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

There are people waiting at the valley entrance.

It wasn't just one or two people; the entire hillside on both sides of the valley entrance was covered with them. When the sentry saw the silhouettes of the group on the ridge in the distance, he blew two partridge calls, and the people at the valley entrance sprang to their feet.

Zhao Weiguo stopped on the ridge and looked back at the group behind him. Seven days ago, there were eight hundred people when they set off from Heshun, and there were still eight hundred people now. Those who could walk were walking, those who couldn't were being carried, and those who couldn't walk were lying on the seized trucks. But the eight hundred was no longer eight hundred. There were nine people who could no longer walk.

"Let's count the number of people first," Zhao Weiguo said to Zhao Gang. "No one is allowed to report any results until the headcount is clear."

Zhao Gang nodded, and the people at the valley entrance waved. A space was cleared at the valley entrance, with several benches set up and covered with white cloth. Seven hundred and ninety-eight people filed in, and were counted one by one.

Duan Peng stood at the intersection, counting on his fingers. The forwards had passed, the midfielders had passed, the defenders had passed. Stretches were carried over one by one, led by mules. Finally came the captured truck, with five seriously wounded men sitting in the back, next to Yang Xiuqin's medicine box and half a roll of gauze.

"763 combat-ready, 26 wounded, 9 killed in action," Duan Peng reported, his voice pausing for a moment. "No missing."

The phrase "no missing persons" was added by Zhao Gang. The rules for handling missing persons during the seven-day raid were clearly written: three days to determine the last known location, five days to dispatch a reconnaissance team, and seven days to treat it as a failure. Yet, all 798 men emerged from the Taihang Mountains unscathed. The extra 26 wounded included five new additions: one stretcher bearer with blisters on his feet, two lightly wounded with fevers, and two who twisted their wrists while carrying bodies. There were no new deaths.

Zhao Gang opened the roster and filled in the numbers one by one. The initial mission was 800; the actual action in Jingxing was 798 (two couriers remained in Pingding to care for the wounded mules, listed separately); the current combat readiness at Gukou was 763, with 26 wounded and 9 dead. This accounting was done according to established rules before departure, with accounts updated monthly and no round numbers allowed.

The 26 wounded were reclassified. Yang Xiuqin squatted by the field, looking at each of the wounded one by one. The blood under her fingernails had not yet been washed off. On the way from Jingxing to Heshun, she changed the dressings of the wounded. The blood on her hands dried and was washed again and again, and it had become embedded in her skin.

Seven were seriously wounded, eleven moderately wounded, and eight slightly wounded. Among the seriously wounded, three had shrapnel wounds, two had fractures, one had a penetrating abdominal wound and was still feverish, and one had his left eye pierced by gravel. Yang Xiuqin singled out the seven seriously wounded and wrote a note to have them carried to the rear hospital. The moderately and slightly wounded went to the medical team and were assigned beds according to the severity of their injuries. They couldn't be crammed into the same room as the seriously wounded, as wound infections are not differentiated by severity, and crowding together would only lead to cross-infection.

Nine bodies were placed in the martyrs' shed.

The shed was erected by the monk two days in advance. It was a frame made of pine poles, with white cloth covering three sides and tarpaulin on top. The nine bodies, wrapped in blankets, were placed one by one on the door panels, lined up in a row. Yang Xiuqin washed her hands before entering the shed, making sure the blood on her hands turned the water a pale pink before going in.

She lifted the blankets one by one to examine their faces. Some faces were still recognizable, while others were unrecognizable. After three days of walking in the Taihang Mountains, some of the bodies had begun to swell. Yang Xiuqin didn't look at the faces; she looked at the mission tags on their bodies, the contents of their pockets, and the numbers engraved on the soles of their shoes. Nine people, nine mission tags—not one missing.

When Zhi Zi entered the shed, she was holding a piece of paper. Nine names were written on the paper.

She read them one by one.

Zhao Quanyou, 27 years old. Song Haisheng, 22 years old. Sun Deshun, 31 years old. Liu Mancang, 19 years old. Han Zhigang, 25 years old. Wei Changlin, 23 years old. Ma Qingshan, 30 years old. Luo Shun, 21 years old. Chen Ergou, 28 years old.

A name is called out, and someone hands over a bag containing the belongings of the deceased. Each bag has a white cloth strip sewn onto it, with the name, unit, and date of death written on it. The bag opening is sewn shut with cotton thread, and a red seal is placed on the thread.

Chen Ergou's belongings bag was bulging more than the others'. Zhi Zi opened it and looked inside. Besides half a pencil and a worn-out legging, there was a note. The note was yellowed, folded twice, and had a few words scrawled on it in crooked handwriting. Zhi Zi turned the note over and saw that the back was a copy of an IOU.

On their way back, they passed through a small village with only two households, where Chen Ergou and his companions stayed the night. An elderly villager gave them half a sack of sorghum flour and a pot of hot water, refusing to accept payment. Chen Ergou wrote an IOU and tried to give it to the old man, but the old man refused and put it back in Chen Ergou's pocket. The IOU is still in his pocket, the duplicate copy is still there, and the original copy is probably still on the old man's kang (heated brick bed).

Zhi Zi put the IOU back into the bag of belongings and resealed it. She didn't say anything more.

Zhao Gang listened to the nine names at the entrance of the shed, then turned and went to the accounting room.

The accounting room consisted of six long tables set up in the regimental headquarters courtyard. Two were borrowed desks from the school, and one was missing a leg and propped up with half a brick. Zhao Gang, Zhao Tieshan, Zhi Zi, and the two accountants sat around the tables. The tables were covered with white paper, densely covered with numbers and tables.

"Let's start with the warehouse." Zhao Gang picked up a calligraphy brush.

Six warehouses were confirmed to be completely destroyed. This data was measured by three teams of scouts on foot, and the locations, numbers, and even the orientation of the remaining foundations after the fire matched the pre-battle sketches one by one. Zhao Gang put a checkmark in the "completely destroyed" column.

Forty carriages were damaged. Zhao Tieshan categorized the damage into three types: twelve carriages with burnt-through floor plates, seventeen carriages with deformed frames, and eleven carriages with damaged wheels and brakes. He didn't write "permanently scrapped." The carriages with burnt-through floor plates could still run after the floor plates were replaced, the carriages with deformed frames could be repaired in the repair shop, and the carriages with damaged brakes could be fixed by replacing parts. But now it was wartime, and whether they could be repaired was another matter.

Three intact military aircraft were confirmed to have been burned. This data comes from three negatives taken by the outer photo team: a fire wall on a train car, burning fuel tanks, and a collapsed hangar. The negatives show the outlines of the three aircraft wreckage; the aluminum tubular frames were bent by the fire, and the canvas skin was burned away, leaving only the skeleton. The aircraft whose wings were removed and which was piled against the wall was not counted in the battle results. Zhao Tieshan had set a rule from the reconnaissance stage: a chicken without wings doesn't count.

The supplies totaled approximately eight thousand tons. This figure was estimated by cross-referencing warehouse entry slips, wagon load charts, prisoner testimonies, and scouts' visual estimations. Empty warehouses and duplicate calculations were deducted after cross-checking these four sources. The entry slip for Warehouse No. 2 showed an extra batch of artillery shells compared to the testimonies, which Zhao Tieshan simply crossed out. The extra was extra; the missing entry in the entry slip shouldn't be considered a victory simply because the testimonies were missing one.

"To prevent duplication." Zhao Tieshan tapped the table. The thing he hated most in his life was duplicate bookkeeping.

Enemy casualties were divided into three columns: 297 dead, 133 wounded, and unverified (listed separately). Zhao Gang didn't combine these three numbers into a single "430 enemy killed." The dead were listed separately, the wounded separately, and the unverified separately. During the war, no one could go in to count the bodies while the fire was still burning. Those who were burned to ashes, buried under the rubble, or dragged away by their comrades without time to register were simply written as "unverified."

Zhao Tieshan estimated the railway. He squatted in front of the table, holding a red and blue pencil, and drew a line on the map along the Jingxing Station area.

"In the affected sections, short-term transport capacity is reduced to 40%. That's a 60% decrease." He pointed to the line segment with a pencil stub. "At the current rate of repair by the enemy, it will take about three months to recover to 70%. It won't return to pre-war levels. Their reconstruction speed can't keep up with our demolition speed."

Zhao Weiguo wrote only one line: "Jingxing affected section, approximately three months." He didn't write the percentage of transport capacity, nor the recovery curve, just this one line. The shorter the information shown to superiors, the better; if it's too long, people will ask where the data came from.

When Zhi Zi pushed open the door, she was holding two telegrams in her hand.

The first document was a commendation notice from the brigade headquarters. A 400-kilometer long-distance raid to breach the Jingxing key point was commended. Zhao Gang took it, glanced at it, and placed it on the table. The commendation order was posted in the regimental history book, but the brigade commander also attached a handwritten letter. The first half of the letter praised their courage in the 400-kilometer raid, saying that 800 men had burned down a key point—well done. The second half began to berate them: how did they lose their nine lives? Was there enough medicine for the seriously wounded? Which compensation for the fallen hadn't been paid yet? It was all going to be attributed to the regimental officers.

Zhao Gang folded the letter and locked it in the cabinet along with the list of nine martyrs' pensions. He kept the key. The commendation order could be posted on the wall for the soldiers to see, but the brigade commander's letter couldn't. That letter contained abusive language and listed nine names and pension amounts; these things couldn't be hung on the wall for people to point at and talk about.

The second telegram was an intercepted enemy logistical communication. Zhi Zi translated it and read it aloud: The enemy is cutting off non-essential transport, and the late summer offensive will be postponed by at least half a month.

When Zhao Weiguo heard "shifted back by half a month," his eyes twitched slightly. Just slightly.

Meanwhile, in Beiping (Beijing).

Okamura Yasuji chaired the logistics meeting. A row of staff officers sat in the meeting room, with a North China railway transport map and aerial photographs of the Jingxing station area spread out on the table. The photographs showed the ruins of six warehouses, the wreckage of forty railcars, and scorched earth still smoking in the direction of the oil depot.

Okamura Yasuji didn't look at the photos. He was looking at the transport staff officer.

"Where will the guards be drawn from?"

No one answered. The meeting room was silent for several seconds. A logistics officer opened his mouth, then closed it again. Okamura Neiji didn't press the matter. He stood up, walked to the map, and drew a circle around Jingxing with his finger.

"From today onwards, transportation, airports, oil depots, and field storage will be arranged separately. No single location may concentrate supplies for more than three days."

He paused for a moment, then turned around.

"How old were the people who burned Jingxing?"

The intelligence officer stood up to answer. His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

Sixteen years old.

Okamura Yasuji remained silent. He returned to his seat and flipped the aerial photograph face down on the table. The meeting room fell silent again for a moment. Then, a staff officer cautiously inquired whether the timetable for the late summer offensive should be adjusted.

"Postpone," Okamura Neiji said. He didn't say how long the postponement would be. But everyone knew that after a sixteen-year-old led eight hundred men to burn down his hub, the late summer offensive was missing too many things: railcars, fuel, ammunition, airfields—everything had to be redistributed.

On the other side of Heshun, a line of cold words appeared in Zhao Weiguo's mind.

This time, the merit points are 22,000. The cumulative usable amount is 119,000. He understands better than anyone that merit points do not equal immediate production capacity. Numbers piled up in his mind are like piles of numbers in a warehouse; they don't turn into steel, gun barrels, or cannonballs—just a bunch of numbers.

The Independent Regiment officially had 15,500 men. This number had remained unchanged since the Battle of Yangquan. The attack on Jingxing was led by 800 men, and they returned with the same number. Extra merits wouldn't be converted into soldiers, and extra soldiers wouldn't be converted into guns.

"Late summer," Zhao Weiguo said. Zhao Gang looked up at him.

"Encircle the enemy's stronghold and strike at their reinforcements."

He didn't establish new unit numbers or write new organizational charts. Both the eastern and western fronts were temporary operational units, withdrawing after the fighting. He simply placed a black chess piece on the table; the piece represented a direction, not a unit number.

"The entire army will rest for three days. After three days, each battalion will report its new marching route."

The person in the telephone room rushed in to report. The first batch of supply trucks from Shijiazhuang had been switched to the highway, and the escort had been doubled. Yangquan was also urgently urging the trucks; after the Jingxing Pass was cut off, all supplies to Yangquan had to be transported by highway.

Zhao Weiguo picked up the black chess piece and moved it around on the table.

"fishing."

He instructed Zhi Zi to keep a separate record for the westbound highway from Shijiazhuang. The number of vehicles, the number of escorts, nighttime stops, and radio operating times should be recorded in a daily table. The first trip should be reported by tomorrow night.

"The fish will come on its own." Zhao Weiguo placed the chess piece between the road line and Heshun. "No one is allowed to move until the fish bites."

Zhi Zi took the new booklet and went out. Zhao Gang finished checking the figures on the six tables in the accounting room one last time and closed the ledger. The cover read: Results of the Long-Range Attack on Jingxing, April 1942.

The numbers were tallied. But Zhao Weiguo knew the real accounts hadn't even begun. Nine names were waiting to be sent home in the martyrs' shed, and twenty-six wounded soldiers were waiting to be assigned beds and given medication. The brigade commander's letter was locked in a cabinet, and the pensions had to be verified and delivered to each household. Commendations could be posted on the wall, but those nine names had to be delivered to their doorsteps one by one.

It was getting dark outside. The command to change shifts came from the direction of the valley entrance. Zhao Weiguo stood by the window, his hand gripping the black chess piece tightly.

The first supply truck has already set off on the highway from Shijiazhuang to Heshun.