Siheyuan: Reborn Silly Pillar, Taking Control of the Entire Courtyard

The He family.

penthouse.

The dull sound of the furnace hook being poked into the furnace chamber seemed to be striking He Yuzhu's taut nerves.

He squatted in front of the stove, staring at the dark red coal, the firelight reflecting off his face, flickering on and off.

Ash and slag leaked down from the grate, raising fine dust and smoke.

He casually added three new pieces of coal, which hit the fire, sending up a few sparks that were instantly swallowed by the ashes.

When he took off his clothes, his movements were slow and deliberate.

The cotton-padded jacket was folded neatly and the trousers were folded flat, as if performing some kind of ritual, and then gently placed on the broken chair at the head of the bed.

The bed still held a little warmth from the daytime, and as soon as he crawled in, he instinctively curled up like a wary shrimp.

His eyes were wide open, showing no signs of sleepiness.

My consciousness sank into that familiar void.

The space was cluttered and messy, like a warehouse that had just been ransacked.

He used his mind to move the cotton-padded clothes, trousers, and military overcoat to a corner, piling them into a small mountain.

Four bicycles stood crookedly against the wall, their handlebars peeling and revealing the black iron underneath.

He glanced at it, not recognizing the brand—but that didn't matter, as long as it was rideable these days.

Five Type 38 rifles lay side by side, the wear marks on their stocks resembling the deep wrinkles on an old man's face, telling the story of the killings they had endured.

The matching bullet boxes and bridges were scattered around, and the brass bullets gleamed with a cold metallic luster in the dim light, feeling heavy.

There are also four Mauser C96 pistols.

With a thought, he took out a [weapon/tool].

It felt heavy in his hand, making his wrist sink slightly.

The handle was so thick that he couldn't wrap his hand around it; he had to hold it with both hands.

My index finger could barely reach the trigger, but the position was so awkward and ridiculous that I couldn't aim at all.

He gestured a couple of times, then tossed it back in disgust.

In comparison, the Browning 1911 is easier to handle, but it's still too big.

He pulled the trigger, and the empty gun made a soft "click" sound, which was particularly clear in the silent space.

Forget it, this thing would be a hot potato if we took it out now.

Three wristwatches and two pocket watches.

He held it up to his eyes and examined it closely.

The lettering on the dial was in a cursive script, neither Roman numerals nor a brand he recognized.

The glass of one watch was cracked with a spiderweb pattern, and the hands were forever frozen at 3:17, as if a moment of death had been frozen in time.

There were two gold rings, gleaming yellow in his palm, exuding a gaudy kind of wealth. He squeezed them; they were hard and uncomfortable.

Fifty-three silver dollars, stacked in a pile, exuded the distinctive metallic smell of silver.

As his fingertips brushed against the serrated edges, the rough texture gave him a strange sense of peace.

There was also a stack of military scrips, the paper of which was brittle and made a rustling sound when squeezed.

Five pairs of suede shoes, with hardened mud still embedded in the soles, as if the bloodstains of the battlefield still lingered.

In addition, there were fountain pens, cigarettes, and matches, a small, scattered shop that looked like it had been dumped directly from someone's pocket.

He can take apart even the simple cotton-padded clothes of a poor family.

With a thought, the stitches snapped open, tearing the fabric. Clumps of cotton spilled out, a faded yellowish hue, emitting a musty smell.

The fabric, when unfolded, was a yellowish-brown mixed with green, a color that made one feel suffocated—the color of the invaders.

The traitor's clothes, stained with blood, were also torn off.

The bloodstains had hardened into a dark brown mass on the fabric. When he was taking it apart, his movements paused inexplicably, as if he could still smell the pungent stench of blood.

The only thing left untouched was the military overcoat.

The dark blue wool fabric and thick wool collar are such a shame to take apart.

He thought that maybe one day he could wear it—make it smaller, dye the collar, and he shouldn't be noticeable in a crowd.

Disassembling clothes is easy, but making them into garments is another matter entirely. He doesn't have the skill; it seems he'll have to find an opportunity to ask the old ladies in the courtyard.

After taking inventory of the supplies, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

What happened to those "white-striped pigs" that were left in front of the police station last night?

Could it be covered by snow?

He listened intently to what was happening outside the window.

Only the mournful sound of the wind whistling through the eaves and the faint barking of wild dogs in the distance made the scene seem particularly desolate.

What he didn't know was that the commotion outside had already caused quite a stir.

Early morning, in front of the police station.

The sky was still dark, and the whole street was still asleep.

Old Yang took a bamboo broom and swept the snow off the ground with a "whoosh," a task he did every day without fail.

The pile of snow behind the guard post looked rather unnatural—he remembered clearly that it had been cleared clean yesterday, so how could it have piled up so high overnight?

He hesitated for a moment, then tentatively swept the bamboo broom a few times.

"Splash!"

The snow melted away, revealing a pale, stiff ankle.

Old Yang's pupils dilated instantly, and his mind went completely blank.

"Awooo—!"

A piercing scream shattered the tranquility of the early morning.

Old Yang fell backward onto the snow, scooting backward with his hands and feet, his cotton trousers carving two deep furrows in the snow.

The bamboo broom flew out of his hand, bounced twice on the snow, and rolled to the side of that ankle.

"Mom...Mom...Dead...Dead people! There are dead people!"

Inside the guard post, patrolman Xiao Wang was hunching his shoulders, happily fiddling with the copper hand warmer in his hand.

The charcoal was burning red-hot, and he used iron chopsticks to add it in, enjoying this moment of warmth.

Old Yang's howl was like a sharp knife, piercing the guard post.

Xiao Wang's hand trembled, and the iron chopsticks failed to pick up the charcoal, with sparks flying onto the back of his hand.

"Ouch—it's burning hot!"

He almost threw the hand warmer away. Cursing, he put on his coat and stormed out.

"Old Yang, what are you wailing about! It's bad luck so early in the morning!"

I was running too fast and my foot slipped.

He plunged headfirst into the snowdrift, his mouth full of icy shards, and he shivered from the cold.

"Old Yang, you..."

He spat out the snow from his mouth and looked up, but before he could finish speaking, it was as if someone had grabbed his neck and he choked on his words.

He got up and staggered to the back of the guard post.

I only glanced at it.

That once straight back instantly became as limp as noodles.

He plopped down on the ground, frantically rummaging through his pockets, finally managing to pull out a whistle and stuff it into his mouth.

Because his hands were shaking so badly, the sound he blew was high and low, sharp and shrill, tearing a piercing gash in the morning air.

"Beep—beep beep—!"

The police station erupted in chaos.

Those on duty, those sleeping, and those slacking off by the fire all poured out. Some people weren't wearing their coats properly, their bellies were exposed.

Some people wore their hats askew and looked completely bewildered; others muttered curses, thinking some ignorant fool had come to cause trouble.

"Xiao Wang, are you fucking crazy?"

"Why are you playing such a mournful tune so early in the morning!"

However, when everyone saw what was behind the guard post, they fell silent instantly.

Several naked bodies lay scattered haphazardly in the snow, frozen stiff, their skin a pale, bluish-white, like the belly of a dead fish.

Those few soldiers in yellow uniforms, and a few others who looked familiar—weren't they the same guys from the detective squad who usually bullied everyone?

A deathly silence.

The only sound was the wind blowing through the treetops.

The duty officer swallowed hard; his throat tightened, and his voice trembled.

"Something terrible has happened... Quick, go get the chief!"

I called the bureau chief's house, but no one answered.

The deputy director arrived in his pajamas, his hair a mess.

Upon arriving at the scene and seeing the corpses, his usually oily face turned as white as paper, and his legs went weak, almost causing him to lose his balance.

The heads of each department were dragged out of bed, and before seven o'clock, the police station's conference room was packed with people, filled with smoke, like a giant chimney.

One cigarette after another was smoked, and the ashtray was full, but no one touched it.

"Where's the director?" The deputy director's voice was hoarse as he broke the silence.

"I...I couldn't find it..."

"Go to the Eight Great Hutongs! Turn it upside down! Dig three feet into the ground and find him!" the deputy director roared hysterically.

The Eight Great Hutongs.

Inside a kiln.

Zhou Tielin is indeed here.

He was fast asleep on the heated kang bed, embracing Xiao Cuixiang from the South City Theater, with a satisfied drool still hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, a banging sound, like the beating of drums, rang out on the door.

"Bang, bang, bang," each sound more urgent than the last, as if they were about to smash the door to pieces.

"Damn it! Who is it?! Are they tired of living?!"

Zhou Tielin suddenly sat up, and before he even opened his eyes, he started cursing.

"Chief! Something terrible has happened! Chief! Wake up!"

An anxious shout came from outside the door.

"You're the one who's not doing well! I'm perfectly fine!"

Zhou Tielin grumbled as he slipped off the kang (a heated brick bed), yanked open the courtyard gate, and slapped someone across the face.

"Snapped!"

The young policeman who brought the news was knocked back a few steps, covered his face, and tears were about to come out.

But he still shouted rapidly, "Chief! Something terrible has happened! The soldiers! And Captain Li from the detective team! They've been stripped naked and thrown out at the station entrance! They're all... all dead!"

Zhou Tielin was stunned for two seconds.

My mind went completely blank.

Immediately afterwards, a heat rose in my groin.

A warm current flowed down his thigh, surprisingly warm despite the freezing weather. He was so scared he wet himself.

"Holy crap..."

He didn't bother wiping himself, turned around and rushed back into the house, hurriedly putting on his clothes.

I didn't even care that I buttoned two buttons wrong, and I tied my belt in a knot.

"Let's go! Quick! Get the car ready!"

police station.

hall.

When I arrived at the police station, the entrance was already completely surrounded by military police.

The corpses were carried into the hall and lined up in a row, like New Year's goods.

As soon as Zhou Tielin stepped inside, before he could even see the body clearly, he was met with a resounding slap across the face.

"Snapped!"

The force was so great that it sent him spinning around.

My face was burning, and my teeth were numb.

Before he could even react, he was slapped on the other side of his face.

"Baka!"

Captain Kobayashi stood before me, dressed in a crisp military uniform, his eyes as cold as the Siberian wind.

The commander's sword in his hand was drawn half an inch from its sheath, and the gleaming tip of the blade was pressed against Zhou Tielin's Adam's apple.

"Zhou Sang".

Kobayashi's voice was low, carrying a chilling killing intent.

"The bodies of Imperial soldiers have been found outside the police station. As the chief, shouldn't you give me an explanation?"

Zhou Tielin trembled all over, cold sweat streaming down his forehead and soaking his back instantly.

The blade was icy cold, stinging his skin. He had no doubt that if he uttered a single wrong word, the blade would slit his throat without hesitation.

"Captain Lin...it's a misunderstanding, this is absolutely a misunderstanding! Please allow me to investigate, and I will definitely give you a satisfactory answer..."

I'll give you time.

Kobayashi slowly sheathed his sword, the scabbard clicking against the ground with a sharp "crack," like the Grim Reaper's knock. "Three days. If you can't solve this case, everyone in your police station will be dead!"

"Yes! Yes! We'll definitely solve the case!"

Zhou Tielin stood at attention and saluted, his waist bent at a ninety-degree angle. Only after Kobayashi left with the military police did he dare to straighten up. His legs went weak, and he slumped into the chair.

The military police withdrew, and the body was also taken away.

Only police officers remained in the lobby. Zhou Tielin wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, turned to look at the deputy director, and his eyes turned sinister and fierce.

"check."

Just one word, yet it reeks of bloodshed.

"Search every house, every single one! Especially the places where there was any unusual activity last night! Dig three feet into the ground and find the culprit!"

Late at night.

Siheyuan.

He Yuzhu lay in bed, pondering whether he should go out on the street tomorrow to listen to the rumors and see just how much of a commotion those "white-striped pigs" had caused.

Sudden--

"Woof woof woof! Woof woof woof!"

The big yellow dog at the gate suddenly started barking wildly, its voice harsh and agitated, as if it had seen a ghost.

Immediately following was a loud banging on the door.

"Bang bang bang! Bang bang bang!"

"Open the door! Open the door! Police are conducting a raid!"

The courtyard house instantly erupted in chaos.

Lights gradually came on in every household. The rustling sounds of dressing, hushed conversations, and the cries of children awakened by fright mingled together, creating an atmosphere of panic.

"The pillar! The pillar!"

He Daqing's voice rang out from outside the side room, urgent and tinged with panic.

"Wake up! Get dressed! Come to the main room!"

He Yuzhu's heart skipped a beat; his suspicion had instantly become a reality—it had taken hold.

He quickly put on his clothes while answering, "Dad, what's going on outside? What happened?"

"Don't ask! Children shouldn't ask such questions! Get dressed and come to the main room quickly! I'm going out to check!" He Daqing's voice carried a hint of sternness.

"Eh!"

He hastily buttoned up his cotton-padded coat and slipped on his shoes. Pushing open the side door, a blast of biting cold air rushed in, making him shiver.

Footprints were scattered on the snow in the yard.

Yi Zhonghai's voice came from the front yard, carrying a fawning smile.

"Coming! Coming right away! Boss, just a moment!"

You can vaguely hear conversations outside.

"...What are you dawdling for! So slow!" a gruff voice roared.

"Boss, they've all gone to bed..." Yi Zhonghai said with a forced smile.

"Stop talking nonsense! Open the door! Are there any unfamiliar faces in your yard? Any suspicious persons?"

He Yuzhu walked quickly to the door of the main room, pushed it open a crack, squeezed in sideways, and then slammed the door shut behind him.

A dim oil lamp was lit in the room, its tiny flame flickering erratically.

Chen Lanxiang held He Yushui in her arms, huddled in the corner of the kang (a heated brick bed). The little girl was startled awake by the commotion outside and was crying loudly.

"Mother," He Yuzhu called out.

"Come up on the kang (heated brick bed) and get under the covers."

Chen Lanxiang patted He Yushui's back, her voice low and trembling slightly, "Your father is outside, don't be afraid."

He Yuzhu sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), but his ears were perked up, listening carefully to the sounds outside.

The sound of the door opening, heavy footsteps, and He Daqing's apologetic smile.

"Master Duo, look, it's so late and you still have to come all this way. It's just the mother and her two children inside, and my simple-minded son. There's no one else. You see…"

"He Daqing".

The policeman called "Master Duo" spoke in a cold voice, revealing a hint of impatience.

"Don't think you're royalty just because you cook for me a few days. Enough talk, open the door and let us search!"

"How could that be, Master...? What are you searching for in the middle of the night...?"

He Daqing's voice lowered further, tinged with pleading, "My child's mother!"

Chen Lanxiang heard everything clearly inside the house. She glanced at He Yuzhu and understood the meaning in her husband's eyes.

She frantically reached under her pillow and pulled out two silver dollars wrapped in a handkerchief.

"Zhu'er." Her voice was strained as she shoved the silver dollar into He Yuzhu's hand. "Give it to your father."

"Eh."

He Yuzhu took the two cold silver dollars, clutching them in his palm; they felt heavy.

He walked to the door, opened it, and saw He Daqing with his back to him, bending down with a smile.

"father."

He Daqing turned around and his eyes lit up when he saw what his son was holding.

He took the handkerchief with lightning speed, like a magician, and slipped it into the pocket of "Master Duo," patting it gently afterward.

"Uncle, look, this is just a small token of my appreciation. It's freezing cold, you must be tired..."