He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The autumn wind swept across the parade ground, whipping withered grass and making the red flag of "A Certain Column of the People's Liberation Army" flutter. He Yuyang stood in the ranks, his cheeks red from the cold under his military cap, but he still stood straight—today was the day the unit was officially reorganized. The parade ground was packed with people. The unit numbers had changed, the uniforms were new, and even the air was filled with a sense of freshness.

"Get your act together!" The company commander's shout cut through the wind. He clutched a roster in his hand, his eyes sweeping across the ranks. "Those whose names are called, step forward and report to your assigned squads!"

He Yuyang's heart skipped a beat. He knew this reorganization wasn't just a simple change of unit designation; the army was expanding and reorganizing, and everyone's position could potentially change. He glanced furtively to the side; Zhao Dayong was clenching his fists nervously, his knuckles white, muttering under his breath, "Please, please don't separate from me..."

Ever since they discovered the spy together last time, this simple-minded boy had been inseparable from him, practically glued to him even while eating and sleeping. He Yuyang found it both amusing and heartwarming—in these days when human life is cheap, having a brother who truly trusts you is such a blessing.

"He Yuyang!"

"Here!" He took a step forward, his voice clear and bright.

The company commander gave him an approving look: "Second Platoon, Third Squad, Squad Leader!"

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. Everyone knew He Yuyang was young, only twelve years old by the Chinese age reckoning. Though tall, his childishness was undeniable. But no one dared to disagree—in the past two years, he had led the team in blowing up bunkers and raiding enemy camps, pulling the unit back from the brink of death several times. In terms of merit and ability, he was more than qualified to be a squad leader.

He Yuyang gave a crisp military salute: "Yes, sir!"

"Zhao Dayong!"

"Here!" Zhao Dayong jumped out like a cannonball, his voice so loud it was deafening.

"Second platoon, third squad, soldiers!"

Zhao Dayong instantly beamed, winking at He Yuyang and mouthing the unspoken message, "Follow me!"

He Yuyang ignored him, but her gaze softened.

The reorganization was busy but orderly. The old uniforms were replaced with brand-new gray cloth uniforms with bright red five-pointed stars sewn on the collars; the old rifles were all replaced with captured Type 38 rifles, the barrels of which were polished to a shine; even the barracks were reorganized, the floors were swept so clean you could see your reflection, and the blankets were folded into neat squares like tofu.

He Yuyang's third squad was at the far east end of the barracks, with a total of twelve soldiers. Some were from the old unit like him, while others were new recruits. When he called roll one by one, he noticed that one new recruit always had his head down, his fingers constantly rubbing the butt of his rifle, and he seemed very uncomfortable.

"What's your name?" He Yuyang walked up to him.

The new recruit looked up abruptly, his face flushed red, and stammered, "Reporting...reporting to the squad leader, my name is...my name is Sun Erzhu."

This was a sixteen or seventeen-year-old boy, still bearing the traces of youthful immaturity in his eyes and brows, but his hands were as rough as old tree bark, with black mud embedded between his fingers—clearly, he had just come from the fields.

"Have you ever handled a gun before?" He Yuyang asked.

Sun Erzhu lowered his head even further: "No...no. My father was a hunter, I've only...only ever fired a hunting rifle."

Someone nearby couldn't help but laugh. Sun Erzhu's face turned even redder, and tears welled up in his eyes.

"What are you laughing at?" He Yuyang glared at the veterans. "Who's born knowing how to shoot? When I first touched a gun, I wasn't even as good as him."

This was half true and half false. Before he transmigrated, he had played with replica guns at the shooting range, and after transmigrating, he was enhanced by internal energy. He got a perfect score on his first shot, so how could he be inferior to others? But he knew that what new recruits needed most was encouragement, not ridicule.

Sun Erzhu looked up at him in surprise, his eyes sparkling.

"Alright, stop standing around." He Yuyang clapped his hands. "Zhao Dayong, take a few veterans to get bedding; Sun Erzhu, come with me, I'll teach you how to disassemble a gun."

Disassembling a rifle is a basic skill for soldiers. He Yuyang disassembled the Type 38 rifle parts one by one and arranged them neatly. As he disassembled, he explained, "This is the bolt, this is the trigger, this is the magazine... Remember, you have to wipe the gun clean after each use. You can't leave gunpowder residue in the barrel, otherwise it will easily explode the next time you fire it."

Sun Erzhu watched intently, gesturing with his fingers and muttering, "Bolter...trigger..."

Just then, Zhao Dayong returned carrying a stack of bedding, shouting loudly from afar, "Brother! Old Li, who's in charge of collecting supplies, said our class doesn't have enough medicine and he told us to figure something out!"

He Yuyang frowned. The troops had just been reorganized, and logistics were lagging behind, especially medicines. He thought of the herbs in his space that were cultivated with spiritual spring water—ginseng, angelica, and notoginseng. They looked even more authentic than the old mountain products. After being processed using the space's time acceleration, their medicinal effects were ten times stronger than ordinary herbs.

"I understand," he said calmly. "I'll go to the mountains this afternoon to gather some herbs; they should last me a while."

Zhao Dayong clicked his tongue in surprise: "What good medicine is there in the mountains? The herbs that Squad Leader Wang picked last time only made the wound hurt more."

"I used a different kind," He Yuyang smiled. "It's an ancestral recipe, it works."

After training ended in the afternoon, He Yuyang made an excuse to go to the back mountain. He slipped into the spiritual spring space, where the newly harvested herbs in the herb garden behind the villa were piled up like a small mountain. He picked out some anti-inflammatory and hemostatic herbs, soaked them in the spiritual spring water, ground them into powder with a special medicine grinder, and put them into several clean cloth bags.

When he left the space, the cloth bag was heavy and emitted a bitter medicinal fragrance. Just as he was walking back, he heard a quarrel coming from the direction of the shooting range.

"What's wrong with you? I told you to aim for the bullseye! You went off on your own!" It was the third platoon leader's voice, furious.

"I...I'm nervous..." It was Zhao Dayong's voice, trembling with tears.

He Yuyang rushed over and saw Zhao Dayong squatting on the ground, his rifle lying to the side. He had been shot once on the target, right at the very edge. The third platoon leader was standing with his hands on his hips, cursing fiercely, while several soldiers nearby covered their mouths and snickered.

"Platoon leader, what's wrong?" He Yuyang walked over.

When the platoon leader saw it was him, his expression softened a bit: "Yu Yang, look at your brother, he fired ten shots and only got hit once, and it was just a glancing blow! If he were on the battlefield, wouldn't he be just feeding the enemy?"

Zhao Dayong's face flushed red, and he stood up abruptly: "I didn't mean to! My hand just shakes when I pull the trigger, I can't control it!"

"What's the rush? Guns are inanimate objects, but people are alive." He Yuyang picked up the rifle, weighed it in his hand, and said, "I'll teach you a trick."

He pulled Zhao Dayong aside and whispered, "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and think about the sweet potato pancakes your mother makes. Don't they smell delicious?"

Zhao Dayong was stunned for a moment, then obediently closed his eyes: "It smells good... My mom makes sweet potato pancakes, she puts saccharin in them, they're very sweet."

"Yeah, I just want that taste." He Yuyang quietly scooped some spiritual spring water from his spatial storage and dripped it into his water bottle. "Drink some water, then you can fetch more."

Zhao Dayong gulped down half a pot of water, wiped his mouth, and picked up his gun again. He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but he felt like his arm wasn't so heavy anymore, and his heartbeat had slowed down a bit.

"Aim at the bullseye, don't think about anything else, just think about sweet potato pancakes," He Yuyang said behind him.

Zhao Dayong took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!" The bullet landed steadily next to the bullseye, just a little short of the bullseye.

"I won!" Zhao Dayong jumped up excitedly. "Brother, I won!"

The third platoon leader raised an eyebrow in surprise: "That's strange, it was just crooked a moment ago..."

He Yuyang smiled but didn't say anything. The spiritual spring water could strengthen the body. Although it couldn't make someone hit the bullseye every time, it could stabilize the mind and enhance physical strength, which was perfect for dealing with Zhao Dayong's "nervousness".

In the next few shots, Zhao Dayong got better and better. Although he didn't hit the bullseye every time, his shots were all near the center. The third platoon leader nodded in satisfaction: "Alright, looks like you've got it. Keep practicing!"

After the platoon leader left, Zhao Dayong sidled up to He Yuyang and said mysteriously, "Brother, is there something special about your water? I wasn't nervous after drinking it."

"What are you thinking about?" He Yuyang tapped his head. "It's because you practiced so well."

Zhao Dayong scratched his head, not caring whether it was because of the water or not. He was happy as long as he hit the target, and he kept grinning.

As evening exercises ended, the medic rushed over with a first-aid kit, looking worried. "Yu Yang, does your class have any medicine? Old Wang from the cookhouse cut his hand while chopping vegetables, and it's bleeding profusely. I've run out of hemostatic powder."

He Yuyang was already prepared and handed over the medicine packet she had prepared that afternoon: "Try this, it's a family hemostatic powder, it works."

The medic opened the cloth bag with some skepticism, and a rich medicinal aroma wafted out, much stronger than the herbs he usually used. He quickly took it and applied it to Old Wang's wound. A moment later, he ran back, his eyes wide with amazement: "Amazing! The bleeding really stopped! Where did you get this medicine? It's even more effective than our Western medicine!"

"I didn't bring much from home," He Yuyang said casually. "If it's not enough, I'll go to the mountains to gather some more."

The medic nodded repeatedly, "That's enough! This medicine is a lifesaver! I'll tell the company commander that we'll be counting on you for collecting herbs from now on!"

Watching the medic run off into the distance, Zhao Dayong leaned over and said, "Brother, your family's secret recipe is amazing! If I ever get injured, can I use some of it?"

"Just hope you don't get shot too many times." He Yuyang kicked him, but a smile crept onto his face.

As night fell, the barracks gradually quieted down. He Yuyang lay on his bunk, listening to the even breathing of his comrades beside him, feeling a sense of peace. A new team, new comrades—though the road ahead was unknown, it was filled with strength.

He quietly took out the tin box, inside which, besides his medals and his mother's letter, there was something else—a brand-new platoon leader's shoulder insignia, red cloth adorned with yellow thread, gleaming in the moonlight.

He recalled his early days in the army, when he was only ten years old and shorter than a rifle. His legs cramped with fear the first time he went to the battlefield. It was his comrades who protected him, the company commander who taught him how to dodge artillery shells, and the countless life-or-death trials that transformed him from a clueless child into a capable squad leader.

"Brother, can't you sleep?" Zhao Dayong turned over and asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, a little."

"I can't sleep either," Zhao Dayong leaned closer. "Brother, when do you think we can go to war? I've got a good shot now, and I want to fight the enemy with you!"

"It'll be soon." He Yuyang looked at the moon outside the window. "But remember, war is not about killing people, it's about saving more people from having to fight."

Zhao Dayong nodded as if he understood: "My mother said that after the war, she would let me get married, have children, and settle down to farm."

"That day will come," He Yuyang said softly.

He closed his eyes, and the scene in the spiritual spring space appeared in his mind: thousands of acres of fertile fields rippled with golden waves, the spiritual spring water steamed, and the lights of the small villa shone like warm stars. When the war was over, he would bring his parents to the vicinity of the space, grow the best grains, drink the sweetest spring water, and never have to live in fear again.

The next morning, as soon as He Yuyang stepped out of the barracks, he was stopped by the medic. Behind the medic were several wounded soldiers, some with gunshot wounds to the legs, others with shrapnel wounds to the arms, all grimacing in pain.

"Yu Yang, could you give me some more of your hemostatic powder?" the medic pleaded. "Old Wang used it yesterday and said it worked well, and these guys all want to try it."

Without hesitation, He Yuyang took out several medicine packets from his pocket and handed them over: "This is for stopping bleeding, and this is for reducing inflammation. Mix it with warm water before applying."

The wounded soldiers thanked him repeatedly, and one veteran with a broken leg said in a trembling voice, "Young man, this medicine of yours is really good, even better than the one I used in the field hospital last time!"

He Yuyang smiled and said, "It's good that it works."

Just as he was about to leave, he saw the company commander walk over, followed by a bespectacled, refined-looking man wearing the same gray military uniform as them and carrying a notebook.

"Yu Yang, this is Officer Li from the column. He wants to know about your 'family secret recipe'," the company commander introduced.

Officer Li adjusted his glasses and said gently, "Comrade He, I heard your herbal remedies are very effective? Could you tell me the formula? If we could mass-produce them, it could save many soldiers."

He Yuyang's heart skipped a beat. What recipe did he have? It was all thanks to the spiritual spring water.

"This..." He deliberately looked troubled. "It was passed down from my great-grandfather. It's just a few common herbs. Maybe the way it's prepared is special. I can't really explain it. I just put it together based on my intuition."

Officer Li didn't press further, but simply smiled and said, "It's alright. If you can collect the herbs, we can ask a traditional Chinese medicine doctor to take a look. It's a good thing to be able to contribute to the army."

"Yes!" He Yuyang quickly replied.

After Officer Li left, the company commander patted him on the shoulder: "Don't be nervous, Officer Li was just asking about the situation. Your medicine is really good, get as much as you can, don't hide it."

"I know, Company Commander."

He Yuyang breathed a sigh of relief, but secretly resolved to be more cautious with medication in the future. The secret of the spiritual spring water must not be exposed, or else there would be serious trouble.

The morning training consisted of drill exercises. He Yuyang stood at the very front of the formation, shouting the commands: "Forward! One-two-one! One-two-one!"

The twelve soldiers marched in unison, their footsteps thumping loudly on the ground. Sun Erzhu walked the most earnestly, his little face tense, his arms swinging straight; Zhao Dayong was strong, his footsteps louder than anyone else's, and he kept secretly glancing at He Yuyang, afraid of making a mistake.

Sunlight filtered through the sparse branches, illuminating their young faces, and their eyes sparkled. This was a brand-new team, like newly sprouted saplings, brimming with vitality and a force to be reckoned with.

Looking at his comrades, He Yuyang was suddenly filled with confidence. No matter how many tough battles lay ahead, no matter how powerful the enemy, as long as they united as one, there was no obstacle they couldn't overcome.

During a training break, he took a White Rabbit milk candy out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and handed it to Sun Erzhu: "Suck on it, it's sweet."

Sun Erzhu was stunned for a moment, then carefully took it, put it in his mouth, and his eyes lit up instantly—he had never eaten anything so sweet in his life.

Zhao Dayong leaned closer, looking at him expectantly: "Brother, I want to eat too..."

"That's all." He Yuyang folded the candy wrappers and put them away. "You only get more if you behave well."

Zhao Dayong quickly puffed out his chest and raised his head: "I'll definitely do well! I'll hit the bullseye every time next time!"

He Yuyang smiled and looked up at the red flag at the end of the playground. The wind was still blowing, and the red flag was still fluttering, as if calling to them.

A new column, a new beginning. He was no longer the child who needed protection; he was the squad leader, the trusted "brother" of his comrades. He would lead the brothers of the third squad on this path.

For family, for brothers, for those who have yet to see peace.

He would protect this red flag with his life.