you once asked me what I feared most in war."

Qin Huairu raised her head.

"Now I can add one more thing," he said softly, "besides being afraid of being confused, I'm also afraid... that the repaired fortifications will be destroyed again in the blink of an eye. I'm afraid that the faces I just got to know will be gone at the next roll call." He paused, "But today, this 'door' is closed."

Qin Huairu followed his gaze—the defensive line, clinging to the mountain ridge and still emitting wisps of smoke, stood silently and stubbornly under the glaring summer sun. It truly resembled a gate, an iron gate forged with blood, wisdom, and countless young lives.

Preliminary casualty statistics have arrived: 37 dead, 62 seriously wounded, and over 100 lightly wounded. The estimated number of enemy casualties is more than one reinforced battalion, and two tanks were destroyed. Most importantly, the main structures of the No. 1 and No. 2 core support points and the tunnel system remain intact.

[Successfully commanded the first large-scale defensive operation on the new defensive line, relying on the tunnel system to thwart an enemy regimental-level probing attack at a relatively low cost.]

The large-scale annihilation of the enemy effectively tested and proved the reliability of the defense system.

[Gain Battlefield Points: +500,000 points (based on enemy kills and successful defense of strategic locations).]

Battlefield Points: 6,188,398 + 500,000 = 6,688,398 points.

The score was approaching 6.7 million. He Yuzhu listened to the notification in his mind, but his face showed no joy. He turned to Lao Geng and said, "Let's go check on the various camps, especially the wounded."

Under the scorching sun, the wounds on the defensive line were being slowly bandaged. And everyone understood—this was merely the first knock on the "door."