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

The sentry post on the eastern side of Baimaling was located on the mountainside, with a viewpoint covering the dirt road leading to Yangquan below. The sentry in the early morning, surnamed Liu, had been on duty all night. Just before dawn, he noticed several crows taking flight and landing again at the edge of the distant woods. He stared in that direction for a while, but there was no movement from the woods. Still uneasy, he woke his assistant sentry, and the two of them, rifles in hand, crept over to investigate.

There was no one in the woods. There were a few cigarette butts on the ground, match butts, not the kind of cigarettes rolled by locals. The footprints led towards Yangquan.

The sentry put the cigarette butt in his pocket and handed it to his squad leader after his shift ended. The squad leader glanced at it and then passed it to the platoon leader. By the time the platoon leader sent it to the regimental headquarters, it was already morning.

Zhao Weiguo placed the cigarette butts on the table and looked at them.

"Matches. Japanese cigarettes."

Zhao Gang didn't reply. He picked up the cigarette butt, looked at it against the light from the window, and put it back on the table. The two were silent for a while. The cigarette butt belonged to a pair of matches, and the matches were Japanese. A few cigarette butts didn't prove anything, but at this point in time, any unusual occurrence was worth remembering.

Zhao Weiguo put the cigarette butts back in the drawer. He didn't order increased security, nor did he say much. But the location and direction of those cigarette butts were already etched into his mind. In the woods, matches, cigarette butts, footprints leading to Yangquan.

By mid-morning, intelligence from the Yangquan direction had arrived.

The message was a telegram forwarded by the brigade headquarters. A convoy claiming to be a Japanese transport team was spotted moving about west of Yangquan. The telegram included the statement: "There are no Japanese warehouses in the area, and the garrison report indicates there are no transport plans."

After reading the telegram, Zhao Weiguo drew a small circle in the direction of Yangquan on the map. He didn't comment on the significance of the telegram, but he left the circle there.

At noon, the second thing happened.

A telegram from the brigade headquarters. Personally signed by the former brigade commander. Someone was inquiring about the Independent Regiment and the brigade commander's whereabouts outside the headquarters. The person asking was in civilian clothes, claiming to be a passing merchant, but the route he gave was incorrect. The former brigade commander added a sentence at the end of the telegram: "Has anything happened over there recently?"

After reading it, Zhao Weiguo drew another circle in the direction of the brigade headquarters. The two telegrams were laid out side by side, one pointing to Yangquan and the other to the brigade headquarters. The locations were far apart, but the dates were both the same.

He didn't reply to the telegram. He put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and pondered the two messages side by side for a while. Outside the desk, on the training field, new recruits were running in formation, their footsteps rhythmic, raising clouds of dust.

He had just sat down at the table when the third thing happened.

A sentry on the outskirts of Baimaling reported: Five or six people were spotted in the direction of Liujiapo; they didn't seem to be local farmers. The sentry followed them for a while, but they disappeared into a locust grove and couldn't catch up. At the edge of the grove, the sentry found an old, discarded hemp rope of unknown origin.

Zhao Weiguo drew a third circle around the perimeter of Baimaling.

Three circles. Yangquan. Brigade headquarters. Liujiapo.

He stepped back and looked at the three points on the map. Three lines extended from different directions, all eventually converging around Baima Ridge. He tapped his fingers twice on the table, then summoned the control panel.

There were no warnings displayed on the panel.

He turned another page, but still no new information. Yamamoto's tactical rating remained unchanged, offering no directional guidance. It was no longer as capable as before of predicting Yamamoto's every move.

Zhao Weiguo closed the panel.

He called Zhao Gang and Lao Zhou over. When the two men came in, he was standing in front of the map. Three red circles were marked on it.

"Yamamoto is testing me."

Zhao Gang and Lao Zhou both glanced at the map.

Zhao Weiguo pointed to the circle in the direction of Yangquan: "This isn't real. There are no Japanese warehouses in Yangquan. He's just putting a convoy of fake transport trucks around there to make me think his target is the arsenal. If I deploy defenses towards Yangquan, my troops will be out there."

He then pointed to the circle in the direction of the brigade headquarters: "This isn't real either. He's gathering information outside the brigade headquarters to make me think he's going to attack the old brigade commander. If I deploy defenses in the direction of the brigade headquarters, my troops will be out there too."

Finally, pointing to the circle in the direction of Liujiapo: "This is the outpost. He's testing the density of my sentry posts. He wants to know how many visible and hidden sentries I've placed around Baimaling."

Old Zhou listened and remained silent for a while. He stopped in front of the map, looked at the three circles from beginning to end, and then asked, "Where did the knife blade come from?"

Zhao Weiguo's hand stopped at the top of the map. His gaze swept over the three circles, landing on the area in the middle of them.

"I don't know. If I knew where the cut was, I wouldn't be standing here guessing."

He paused for a moment, then said, "These three lines seem to be set up for us. If Yamamoto really wants to make a move, it shouldn't be on these lines."

Zhao Gang remained silent throughout. He stood and listened to Zhao Weiguo's analysis, then asked a question: "Which direction haven't we received news from yet?"

Zhao Weiguo thought for a while, but had no answer. He looked down at the center of the three circles on the map. There were no markings there.

The room was silent for a few seconds. Zhao Weiguo's hand paused above the map for a moment, then he withdrew it.

Liujiapo.

Ma Si's platoon was located west of the supplementary company's encampment, about a mile from the village. The platoon lived in three houses, with a shallow ditch dug in front of the entrance for cover. Training had been the same for the past few days: morning exercises, cleaning guns, meals—nothing special. But lately, Ma Si had been constantly looking towards the village entrance.

In the afternoon, a peddler pushed his cart into the village.

The peddler, dressed in gray cloth and with his hat pulled low, had needles and thread, matches, coarse salt, and several packs of cigarettes on his cart. He called out twice at the village entrance, and several women gathered around to look. A few soldiers from Ma Sipai also went over and bought two packs of cigarettes.

The peddler stayed in the village for more than an hour, going from house to house. Before dark, he stopped by the roadside outside Ma Si's camp and squatted down to pretend to repair a car wheel. He chose a very good spot; anyone coming out of the camp could see him immediately.

Ma Si came out of the camp and saw the peddler squatting by the roadside. He walked over, and before he could say anything, the peddler looked up at him.

"Platoon Leader Ma."

Ma Si was taken aback. He recognized the man; he had sold cigarettes at the village entrance a couple of days ago.

The peddler's voice was low: "Someone wants to do business with Platoon Leader Ma. Thirty silver dollars if it works out."

Ma Si stood still, saying nothing. The peddler continued to fix the wheel.

"What kind of business?"

"It's nothing. No killing, no arson. You'll see when the time comes."

Ma Si remained silent for a long time. He rubbed his fingers together on his gun strap. Thirty silver dollars—he couldn't save that much even after a year and a half in the army. A gust of wind blew, causing the cloth curtain on the peddler's cart to flutter.

"I'll think about it."

The peddler stood up, dusted off his hands, and said, "I'll wait for you under the old locust tree at the village entrance tomorrow."

After saying that, he pushed his cart away. Ma Si stood there, until the peddler's cart sounds disappeared around the corner. He looked down at his hands; his palms were damp with a thin layer of sweat. He wiped them on his trousers, then glanced again in the direction the peddler had disappeared. Then he turned and walked back to his camp. He paused at the gate, glancing back in that direction. It was getting dark; the locust tree at the village entrance was just a silhouette.

it's dark.

Zhao Weiguo was alone at the regimental headquarters. The kerosene lamp on the table was burning. The three red circles on the map were still there. After Lao Zhou and Zhao Gang left, he didn't call anyone; he just stood alone in front of the map.

He stared at the map for a long time, his gaze shifting back and forth between the three circles: Yangquan, the brigade headquarters, and Liujiapo. All three lines were heading towards Baimaling, but the more orderly they were, the more it seemed like they were being set up for him. Yamamoto wouldn't obediently advance along these directions.

His gaze finally settled on the blank space between the three circles. There were no place names, no elevation marks, and no route markings; it was unusually clean. He tapped his fingers twice on the edge of the table, his eyes still fixed on it.

He stared at it for a long time without writing. The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, the light dimmed for a moment, then returned to normal. Intuition told him he had missed something, but he couldn't quite grasp it.

There are no signs there.