Courtyard House: From Deputy Division Commander to Civilian, Progressing All the Way

In the old city of Beijing, in Nanluoguxiang, at No. 95, a courtyard house.

Spring here brings no life, but rather a stagnant, dull atmosphere.

As rationing was further reduced, meat became a rare sight on the dinner tables of every household. Neighbors who hadn't smelled meat for months walked around the yard looking pale and with sunken eyes.

The Jia family of the Intermediate People's Court.

Qin Huairu carried a chipped, rough porcelain bowl, half-filled with cornmeal porridge so thin you could see your reflection in it. Numbly, she walked to the bedside, scooped out a little porridge with a spoon, and fed it to Jia Zhangshi, who was paralyzed in bed.

"Pah!" Although Jia Zhangshi was partially paralyzed, her venomous mouth didn't stop. She spat the porridge directly onto Qin Huairu's patched sleeve. "You jinx! Are you trying to starve me to death?! This porridge is so bland, there's not even a drop of oil in it. Did you secretly give all the good food to Bang Geng behind my back?!"

Qin Huairu closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and instead of getting angry, silently picked up a rag and wiped the residue off her sleeve. She didn't even have the energy to be angry anymore.

Banggeng also went to the countryside a couple of years ago, to the Loess Plateau in northern Shaanxi. I heard that he was beaten and had his leg broken for stealing sweet potatoes from a villager, and now he's half-crippled, relying on Qin Huairu to save up a few yuan every month to send him over.

As for those "old men" who were once expected to help, they are now in dire straits.

Suppressed cries could be heard coming from Xu Damao's room.

"Da Mao! What terrible things have you done?! How are we supposed to live now?!" Wang Cuihua sat on the ground, slapping her thigh and wailing.

In the center of the room, Xu Damao was pinned to the ground with his hands tied behind his back by two police officers in uniform. His face was pressed against the cold brick floor, his eyes filled with despair and fear, and his crotch was soaked, emitting a strong smell of urine.

Standing next to the police officer was He Yuzhu, a man dressed in a crisp civilian suit and as strong as an iron tower.

He Yuzhu tossed several precision-machined brass parts in his hand, looking down at Xu Damao, who lay there like a dead dog, and sneered repeatedly.

"Xu Damao, you've got some nerve!" He Yuzhu kicked Xu Damao's face with the tip of his shoe. "Even though the foundry workshop in the factory has stopped production, the stuff in that warehouse is still national military assets. You dare to climb over the wall in the middle of the night to steal these high-purity brass valves and exchange them for hostages on the black market? That's typical speculation and profiteering, damaging state property!"

Xu Damao desperately tilted his head back, tears streaming down his face, "Shazhu... no, Director He! Grandpa He! I was wrong! I was just confused for a moment, my family is really starving! Please, for the sake of us growing up in the same courtyard, have mercy on me! I'll give you all the two pounds of pork I got in exchange!"

"Bullshit!" He Yuzhu kicked Xu Damao in the shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground. "Who grew up in the same compound as you? When you wrote that anonymous letter framing Director Lin, didn't you think about the bonds between neighbors? I'm with the Central Security Bureau now; this is the local police's responsibility. Go explain yourself to them at the station!"

He Yuzhu waved his hand, and two policemen dragged the limp Xu Damao out of the house like a dead pig.

Liu Haizhong, who was sweeping the front yard, was so frightened by this scene that he quickly turned around and pressed his face against the wall, afraid that He Yuzhu would look at him again.

He Yuzhu walked out of the courtyard gate and got into the jeep parked at the alley entrance. He glanced back at the scheming and dilapidated courtyard and spat disdainfully.

Under the crushing power of absolute authority, these beasts who once swaggered around the yard no longer even deserved to be considered opponents. They could only tear each other apart like rats in the sewers over a few ounces of meat and a few pounds of cornmeal, ultimately leading to their self-destruction.

Looking westward, across thousands of kilometers of sandstorms.

Xinjiang, an independent armored division of the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps, a border patrol area.

In November, it was still only slightly cold in Beijing, but here, the mountains were already covered in snow.

A rare blizzard swept across the entire border. The gale-force winds whipped up heavy snow, reducing visibility to less than five meters. Temperatures plummeted to minus thirty-five degrees Celsius. In such weather, even the most cold-resistant warhorses would freeze to death in the snow.

The Type 59 tank carrying Lin Weidong and Lin Jianguo was currently parked behind a huge, sheltered sand dune. The tank's engine was running at a minimum idle speed to prevent the fuel lines from freezing, and the white, hot exhaust gas spewing from the exhaust pipe was instantly blown away by the strong wind.

Inside the carriage, the temperature was still so low that it made one's hands and feet go numb.

Lin Weidong, wearing a thick fur coat, took off his gloves and warmed his red, frozen hands on the radio's radiator. He was seventeen years old this year, and his face, sculpted by the wind and snow of the frontier, was as rugged as if carved by a knife and axe. The innate military air between his brows made him look much more mature than his actual age.

"Platoon leader, communications with the division headquarters have been completely cut off. The white-haired wind is causing too much interference; the radio is just going dead." Lin Jianguo, sitting in the driver's seat, turned around and shouted.

"Keep calling. In this weather, even the Russian tanks can't move, but we can't let our guard down." Lin Weidong grabbed a hard, rock-hard cornbread from the side, used his military knife to forcefully slice off a piece, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing it with difficulty.

Suddenly, a faint, unusual sight flashed through the observation periscope on top of the tank.

Lin Weidong abruptly threw down his cornbread, instantly switching into battle mode. He grabbed the handle of the periscope and stared intently into the depths of the snowstorm to his right.

"Jianguo, there's movement at the ten o'clock position, about three hundred meters away." Lin Weidong's voice was low and urgent.

Lin Jianguo immediately moved closer to his observation window, squinting his eyes: "With so much snow, could it be wild wolves?"

"Wolves don't march in a single file." Lin Weidong's eyes were cold. "Those are people. And not ordinary herders. Their steps are steady, and they have weapons."

Lin Weidong's mind raced. Under such extreme weather conditions, it was impossible for regular Soviet armored units to cross the border. The only explanation was that some armed agents or saboteurs were attempting to use the blizzard as cover to cross the border and sabotage the strategic communications relay station in the rear.

"Jianguo, start the turret rotation and prepare for machine gun suppression. Squad leader, grab your weapons and get out of the vehicle with me!"

Lin Weidong issued the order without hesitation. In the snowy terrain, with its obstructed visibility and complex terrain, tanks would be sitting ducks if spies got close enough to use anti-tank grenades. Infantry tactics had to be used to close in and deal with them.

Click.

Lin Weidong shoved open the commander's hatch on the roof. A torrent of raging snow rushed in, stinging his face like countless steel needles piercing his skin.

He took a Type 56 submachine gun from the side of the tank, pulled the bolt, and moved cleanly and swiftly. Then, like a nimble snow leopard, he flipped and leaped out of the tank, landing in knee-deep snow.

The squad leader followed closely behind.