He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The spring breeze had just melted the snow on the road, and the mud had already covered the soldiers' straw sandals. He Yuyang trudged forward through the mud, his military boots sinking deep into it, pulling them out heavy and wet. He was now a deputy platoon leader, and the rifle on his shoulder was heavier than before. There were also a few more soldiers following behind him—among them Zhao Dayong, the man was carrying a light machine gun, panting heavily, beads of sweat streaming down his face, gathering at his chin and dripping into his shirt.

"Brother, this weather's so damn hot! How did it suddenly get so hot?" Zhao Dayong wiped his sweat; a large dark patch had seeped through the back of his rough military uniform. "That town up ahead, is it really just like the scouts said, guarded by only one bunker?"

He Yuyang looked up at the earthen slope in front of him. A dark outline could be vaguely seen at the top of the slope, like a patch on the gray sky. "Yeah, just a bunker, at the intersection at the east end of the town, controlling the main road to the county seat." He took out a cornbread from his pocket, broke it in half, and handed it to Zhao Dayong. "Have something to eat first. After we take the town, we'll have the cooks make you sweet potato porridge."

He had found the cornbread in his backpack that morning, steamed it with flour from his spatial storage, and it hadn't hardened even after two days, carrying a faint wheat aroma. Zhao Dayong took it, stuffed it into his mouth in two bites, and mumbled, "Brother's cornbread is still the best, it's more filling than the cooks'."

They were going to liberate Pingshui Town. The town wasn't big, but it was strategically located on a major transportation route. The enemy had built a concrete bunker at the eastern intersection, with two heavy machine guns mounted inside, and reportedly a platoon of soldiers stationed there. The brigade headquarters ordered their platoon to take down the bunker before nightfall, clearing the way for the main force to follow.

"First platoon, flank from the left to draw the bunker's fire; second platoon, follow me for a feint attack from the front; third platoon, Zhao Dayong, your squad is in charge of the demolition." He Yuyang squatted in front of the map, drawing routes on the muddy ground with a twig. "There's a blind spot on the right side of the bunker, the concrete wall there is thin, throw the explosive charge there, it'll definitely blow it up."

Zhao Dayong patted his chest and said, "Don't worry, brother! I guarantee I'll complete the mission! I'll go check the explosives right now; they're all freshly made and very powerful!"

He turned to leave, but He Yuyang grabbed his arm. He Yuyang took out a cloth bag from her backpack and handed it to him: "There are two pairs of cloth shoes in here. They were given to you by the old lady in the county town last time. Change into these. Don't always wear those old straw sandals; they rub your feet."

Those cloth shoes were made by him using a thick piece of cloth he had specially found in his spatial storage, following the design. The soles were stitched with a thousand layers, making them very sturdy. Zhao Dayong was taken aback for a moment, then chuckled, "Brother, you're still thinking about my feet? Okay, I'll put them on. After we blow up the bunker, I'll wear my new shoes into town!"

As the sun began to set, the general offensive commenced. A volley of gunfire erupted first from the left flank, bullets whizzing against the iron plates of the bunker, sparks flying. The heavy machine guns inside immediately returned fire, their thunderous roar echoing across the fields.

"Second platoon, follow me!" He Yuyang shouted, charging forward with his rifle in hand. The soldiers crouched low and followed behind, inching forward using the ridges and slopes as cover. He would occasionally glance back to his right—Zhao Dayong and his third platoon were creeping along the wall towards the blind spot of the bunker, their movements as swift as cats.

"Closer...closer..." He Yuyang muttered to himself, then suddenly shouted, "Throw the grenade!"

Several grenades whistled towards the bunker, and with a few loud "booms" and a burst of thick smoke, the machine gun fire from the bunker paused for a moment.

"Now!" He Yuyang shouted.

Zhao Dayong on the right immediately jumped up, clutching the explosive charge, and rushed towards the blind spot of the bunker like a gust of wind. The two soldiers behind him provided cover with their rifles, bullets splashing mud at his feet.

"Dayong, hurry!" He Yuyang's heart was in his throat.

Zhao Dayong had already reached the base of the bunker wall. He quickly put down the explosive charge, pulled the fuse, and dragged two soldiers back. The fuse hissed and sparked, reflecting the smile on his face—a smile that contained excitement, anticipation, and a touch of childlike pride.

Just then, a head suddenly popped out from the top of the bunker, holding a submachine gun, and pulled the trigger at Zhao Dayong's back!

"Watch out!" He Yuyang's eyes widened in horror. Without thinking, he rushed forward, only to have a stray bullet graz his arm, causing a burning pain.

Zhao Dayong seemed to trip over something and fell to the ground. He glanced back, as if trying to say something, but only a mouthful of bloody foam came out of his mouth. Immediately afterward, a loud "boom" rang out as the explosive charge detonated, flames shooting into the sky. One side of the bunker collapsed, and the sound of the heavy machine gun abruptly ceased.

"Dayong!" He Yuyang roared as he rushed over and hugged Zhao Dayong tightly. The man had a bloody hole in his chest, and blood was gushing out, staining his new cloth shoes red.

"Brother..." Zhao Dayong's eyes were half-open, his hand gripping He Yuyang's arm tightly with frightening strength, "My mother... is in the countryside... please... take good care of her..."

"I promise you! I'll definitely go see her!" He Yuyang's tears fell, landing on Zhao Dayong's face. "Hang in there! Medic! Call the medic quickly!"

Zhao Dayong grinned, as if trying to laugh, but only managed an ugly twitch at the corners of his mouth. His hand slowly loosened, his eyes closed forever, and he still clutched half a half-eaten cornbread in his hand.

The enemy troops inside the bunker were stunned by the explosion, and the soldiers of the second platoon seized the opportunity to rush forward and quickly dealt with the remaining enemy. The entrance to the town was opened, and the soldiers cheered as they rushed into the town, but He Yuyang felt a ringing in his ears and could not hear anything. He held Zhao Dayong's body and sat in the mud until the setting sun cast long, long shadows of the two of them.

That evening, He Yuyang sat by the campfire, silently sorting through Zhao Dayong's belongings. There was a worn-out military uniform with frayed cuffs, a patched enamel mug, and a pair of new cloth shoes that hadn't been worn more than a few times. He pulled a crumpled envelope from the uniform pocket, on which was written in crooked handwriting: "Letter from home," addressed to "Zhao Dayong's mother."

The letter wasn't long, but it said he was doing well in the army, had become a squad leader, was earning money, and would go home to get married after the war, putting his mother at ease. As He Yuyang read it, tears welled up in his eyes again. He carefully folded the letter and put it in his pocket, then took out a piece of wood from his backpack—a piece of high-quality pine he had found in his spatial dimension—and carved three characters on it with his bayonet: Zhao Dayong.

He planted the wooden plaque on the hillside outside the town and saluted it: "Dayong, rest in peace. I will remember your entrustment."

The troops rested in Pingshui Town for three days. Taking advantage of this time, He Yuyang asked the company commander for half a day's leave and, following the address on Zhao Dayong's letter, found a local villager to guide him to Zhao Family Village, fifty miles away.

Zhao Dayong's mother, an elderly woman with gray hair, was sitting in the yard sewing shoe soles. When she saw He Yuyang enter in his military uniform, the needle and thread in her hands fell to the ground with a "thud." "You are...you are my Dayong's comrade-in-arms?"

"Auntie, I am He Yuyang, Da Yong's platoon leader." He Yuyang put the cloth bag in his hand on the table. Inside were twenty catties of millet, ten catties of flour, and twenty silver dollars that he had taken from his space. These were his allowances that he had saved for a long time. He added the few dollars that he had originally stored in his space to make up a round number.

"Da Yong, he..." The old lady's voice trembled, and her eyes were already filled with tears.

He Yuyang's throat tightened, and he couldn't speak for a long time. He couldn't say that Dayong had sacrificed his life; that would be too cruel. "Auntie, Dayong made a great contribution, and the army awarded him a commendation and sent him to the rear for training. He won't be back for a while, so he asked me to bring you some things." He pointed to the cloth bag on the table. "This is the army's pension and some food. Please use it without worry."

The old woman touched the bag of millet, then picked up a silver coin, and tears finally streamed down her face: "My son has made something of himself... truly made something of himself..." She clutched the silver coin tightly in her hand, as if holding some precious treasure, "He always said he wanted to be a hero, to give me a good life... and now he really has..."

Looking at the old woman's hunched back, He Yuyang felt a sharp pain in his heart. He dared not linger, afraid that saying too much would give him away, and got up to leave: "Auntie, I should go back to the army. Dayong said that he will come back to keep you company after he finishes his studies."

"Oh, okay, okay..." The old lady wiped away her tears, saw him to the door, and gave him two hard-boiled eggs. "Eat these on your way. Thank you, good boy."

Even after walking quite a distance, He Yuyang could still see the old woman standing at the door, holding the silver coin in her hand, gazing in the direction he had left. He clenched the egg in his hand; the egg was still warm, just like Zhao Dayong's warm and gentle nature when he was alive.

When they returned to the unit, the setting sun had painted half the sky red. A new soldier had already taken Zhao Dayong's place, but He Yuyang still felt that there was a man sitting there with a machine gun on his shoulders and a wide grin.

"Platoon leader, the company commander wants you to go there," the communications officer said as he ran over.

He Yuyang nodded and walked towards the company headquarters. On the way, he touched the letter from Zhao Dayong in his pocket, and then touched his chest—there he still carried the promise he made to Aunt Zhao.

He knew there were many comrades like Zhao Dayong. They had sacrificed their lives, but entrusted their unfulfilled wishes and unspoken concerns to the living. He had to carry these entrustments on, liberate more places, allow more mothers to wait for their sons to return home, and enable more families to live a peaceful life.

This is perhaps the best way to honor our fallen comrades.

He Yuyang took a deep breath and straightened his back. The road ahead was still long, and the battle was not over, but his steps were more resolute than ever before. Because he knew that what he carried on his shoulders was not just a gun, but also the hopes and entrustments of countless comrades.