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

The late summer heat still lingered, making one's back scorch during the day. But the wind in the early morning and evening was different, carrying a bone-chilling coolness, stirring up the loose dust on the ground and creeping straight into one's collar.

The mountainous region in the eastern section of the Cheorwon Corridor appeared outwardly unchanged from the past few months. The clanging of fortifications had diminished, replaced by the dust kicked up by troop movements. However, on this morning, a sharp whistling sound tore through the cool morning mist—

"Fire! Take cover—!"

Before the roar subsided, more than ten shells had already struck the outer edge of the minefield at the front line of the position. Dirt and gravel shot into the sky, and black plumes of smoke pierced the iron-gray sky. This was not the usual sporadic volleys: the impact points were concentrated, less than five seconds apart, and the coverage area was less than two hundred meters, clearly indicating that it was a survey and test firing.

He Yuzhu stood at the entrance of the regimental headquarters, looking towards the direction of the explosion, and brushed the dust that had splattered onto his collar. The dust carried the pungent smell of gunpowder. The sound of artillery fire was the enemy's language; they were probing. And he had to understand it.

Changes have indeed occurred. Enemy situation reports and internal references issued by division and army headquarters have doubled in thickness compared to usual. The wording has changed from "pay attention to defense" to "prepare for a large-scale offensive." A place name is repeatedly mentioned in the reports—

Shangganling.

That place wasn't far from He Yuzhu's regiment's defense zone, about twenty or thirty miles away as the crow flies. It was like a protruding front tooth, firmly wedged at the throat of both sides' defensive lines. The weight conveyed between the lines was suffocating: the enemy's target this time was almost certainly there.

The skies were also unsettled. Enemy reconnaissance planes, which used to stroll around like they were on a leisurely stroll, now flew like they were clocking in, skimming the control lines several times a day. Black Widow night reconnaissance planes took off during the day, while Corsair carrier-based aircraft skimmed the mountain ridges at low altitudes. He Yuzhu twice spotted twin-engine artillery aiming planes through his binoculars, slowly circling on the flanks, their wings reflecting a cold light in the thin sunlight—they were aiming to correct the firing of the heavy artillery group behind them.

He ordered the several anti-aircraft machine guns that the regiment had stockpiled to be set up. Not to shoot them down, but simply to make a show of force: we're keeping watch.

Ground-based skirmishes have become more frequent. Previously, nighttime battles were between anti-infiltration units and enemy special forces; now, even daytime is no longer peaceful. Enemy forward patrols have grown bolder, often approaching to a point where they can see the enemy's eyes beneath their helmets, probing their firepower and observing their fortifications. Sniping and artillery fire have become denser and more rhythmic, as if measuring reaction time or deliberately expending ammunition and energy.

The day before yesterday afternoon, the enemy even sent a reinforced platoon to launch a feint attack on a secondary high ground codenamed "Scrapstone Slope" on the flank of He Yuzhu's regiment. The artillery preparation lasted only five minutes, and the infantry charged less than 100 meters before withdrawing, leaving behind two corpses. This was clearly a reconnaissance mission, intended to ascertain the defensive deployment and the movement routes of the reserve forces.

He Yuzhu summoned Lao Geng, Political Commissar Zhao, and the battalion commanders to the regimental headquarters. Smoke filled the bunker, a map was spread out in the center, red and blue pencils and triangular flags marked the latest situation, and clay hills rose and fell on the contour lines.

"You can all smell it, right?" He Yuzhu spoke, his voice low but clear. "These past few months we've been building fortifications, accumulating resources, and training new recruits, and the other side hasn't been idle either. They're mobilizing troops, stockpiling ammunition, and making calculations." His finger pounded heavily on the "Shangganling" mark, the wooden board thumping loudly. "The target is almost certainly here."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone: Battalion Commander Han of the First Battalion was tense, Battalion Commander of the Second Battalion was looking down at the map, and Battalion Commander of the Third Battalion was biting on a cigarette butt that had long been extinguished.

"Our regiment doesn't directly defend Shangganling," He Yuzhu said, tracing his finger across their own defensive zone. "But this is its flank, its gateway, and also the passage for reserves. If Shangganling is breached, we'll be next. Conversely, if we're breached here, Shangganling's flank and rear will be completely exposed to the enemy. It's a matter of mutual dependence."

Old Geng frowned and pointed to the junction of the two positions on the map—where the contour lines were sparse, marking a riverbed that had dried up during the rainy season: "Regimental Commander, we can hold the position firmly. But what if the pressure at Shangganling is too great, and the division uses our reserves to fill the gaps? What if our own defense zone is attacked because of a weak point? The regiment has just been filled with new recruits, and more than half of them have never even smelled the real artillery."

He Yuzhu glanced at Lao Geng, then pointed to the bend in the contour line beside the riverbed: "That's why I said we need to take a 'two-step' approach. The first step is to firmly establish the foundation. Only when the roots are stable can the branches and leaves extend. The division headquarters has the authority to mobilize the reserve forces, but this knife in our hands—" He lightly tapped the markings of the regimental reconnaissance company and the special operations platoon, "must be constantly sharpened. We must guard against flanking attacks, and also be able to strike where necessary at the fastest speed when necessary."

Political Commissar Zhao continued, his tone calm and measured: "Ideological work must keep up, but simply talking about sacrifices isn't enough. We need to make the calculations clear to the soldiers: the more force we draw away, the fewer enemy soldiers will crawl into the Shangganling tunnels; the longer we hold out, the more leverage we'll have at the negotiating table. This battle has come to this point; it's not just about guns and cannons, but also about who blinks first."

"The mission is clear." He Yuzhu's speech quickened, his tone decisive. "The entire regiment will be on high alert immediately. All fortifications, especially core tunnels and firing positions, must be thoroughly inspected again, and weak points reinforced overnight! Stockpiled supplies must be inventoried and dispersed, and anti-artillery measures must be in place. Training subjects will be adjusted, focusing on three areas: long-term survival in tunnels, anti-artillery cover, and nighttime emergency deployment and counter-attack. Ammunition distribution control will be tightened, but live-fire drills cannot stop—we must train until we can touch the safety with our eyes closed, and our muscles remember better than our brains!"

Once the order was given, the entire regiment sprang into action like a machine pushed into high gear. Beneath the surface of busy activity lay a deeper, more tense silence.

He Yuzhu inspected each camp.

In the tunnel of the Third Company of the First Battalion, he saw machine gunner Li Laosi using a captured scraper to carefully remove the rust and dried mud from the heavy machine gun tripod, and then applying the last bit of gun oil to the joints. On the ammunition box next to him, three rows of bullets were neatly packed, the bullet tips gleaming a dark bronze color under the oil lamp.

"Fourth brother, use the oil sparingly, it'll be even harder to get later," He Yuzhu said.

Without looking up, Li Laosi steadily pushed the scraper along the groove of the tripod: "Commander, this guy is a picky eater. If we don't take good care of him, he'll get stuck at a crucial moment. Losing his life is a small matter, but losing the front line is a big deal." He paused, his voice even lower, "He's been with me for so long, I can't let him rust into the ground."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything more, but patted Li Laosi's shoulder insignia, which were stiff from sweat. Some things don't need to be said.

While inspecting the ammunition reserves of the regimental mortar company, he discovered that although the basic stock was sufficient, the fuses and propellant charges were stored separately, requiring at least ten minutes to assemble before combat. He immediately summoned the company commander: "Assemble 30% of the ammunition in advance, seal them to prevent moisture, and store them separately. There are only two conditions for activation: my direct order, or your judgment after the regimental headquarters' communications are interrupted. You will take responsibility."

Back at the regimental headquarters at night, by the dim light of an oil lamp, he once again spread out the large map. His gaze lingered between Shangganling and his own defensive positions, his mind racing through various possibilities: If the main position at Shangganling was under too much pressure, would the enemy divert troops to contain it or even launch a full-scale attack? If reinforcements were needed, which route was the most concealed and swift? When and how many of his reserves should be deployed to both provide assistance and prevent his own position from becoming undefended?

His temples throbbed with worry. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. In the darkness, he seemed to see the trajectories of artillery shells, the crisscrossing red and blue arrows on a map, and that string of cold numbers—648 million. His points were still there, and the intermediate-level technology projects in the system gleamed temptingly: "Improved Manufacturing Process for Repeating Rifles," "Design Blueprints for Individual Rocket Launchers"... But distant solutions couldn't quench his immediate thirst. Right now, all he could rely on were the deep excavations, the rammed walls, and the thousands of equally anxious hearts.

He suddenly felt the hardcover notebook in his pocket. Qin Huairu's handwriting seemed to transmit warmth through the fabric. Inside were the words of an old soldier: "He said he wasn't afraid of dying, but he was afraid of dying without a trace, like a stone sinking to the ground without even a sound."

He Yuzhu gripped his notebook tightly. The battles to come might not be filled with earth-shattering counterattacks, but rather silent endurance. What he needed to do was ensure that every act of endurance, every sacrifice, became a powerful hammer blow against the enemy's timetable, producing a "resonance" that could be heard from the rear and remembered by history.

Night deepened, and a few more cannon shots rang out in the distance—this time they sounded closer, perhaps the enemy was conducting a nighttime test firing. The wind rushed in from the tunnel entrance, carrying the chill of late autumn and the scent of withered grass in the wilderness, swirling sand and dust across the map.

He Yuzhu blew out the oil lamp, plunging the shelter into complete darkness. Only a faint sliver of daylight shone through the ventilation opening, barely outlining the edge of the table.

He knew that the storm had begun to brew.

He and several thousand brothers were standing where the storm first hit.