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

Three days after the suppression of the bandits at Black Cloud Village, the supplementary company stood in a dense crowd at the drill ground of White Horse Ridge.

More than two hundred people, crooked and disorganized. Some stood picking their noses, some squatted on the ground smoking, some used their guns as walking sticks. Their clothes were also a motley collection. Some wore gray cloth jackets, some wore black cotton-padded coats, and some were wrapped in blankets. Standing next to the regular ranks of the Independent Regiment, they looked like two separate military units.

Zhao Weiguo stood at the edge of the drill ground, not going up to oversee the proceedings.

He said something to Old Zhou next to him.

"Come here."

Old Zhou glanced at him.

"Commander, aren't you going up and say a few words?"

"You set the rules, you tell me."

Old Zhou nodded, straightened his gun, and strode onto the earthen platform in front of the drill ground.

The men from the supply platoon watched Old Zhou go on stage without much reaction. They didn't recognize him yet.

Old Zhou stood still, without a megaphone, but his voice was loud enough.

"My name is Zhou Dacheng, battalion commander of the 1st Battalion, Independent Regiment. From today onwards, discipline and training of the supplementary company are under my jurisdiction."

Someone in the audience muttered something. Old Zhou, with his sharp ears, heard it but ignored it.

"The Independent Regiment has four strict rules: No looting of civilians; no beating of civilians; no humiliation of women and children; and no desertion."

He spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Violation of any of these rules will result in court-martial."

He glanced at the audience again.

Did you hear me clearly?

A few scattered replies from the audience said, "I heard you clearly," their voices sounding like they hadn't eaten.

Old Zhou frowned.

"Haven't you eaten?"

"Listen carefully!"

The volume was a bit louder this time, but it was still not in unison.

Old Zhou stopped worrying about that. He set aside the rules and began explaining the training plan: attention, at ease, marching, and rifle handling. He started with the most basic rules.

The students in the audience looked at each other, some laughing, wondering what the point of practicing this was.

Old Zhou didn't explain, he just shouted out the command.

"Attention, everyone! Stand at attention!"

The ways people stood up were varied. Some had their bellies sticking out, while others had their shoulders tilted to one side.

Old Zhou corrected them one by one. When they got to the third row, someone whispered something.

"Damn it, what's the point of practicing this? I'd be better off teaching you a couple of sword techniques."

Old Zhou glanced at him.

He was a dark-skinned, thin man with high cheekbones, wearing a black cotton-padded jacket with a short knife at his waist. He wasn't standing straight; one leg was supporting him, and the other was bent.

What's your name?

"Qin San."

"What did you do in the mountains before?"

"Run an errand. Deliver a message to the chief."

Old Zhou looked at him.

"You have a problem with that?"

Qin San stiffened his neck.

"It's not that I'm unconvinced. I just feel that practicing this stuff is useless in a real fight."

Old Zhou didn't immediately refute him. He glanced towards the edge of the drill ground.

"Monk."

The monk was standing not far from the drill ground. He had been watching the replenishment company line up when he heard Old Zhou call him, so he came over.

He was wearing a slightly worn gray military uniform, with a bayonet issued by the Independent Regiment at his waist, but also carrying the long sword he had taken from Black Cloud Village on his shoulder. The blade gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

He walked up to Qin San.

Do you still recognize me?

Qin San's face changed.

Of course he recognized him. Two years ago, when the monk was imprisoned in the Black Cloud Stronghold jail, Qin San had brought food to Xie Baoqing and helped massage the monk's hands. At that time, the monk was chained up and was skin and bones, but he remembered the way the monk glared at him. That was the look in his eyes when he wasn't chained up.

"I recognize him." Qin San's voice lowered.

The monk looked at him but said nothing more.

He lowered the long sword from his shoulder, tip down, and plunged it into the ground.

With a soft "thud," the knife tip sank half an inch into the ground and stood still.

"Let's have a fight."

Qin San was taken aback.

"Let's have a fight. If you win, you don't have to follow Old Zhou's rules anymore. If you lose, put on the Independent Regiment's gray uniform and stand in line properly."

Qin San looked at the knife on the ground, then at the monk, and then at Old Zhou.

"If I hurt you..."

"If you get hurt, it's on me."

Qin San gritted his teeth and pulled out the dagger.

The drill ground fell silent. The entire supplementary company was looking this way.

Qin San assumed a fighting stance. He had practiced swordsmanship for several years and was considered a capable fighter in Black Cloud Stronghold. He twirled the short sword in his hand, shifting his weight from one foot forward to the other, lowering his center of gravity.

The monk stood still, without moving.

Qin San made the first move.

He stepped forward, slashing horizontally from left to right with his short sword. The speed was not slow; the blade whistled as it scraped against the ground.

The monk dodged to the side. The short knife grazed past his clothes.

Qin San didn't stop; with a flick of his wrist, the knife swept back horizontally.

The monk leaned back. The second cut missed again.

Qin San gritted his teeth and thrust the third knife straight at the monk's chest.

This time, the monk didn't dodge.

He reached out, grasped the back of Qin San's knife, and pulled him to the side. Qin San was thrown off balance and stumbled forward. Taking advantage of this opening, the monk kicked him in the shin, and Qin San's knee buckled, causing him to kneel on one knee.

The dagger slipped from his hand and landed on the stone slab with a clang.

The monk released his grip and took a step back.

The entire drill ground was completely silent.

The monk didn't stomp down, nor did he curse anymore. He stopped, walked to Qin San, squatted down, picked up the short knife from the ground, glanced at the blade, and handed it back.

"The Independent Regiment is a place to fight the Japanese, not a mountain stronghold."

Qin San knelt on the ground, panting, and did not take the knife.

"If you break the rules again, next time it won't be the back of the knife."

The monk stood up, drew his long sword from the ground, and slung it over his shoulder. As he turned, the scabbard struck the stone slab with a sound.

The men of the replenishment company stood up, and not one of them slumped over anymore.

Old Zhou watched from the side and cleared his throat.

"stand at attention!"

This time, everyone stood upright. No one even dared to bend down to pick up the cigarette butt that hadn't been picked up yet.

Training continued in the afternoon.

Old Zhou led the supplementary company in drills on the parade ground. Zhao Gang moved a table and several blackboards, adding a literacy lesson and a lesson on complaining after the military discipline lesson.

The literacy class teaches the simplest content: writing one's own name and the three characters "Independent Regiment".

Most people held the pen incorrectly, clutching the chalk in their fists, resulting in crooked and uneven characters drawn on the slate. Zhao Gang taught them one by one, without rushing.

The "complaint session" is where people who used to live in Black Cloud Village talk about why they went up the mountain.

Some were bandits because their land was seized, leaving them with no way to survive. Others were captured and forced into the banditry. Some even admitted that they initially thought being a bandit would provide them with better food.

Zhao Gang listened to each one. After listening, he only said one sentence.

"The Independent Regiment will not pursue the matter of going up the mountain in the past. From now on, follow the Independent Regiment and walk the right path."

When get out of class ended, someone put a piece of chalk in their pocket and took it away. Zhao Gang saw it but didn't stop them.

On the other side of the training ground, Liu Dashan was leading the junior class in crawling practice. The junior class members were all young, ranging from twelve or thirteen to fifteen or sixteen years old. The supplementary class had also practiced the same exercise that afternoon, and the adults from Black Cloud Village were crawling at varying paces.

Duan Peng squatted at the end of the line, practicing along. He didn't climb very fast, but he didn't look up or complain of being tired. Liu Dashan noticed this but didn't ask any questions.

Training ended in the evening.

The reinforcement company was disbanded. Qin San walked in the ranks. The three stabs from the monk that afternoon had made him behave; the first thing he did upon returning to the barracks was to hand the dagger to Old Zhou.

"It's been changed."

Old Zhou looked at him.

"Change to what?"

Qin San placed the short knife on the table and then picked up a wooden gun issued by the Independent Regiment from the corner of the wall.

"Practicing this is more useful than using a knife."

Old Zhou didn't say much, took the dagger, and put it in the cabinet.

As Qin San carried the wooden spear out, Old Zhou glanced at his retreating figure. His steps were a little more steady than before.

A soldier from the supply company leaned over and whispered, "Battalion Commander, what can you do with wooden rifles?" Old Zhou replied, "You can only be issued real guns after you've mastered them. Do you think the Independent Regiment just gives out guns randomly?" The soldier shrank back and ran back to his ranks.

Beside the drill ground, a monk sat on a rock, wiping his long sword with an oilcloth.

The blade gleamed with a dark light in the evening glow.

The knife had several notches, some deep, some shallow. They were all from the cuts made along the way from Black Cloud Village to the Independent Regiment. He slowly smoothed them out one by one with a whetstone.

Duan Peng squatted not far away, without saying a word. He was still wearing the old black cotton-padded jacket from the supply company, dusty and gray, a different color from the monk's gray military uniform. His squatting posture was somewhat similar to the monk's, with his back straight and his hands resting on his knees.

After sharpening his knife, the monk slung it over his shoulder and glanced at Duan Peng.

Duan Peng glanced at him and nodded.

The monk carried the knife and left.

Dusk fell over the drill ground, and wisps of smoke drifted from the barracks. Someone called out that dinner was served, and the new recruits of the replenishment company lined up with their bowls to get their food. The line was crooked, but at least it was a single line.

Duan Peng stood up, dusted himself off, and followed the group.