The Courtyard House: The Little Red Devil Returning from the Peninsula

Day 14, 3 a.m.

In the mountain valleys surrounding Black Cloud Ridge, eight hundred people huddled together in the folds of night, and no one uttered a sound.

Dew rolled down the blades of grass, soaking my trousers and making them feel cool against my calves. A mountain wind swept down from the north, and someone's teeth chattered, but they quickly bit them back down. All around me were the heavy, cautious breaths of others, like a pack of beasts crouching on the ground.

Zhao Weiguo squatted behind a rock.

A hand-drawn map lay before him, its edges curled, delivered by Zhi Zi overnight. Charcoal circles marked the south gate, the prison, the east gate path, and the main compound, with numbers next to them. It indicated the number of guards, their patrol hours, and the structure of the gate latches.

Under the cover of darkness, he looked at the drawing one last time, folded it, and stuffed it into his pocket.

Old Zhou, standing nearby, held a rifle with strips of cloth wrapped around the barrel.

"Commander, are those two informants at the south gate reliable?"

"He's reliable."

"You've seen it?"

"Never seen her before. But the person Zhi Zi chose can't be wrong."

Old Zhou didn't ask any more questions, and instead bent over to relay the orders.

Zhao Weiguo looked up at the sky. There was a bluish-gray tinge on the eastern ridgeline; dawn was approaching. Eight hundred people crouched behind him, all facing the same direction.

Inside the Black Cloud Village prison, the monk sat leaning against the wall.

He wasn't asleep. His fingers, through his clothes, traced the hilt of the short knife at his waist. The hilt, warmed by his body heat, felt like a small, living thing against his skin.

The chains occasionally tapped softly in the darkness.

Yesterday, when the "new prison guard" brought his food, he put an extra sweet potato in his bowl. After putting it in, he tapped his finger three times on the rim of the bowl.

Three times.

He remembered it.

The monk had his eyes closed, but his ears were perked up. Outside, there was the sound of wind, the chirping of insects, and something made a sound in the distance that then disappeared.

He was waiting for those three whistling arrows.

Just before dawn, in the darkest hour, Zhi Zi led two special agent companies to the pile of rocks in the southeast corner of Black Cloud Village.

It's about eighty paces from here to the south gate, and you can just see the watchtower on the stockade wall. Beyond that, there's no cover, just open ground.

She took a bow off her back.

The hunter's kind has a low draw weight, but it's sufficient. The arrows are three specially made whistling arrows with whistle holes on the arrowheads, which will whistle sharply when fired, and can be heard for most of a mile.

She hung the bowstring, planted three arrows in the ground with their arrowheads pointing upwards.

The soldier next to him lay prone on the ground, his gun pointed at the south gate watchtower, his finger resting on the trigger guard.

"When?"

"It's almost dawn, just when you can see people's faces clearly."

Gardenia looked up at the sky. The bluish-gray hue of the eastern mountain ridge was growing brighter.

It was exactly four o'clock in the morning.

Zhao Weiguo raised his wrist and glanced at his watch in the moonlight filtering through the clouds.

"Signal."

The communications soldier next to him raised his signal gun.

Zhao Weiguo held his hand down.

"Waiting for the whistling arrow from Gardenia."

The communications soldier put down his gun.

Zhao Weiguo stared intently in the direction of Black Cloud Ridge, his eyes unblinking. Eight hundred pairs of eyes followed him, all looking in the same direction.

The east was just beginning to lighten.

Footsteps echoed from the stockade wall. Two patrolling bandits, one in front of the other, guns slung over their backs, yawned as they walked. They stopped at the south gate watchtower and stood against the wall for a while.

One of them took out his pipe and struck a match.

The match lit up briefly.

At that very moment, on the eastern ridge, the first ray of grayish-white light pierced through the gap in the clouds.

Gardenia's fingers tightened on the bowstring.

Right now.

She drew her bow. The sound of the taut bowstring was very soft. Arrow nocked, aimed, released.

The first whistling arrow whistled as it shot into the sky. The whistle hole emitted a long, thin whistle in the airflow, like a night bird startled into flight, tearing a gash in the pre-dawn silence.

The bandit smoking on the stockade wall paused for a moment, then looked up at the sky.

The second whistling arrow followed immediately into the air. The whistling sound grew even louder, and the sounds of the two arrows clashed in the air.

The third one.

Three sharp whistles pierced the sky above Black Cloud Ridge, and then everything fell silent again.

The silence lasted only a second.

In the cell, the monk suddenly opened his eyes.

Three whistling arrows. The sound he had been waiting for fourteen days.

He stood up, the chains rattling loudly. Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, startling the patrolling bandits who ran over to investigate.

The monks didn't wait for them to get close.

He gripped the chain on his wrist with his left hand, and clenched his right fist, pressing it against the thinnest joint of the chain. He had known for two years that the rivet at that joint was loose.

He took a breath and exerted his strength.

The chains tightened around his fists, the rivets creaking. His face flushed, the veins in his neck bulged, and the scar on his cheek turned white from the strain.

The rivet snapped open. The chain fell to the ground with a crisp sound.

He shook his left hand, then squatted down to grab the shackles. The shackles were thicker than the hand chains, but the joints had the same weakness. He had already figured it out.

One punch. Two punches. The third punch broke the rivets on the shackles.

He stood up and drew a short knife from his waist.

The cell door was locked. He walked over and tapped the latch with the back of his knife; the latch wobbled. He tapped it again, and a crack appeared in the latch.

The footsteps outside the door grew closer.

He doesn't have time.

He took two steps back, pressed his shoulder against the cell door, and slammed it with his full weight.

The door frame shook with the first tap. The wooden planks cracked with the second. The door opened with the third tap.

He stumbled out the door, bumping into a bandit running towards him. Both fell to the ground, the bandit's gun slipping from his hand. The monk was faster; he struck the bandit on the back of the head with the back of his knife, and the bandit's body went limp and he lay still.

The monk got up, panting, gripping his short knife tightly.

It's been two years.

He glanced at the end of the passage, which led to the south gate. He started running.

On the south gate, two agents from the special operations company made their move as the signal arrow was launched.

One of them went to cut the bolt. The bolt was a thick wooden bar, secured with iron rings on both sides. The bandit on night watch was rubbing his eyes and didn't react in time.

The bandit opened his mouth to shout. Another henchman covered his mouth from behind, and a knife was thrust across his face.

He didn't shout out.

The two men worked together to pull the wooden bar out of the iron ring. The bar was very heavy, and when they lifted it and flipped it over, it crashed to the ground with a thud.

The bolt is open.

The inside man pulled the heavy gate to both sides. The hinges, unlubricated for too long, creaked dully.

The crack in the door was widening. Outside, Old Zhou had already led a battalion of men to within fifty paces.

He saw the door open and waved.

"superior!"

Eight hundred people poured into the village gate.

Xie Baoqing was awakened by the sound of the arrow.

He sprang up from the kang (a heated brick bed), shirtless, and grabbed the pistol from under his pillow.

"What's going on?!"

No one answered him. There were gunshots outside, a dense volley of gunfire coming from the direction of the south gate, mixed with shouts and footsteps.

He rushed out the door.

The courtyard was in chaos. Several trusted confidants ran over, their faces pale, carrying guns.

"Boss! The south gate has fallen!"

Xie Baoqing's face twitched.

Who hit him?

"I don't know. Someone opened the door, and a group of people rushed in; they weren't ordinary local militia."

Xie Baoqing gritted his teeth and cocked the Mauser pistol.

How many people?

"I can't see clearly, the whole village is full of them."

Xie Baoqing didn't say anything more. He turned and ran towards the east gate. There was a small path at the east gate leading to the back mountain, and beyond the back mountain was the direction of the Wolfskin Village's secondary stronghold.

His confidants followed him.

Before the group even reached the east gate, a volley of bullets struck the wall next to the gate frame, scattering gravel all over their faces.

Xie Baoqing crouched down against the wall and looked outside. On the earthen slope outside the east gate, a row of people lay prone, guns pointed at the gate. The leader was crouching behind the slope, holding a pistol. She was a woman.

Xie Baoqing's heart sank.

He retreated behind the wall. The east gate was impassable, and the south gate had been breached. His only chance of survival was to hold the main compound and wait for reinforcements from the deputy stronghold of Wolfskin Stronghold.

"Go back!" he roared. "Back to the main compound!"

When the monk rushed out of the prison passage, it was already getting a little bright outside.

Gunshots and shouts echoed throughout the village. Some were running, some were shouting to surrender, and some were searching for their guns.

He paused for a moment to determine the direction.

The south gate was where the most people were, and the gunfire was also the most intense. He ran a few steps in that direction, then changed his mind.

First, find a knife.

Outside the cell was a weapons rack with several knives and two homemade guns on it. He went over, tucked the short knife into his waistband, picked up a long knife, weighed it in his hand, and then swapped it for a heavier one.

I've got the knife.

He turned and ran towards the south gate. Halfway there, he bumped into two bandits.

The bandit saw him and paused for a moment. Wasn't this the bald monk from prison?

The monk gave them no time to react. Without pausing, he swung the knife horizontally, following the momentum of his run. Before the first bandit could even raise his gun, the back of the knife struck his shoulder, and he fell sideways.

The second bandit took a step back, but before he could even raise his gun, the monk was already right in front of him. He grabbed the gun barrel with his left hand and pushed it upwards, while his right hand turned the knife around, pressing the hilt against the bandit's chest.

The bandit grunted and squatted down.

The monk didn't stop; he stepped over them and kept running.

The south gate is now completely under control.

Old Zhou led one battalion to occupy the gate tower, while two platoons spread out to the left and right, controlling the city walls and passageways. Another group was advancing towards the main compound, sealing off every alley.

When Zhao Weiguo entered the village gate, it was just dawn.

He walked along the dirt road in the village, with stone houses on both sides. Some of the houses had bandits squatting at their doors with their heads in their hands, and the soldiers of the Independent Regiment were clearing the area house by house. Those with guns had their weapons confiscated, those without guns were registered, and those who resisted were suppressed.

He walked to the entrance of the main courtyard.

Old Zhou stood at the door, a streak of ash on his face.

"Commander, Xie Baoqing has retreated back to the main compound. The east gate is blocked by Zhi Zi, so he couldn't escape. There's still no movement from the direction of Langpi Village; the guard company is keeping watch there."

Zhao Weiguo looked around the compound.

The compound was a two-story stone building with thick walls, small windows, and sandbags piled up at the entrance. Several gun barrels protruded from upstairs, pointing towards the courtyard.

"Did they call out?"

"I called out. No one answered."

Zhao Weiguo didn't rush to give the order. He stood at the gate of the compound, looked at the windows upstairs, then at the surrounding buildings, and mentally calculated the firing arc and distance.

"Stand around him for now. Wait for him to come out and talk."

The gunfire in the village gradually subsided.

The Independent Regiment had taken control of most of the area. Bandits were either dead or surrendered, and the forced peasants huddled against the walls, hands covering their heads, eyes fixed on the ground. The Independent Regiment soldiers were registering each person. Those who could clearly state their village and land were set aside; those who couldn't were detained.

When the monk found Zhao Weiguo, his head and face were covered in dust, his clothes were torn by wood chips, and he was carrying a long knife.

He stood in front of Zhao Weiguo, panting.

That run and fight just now used up most of the energy he had accumulated over the past two years. But he stood very straight.

"Commander."

Zhao Weiguo looked at him.

"You're Wei Dayong?"

"Yes."

"Where are you hurt?"

The monk paused for a moment, then looked down at himself.

"No injuries."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him. He was covered in dust, with marks from the chains, and dried blood at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes didn't look like he'd been broken.

"The one you just smashed down the cell door?"

"Smash it."

Zhao Weiguo nodded.

"Can you fight?"

The monk opened his mouth.

It's been two years. Two years ago, he was a soldier in the Central Army when he was kidnapped by bandits and imprisoned in the mountains for two years. He thought he would just rot away in the prison of Black Cloud Ridge.

"I can fight," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Commander, can I still fight?"

Zhao Weiguo looked at him and spoke after a second.

"We can fight. But this time we can't risk our lives to fill the gap."

The monk nodded, gripped the hilt of the knife tightly for a moment, then relaxed his grip.

Zhao Weiguo walked to the front of the main courtyard. Gun barrels were still sticking out from upstairs. He stopped, and the courtyard was so quiet you could hear sparks exploding.

"Xie Baoqing."

No one upstairs answered.

"Half of your men have surrendered, and the other half are trapped at the east gate. The reinforcements from Wolfskin Stronghold can't get through. You have at most twenty men left upstairs; once they run out of bullets, they're gone."

He paused for a moment.

"I'm not here to suppress bandits. I'm here to ask you for someone."

There was a few seconds of silence upstairs, then Xie Baoqing's voice came through.

Who do you want?

"Wei Dayong."

Another silence followed.

"He's already run away."

"I know," Zhao Weiguo said, "but you locked him up for two years, and that debt needs to be settled."

Silence fell again upstairs.

After a while, a cough came from the window.

"If you lift the siege, I'll give you the monk. The rest..."

"The rest of you, come out and talk."

Xie Baoqing didn't speak. Zhao Weiguo didn't urge him either.

He stood in the courtyard, waiting.

The morning light shone from the east, illuminating the stone slabs in the courtyard. The gunfire had ceased, and the entire village was so quiet that the calls of birds could be heard from the distant mountains.

Upstairs and downstairs, things remained stuck like this.