I feel right at home in the world of the courtyard house.

Li Jing'an followed the message for a moment before turning to beckon to the head of the prefectural committee. The head of the prefectural committee stood respectfully to the side, awaiting orders.

"Now that things have basically calmed down, it's your prefectural committee's turn to handle the rest."

"Yes, please give your instructions, sir."

"You must pay close attention to any rumors circulating on the ground. You must stop this trend, block the news, and prevent its spread. Anyone who dares to speak out will be severely punished, arrested, and tried on charges of espionage and endangering national security. Nip the matter in the bud. In addition, you must also conduct propaganda and reassurance work in the mining area's family quarters." Li Jing'an stared at the comrades from the prefectural committee.

The prefectural committee member respectfully took out his notebook to take notes. Li Jing'an was very satisfied and continued, "We must give a full explanation to the families and employees of the mining area that this incident has nothing to do with them, that it was just a small group of conspirators instigated by foreign forces. As long as you push the blame onto Japan, the people will naturally fill in the gaps and explain it to us."

"Yes, yes, leader, I'll go down and give the order right away." The comrade from the prefectural committee nodded repeatedly.

After Li Jing'an finished speaking, he shook off the crowd and walked inside alone. Old Hu hurriedly followed him. The place was bustling with people coming and going.

Just then, several people carried a stretcher covered with a cloth out. Li Jing'an frowned and asked, "What happened? Have there been any casualties in the troops?"

Several soldiers put down the stretcher and saluted: "Greetings, sir. No, this person jumped from the office building. We just identified him and are preparing to move him to another location."

Li Jing'an nodded and asked again, "Do you know who it is?"

"I heard he's a leader of the rebels, surnamed Fei."

Li Jing'an and Lao Hu were both taken aback. Li Jing'an looked at the human figure on the stretcher, frowned, and said to Lao Hu, "Go and see, haven't you seen him before? Go and identify him."

"Huh? Minister, since it's already been confirmed, it can't be wrong..." Old Hu didn't want to go. Just thinking about the tragic scene of someone jumping off the building made him shudder.

But under Li Jing'an's intense gaze, Old Hu could only swallow hard, trembling as he moved to the stretcher, glancing back pleadingly at Li Jing'an. Li Jing'an had already turned his head, pretending to survey the mining area. Old Hu steeled himself, slowly squatting down, his trembling hands gripping the corner of the cloth, and slowly lifting it. When he reached the top of his head, seeing his hair tangled with blood, he gagged, closed his eyes, and suddenly pulled the cloth back up, then slowly opened it a crack, quickly covering himself with the cloth. He fell backward, almost collapsing to the ground, and scrambled to Li Jing'an's side.

"Minister, I...I saw it clearly, it's him, it's him." His voice trembled.

Li Jing'an then turned around, secretly glanced at the stretcher, and seeing that the sheet was already covering it, breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Old Hu: "Is it really him?"

"Yes, Minister, I would recognize him even if he were reduced to ashes."

Li Jing'an nodded, signaling the soldiers to carry away the stretcher, and continued walking inside. Suddenly, he stopped and asked the pale-faced Old Hu, "Have all the things been moved?"

Old Hu was taken aback for a moment, then realized what was happening and lowered his voice, saying, "Minister, don't worry, I had the items moved to a safe place as soon as they were there."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The next morning, the morning mist had not completely dissipated on the road leading to the family quarters and the mining area. The workers walked in twos and threes, but their steps were much slower than usual, and their expressions revealed obvious unease and anxiety.

At the intersection, several heavily armed soldiers were scrutinizing the passersby with piercing eyes, and the grim atmosphere added a touch of oppression to the otherwise familiar commute.

On the street, two workers were walking towards the factory area. One of them nudged the other with his elbow and asked in a low voice, "Old Song, what do you think? Can you figure out anything about this situation? It looks like those Revolutionary Committee guys are completely finished."

"I saw it coming a long time ago." Old Song had a "Monday morning quarterback" look on his face and spoke with certainty. "You have no idea what happened last night. How many times did military vehicles go back and forth through the streets of our residential area? And our residential area was surrounded by armed men. Just by looking at that scene, I knew that this Revolutionary Committee was just a rat's tail—it wouldn't last long."

"You know, they're really something. How could they possibly stand up to the government?" the man sighed, then leaned closer with a mysterious look. "You wouldn't believe it, last night there was a series of loud explosions over at the factory, like firecrackers going off during Chinese New Year. It scared me so much I couldn't sleep a wink all night."

Old Song curled his lip, his expression indifferent: "Look at your pathetic self. What does it have to do with us? Whoever becomes a leader, we'll still be doing the same work, won't we?"

"That's not necessarily true." The man shook his head and asked again, "What do you think will happen to these Revolutionary Committee members? I think those leaders and those who blindly meddle will be lucky to escape with their lives."

"Pfft—" Old Song chuckled gloatingly, "Still not dead? Of all these leaders, not one of them is alive. I'm telling you, one hundred percent, no doubt about it."

"Yeah...sigh, you don't know, several of our shifts were on duty in the mine last night, and they haven't come back all night. Their families are so worried, they don't know how they are. I think given what happened yesterday, it's probably not good news." The man's tone became low, and he felt uneasy about his coworkers' plight.

"Tch, they deserved it, didn't they?" Old Song said nonchalantly, as if he had accepted his loss. "Since they followed the Revolutionary Committee, they must have known the consequences. Who can they blame? They can only blame their bad luck for losing."

"Hey, Old Song," the man suddenly remembered something and turned to look at Old Song, "aren't you a militiaman too? Why weren't you in the mining area last night? Were you on shift?"

Old Song's face changed drastically instantly, and he hurriedly retorted, "What nonsense are you spouting? Who's the militia? I used to be a militiaman, but I left long ago after they came to power! Although my name is on the list, I firmly distanced myself from them. That's why I didn't go last night. Don't spread rumors outside!"

He paused, then quickly added, "You know, I have relatives in the management of our original factory. I would never make things difficult for my relatives, right?"

Seeing Old Song's tense appearance, as if he were afraid of having any connection with the Revolutionary Committee, the man next to him chuckled and tried to brush it off: "Oh, really? Then I remembered wrong, I remembered wrong."