Courtyard House: I Rely on Time-Space Trade to Build a Nation

Training began on a dry, cold morning.

Without orders from the division headquarters or a grand mobilization, Zhao Dongliang simply said a few words during morning exercises:

"You've eaten your fill and are warmly dressed. Don't forget you're here to carry guns and eat your rations. From today onwards, all companies and platoons will resume basic drills. Zhao Ping'an!"

"Here!" Zhao Ping'an stepped forward.

"You set an example, your platoon gets moving, and the other companies and platoons follow suit. Get back to the proper image of soldiers!"

"yes!"

The training was monotonous but practical. Zhao Ping'an didn't do anything fancy; he simply led his entire platoon, along with dozens of soldiers from other platoons who volunteered to come along, in running laps around the hill behind the camp.

At first, many people were out of breath from running, their cotton-padded coats were soaked with sweat and cold, and they were shivering from the cold.

Zhao Ping'an ran ahead, not urging him, but repeating: "Adjust your breathing, follow my pace. If you can't take it, walk for a while, don't push yourself, but don't stop."

After a few days, the burning sensation in my lungs was still there, but my legs seemed to be slowly getting back into control.

After running came mountain climbing, specifically choosing the difficult, shady, snowy slopes.

Next came digging the fortifications. The frozen soil was as hard as iron; each strike of the pickaxe left a white dot, and my hand went numb from the impact.

Zhao Ping'an had his men take turns, and he also grabbed a pickaxe to demonstrate. He emphasized that speed wasn't the key; it was about posture and efficiency. "Use your core muscles, use momentum, don't just rely on your arms to brute force."

Then came the formation. There weren't any extra requirements. First, three people lined up and walked in a straight line. Then, they stood at attention and tidied up their personal belongings.

The soldiers were most opposed to this, since running up mountains could be considered a way to build physical strength, and digging for supplies could be considered a way to maintain the camp and defend against foreign enemies, but what about standing at attention and tidying up the barracks?

But Zhao Ping'an took advantage of the soldiers' most common mentality, and they followed his lead, adding an extra spoonful of meat to each meal, and even two spoonfuls if he thought it was enough. No one objected.

For the first time, Zhao Ping'an and Zhao Dongliang witnessed the changes brought about by the soldiers' simple and honest initiative.

In less than a week, while they might have been a bit lazy and slacking off while running and digging fortifications, their military posture, drills, and housekeeping skills improved by leaps and bounds. The change in their morale and spirit was visible to the naked eye.

The soldiers ate with greater relish, snored more deeply at night, and the numbness in their eyes caused by prolonged hunger and cold was replaced by a tired yet fulfilling light.

Even the ordinary soldiers started comparing amongst themselves who had run an extra lap that day and whose foxholes were more neatly dug.

A long-lost competitive spirit belonging to soldiers quietly revived amidst sweat and panting.

The real "hard stuff" was revealed during a rifle maintenance class.

That day, Zhao Ping'an gathered the entire platoon in the courtyard and asked everyone to bring out their rifles. There were all sorts of rifles, including Hanyang rifles, Zhongzheng rifles, and even old-fashioned rifles, and their conditions varied greatly. Most of them were covered in dirt and grease, and their bolts were sluggish.

"Guns are our tools of the trade, and also our life-saving brothers." Zhao Ping'an picked up a Type 24 rifle and skillfully removed the bolt. "If your weapon isn't handy, it'll be a deadly burden in a real emergency. Today, I'll teach you how to take good care of it."

He first demonstrated the standard disassembly and wiping process. Then, amidst the curious gazes of the crowd, he had Dazhu bring over a small wooden box. Inside were several dark glass bottles and a set of tools wrapped in canvas.

"I had someone get this from Tianjin Port." Zhao Ping'an picked up a bottle containing a clear, slightly yellow liquid. "It's American-made gun oil. Unlike the sticky tallow and lard we used before, this is thin, has good penetrability, doesn't attract dust, and doesn't solidify in cold weather." He then unfolded a tool roll containing several oddly shaped screwdrivers, a cleaning rod, a small brush, and a small, magnifying scope for gun inspection. "It's a matching tool; you can use it to remove the grease that's hard to get in certain places."

He personally demonstrated. He dripped the high-grade gun oil onto the moving parts of the bolt, cleaned the grooves with a special small brush, and then wiped it with a soft cloth. The bolt, which had been moving stiffly before, became much smoother when pulled after the treatment and reassembly, producing a crisp "click" sound that exuded a sense of efficiency.

"Come on, everyone, give it a try. Follow the steps I just taught you, don't waste any, this oil is precious." Zhao Ping'an distributed the tools to several squad leaders and key members.

The soldiers gathered around, curiously examining the tools they'd never seen before. They carefully dipped their brushes into the clear gun oil and applied it to their beloved firearms. The yard echoed with the sounds of disassembly, wiping, and assembly, the clatter of metal scraping against metal. Occasionally, someone would exclaim in a low voice, "Hey, this brush is amazing! It gets even the corners clean!" "It's so slippery! Much better than smearing lard!"

Company Commander Zhao Desheng had also strolled to the courtyard gate at some point, standing with his hands behind his back, looking around expressionlessly.

His gaze lingered for a moment on the brand-new tools and glass bottles, then swept over the focused, even slightly excited, faces of his soldiers.

An old soldier from his company was clumsily but earnestly using new tools to pick at years of grime inside the trigger guard. He looked up and saw him, instinctively wanting to stand up: "Company..."

"Sit down and do your thing," Zhao Desheng waved his hand, his voice low. He neither came in nor left, just watched.

Zhao Ping'an saw him but didn't greet him. He simply continued to instruct another soldier on how to adjust the ruler.

After a while, Zhao Desheng's veteran soldier, having apparently finished fixing the gun, pulled the bolt with obvious delight, the smooth sound echoing clearly in the courtyard. A childlike smugness spread across his face, and he couldn't help but say to his fellow villager beside him, "This oil is really powerful! When we go to war, with this smoothness alone, I can take down one more guy!"

As Zhao Desheng listened, the muscles on his face twitched almost imperceptibly.

He glanced at Zhao Ping'an, who was inspecting the soldiers' maintenance results, with a complicated look in his eyes, and finally turned and left without saying anything.

His back was still straight, but his steps didn't seem as stiff as when he arrived.

A few days later, Zhao Ping'an sent Da Zhu with a group of people to deliver several boxes of "gifts" to Zhao Baoguo's group.

In addition to a pig and two hundred catties of flour, there were also twenty cartons of "Camel" brand cigarettes and several tightly sealed cans of coffee powder.

The selection wasn't extensive, but each item was a rare find, hard to locate on the market.

Dazhu brought back a message from Zhao Baoguo: "Commander Baoguo said thank you for your concern, Platoon Leader. Everything in the city is as usual, and the Lou family is also well. He told the Platoon Leader and Commander to put their minds at ease."

The relationship was steadily maintained and quietly grew through this lukewarm yet continuous interaction.