Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

The message came a quarter past 22 p.m.

He Yuzhu was inside sorting through the pile of seized documents, preparing to hand them over at dawn. The door was pushed open, and the communications officer, Xiao Zhou, stood in the doorway, his expression troubled.

"Deputy Division Commander, the 203rd Division called; one of their groups hasn't returned to their posts."

He Yuzhu stopped what he was doing.

Which group?

"The Third Battalion, the one on the south side of Baishi Mountain. They were supposed to be back before 18 PM today, but now..." Xiao Zhou glanced at his watch, "...almost four hours have passed."

He Yuzhu put down the documents and stood up. The wound on his left leg was still a little tight, so he stomped his feet a couple of times to ease the pain.

"Specific location."

"The last contact was made in the abandoned mining area on the south side of Baishi Mountain. The coordinates are here." Xiao Zhou took out a piece of paper from his pocket.

He Yuzhu took it and glanced at it. Behind enemy lines, eleven kilometers in a straight line from the demarcation line. The preliminary terms of the ceasefire agreement were clearly stated—everyone must withdraw before midnight tonight. Signing at ten o'clock tomorrow morning—this was a strict order.

He folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

Where is Chen Dashan?

"The clinic is changing the dressing."

He Yuzhu pushed open the door and went out. Under the moonlight, the dirt road looked grayish-white, and it made a rustling sound when you stepped on it.

Chen Dashan sat on the threshold of the clinic, his left arm wrapped in a new bandage, smoking. When he saw He Yuzhu coming over, he paused for a moment and put out his cigarette.

"Commander?"

"A squad from the Third Battalion hasn't returned." He Yuzhu squatted down beside him, lowering his voice. "South of Baishi Mountain, in the abandoned mining area. I have to go pick them up."

Chen Dashan stared at him for several seconds.

"Commander, what time is it?"

"Just past ten o'clock."

"What time should I sign tomorrow?"

"Ten o'clock."

Chen Dashan picked up the extinguished cigarette butt and held it in his hand.

"According to regulations, no further actions that cross the line are permitted at this time." His voice was low. "If you go, you will be disobeying military orders."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

Chen Dashan held the cigarette butt in his hand for a long time.

"Three people," He Yuzhu said. "The leader, Lao Zhou, is forty-two years old, from Yanbian, and his wife and children are back in his hometown. The other two are new recruits who joined in March, one from Hebei and the other from Shandong, the older one is nineteen and the younger one is eighteen."

Chen Dashan stopped.

He Yuzhu stood up.

"I'll go pick them up."

Chen Dashan also stood up. He stood in front of He Yuzhu, blocking his way.

"I'll go with you."

"You've been shot in the arm."

"No bones are broken."

"You stay home."

Chen Dashan stared at him for a few seconds. Then he took a half step to the side, lowering his voice even further.

"Then you have to come back alive. You still have to sign tomorrow."

He Yuzhu nodded and walked past him.

After walking a dozen steps, I heard Chen Dashan shout behind me: "Commander!"

He turned around.

Chen Dashan stood at the entrance of the clinic. Under the moonlight, his bandaged figure looked like a crooked telephone pole.

"What if Consultant Shen asks..."

"Just say I went to the bathroom."

Chen Dashan opened his mouth, but in the end, he didn't say anything.

-

When He Yuzhu went around to the back gate of the garrison, he brought two veterans with him. One was surnamed Zheng, from the reconnaissance platoon, who had explored this area six times. The other was surnamed Liu, originally from the 203rd Division, who was familiar with the paths in this area.

The three men changed into South Korean military civilian clothes and carried no identification. Their rifles were captured American-made M3s with four magazines, and each carried two grenades. They also carried a day's worth of rations and full water bottles.

If you follow the abandoned herb-gathering path down the back mountain and cross two hills, you'll reach the dividing line.

He Yuzhu walked in the middle, his left leg aching with every step. He didn't stop. The man surnamed Zheng led the way, and the man surnamed Liu brought up the rear; their footsteps were so heavy they were almost inaudible.

When they crossed the second hill, He Yuzhu looked back.

The lights of the rear camp were already far away, scattered like stars, as if someone had scattered a handful of rice on the horizon.

He turned back and continued walking forward.

-

When we found the abandoned mine shaft, it was 1:40 a.m.

The cave entrance was hidden behind a thicket of thorns. The man surnamed Zheng pushed aside the thorns and shone his flashlight inside, the beam of light sweeping over three figures.

He Yuzhu crawled inside.

Old Zhou squatted down next to the new recruit, clutching a torn trouser leg in his hand, pressing it against the boy's leg. Blood had soaked through the trouser leg, trickling down between his fingers. Another recruit lay prone on the other side of the cave entrance, gun pointed outwards. Hearing the commotion, he turned around, saw He Yuzhu, froze, and his eyes instantly reddened.

"Deputy Division Commander..."

He Yuzhu ignored him. He squatted down in front of the wounded recruit and pushed Lao Zhou's hand away.

The wound is slightly above the calf. Shrapnel is lodged inside, the surrounding area is swollen and shiny, the skin and flesh are turned inside out, and the color is dark. Blood is still seeping out, but not as much as it spurted out when I was first shot.

"How long has it been?"

"I stepped on a landmine around 4 p.m.," Old Zhou said in a hoarse voice. "It was a tripwire bullet. The shrapnel wasn't big, but it got stuck near a blood vessel. I put on a tourniquet, but I couldn't remove the shrapnel. It started bleeding as soon as I let go."

He Yuzhu looked at the wound.

If we don't take it, this man won't survive until dawn. If we do take it, he has nothing on him.

He paused for a few seconds, then reached deep into his backpack.

My fingertips touched the plastic cover that shouldn't be there—it was cold, smooth, and carried an aura that didn't belong to this early morning.

He pulled the item out.

Old Zhou's gaze froze.

It was a first-aid kit, with a white cover and a red cross printed on it. In the dim mine, the red cross was glaringly conspicuous. He Yuzhu tore open the seal, and inside were neatly stacked instruments, all metal, reflecting a cold light under the flashlight beam.

The recruit who had been shot opened his eyes groggily, saw what was in his hand, and his lips moved.

"Deputy Division Commander...you..."

"Don't speak."

The man surnamed Zheng put the flashlight in his mouth and aimed the beam at the wound. The man surnamed Liu moved two steps towards the cave entrance, holding his gun and listening to the sounds outside.

He Yuzhu pulled out the syringe, drew up a vial of anesthetic, and inserted it around the wound.

He had never had surgery before. His hands were shaking.

As the knife slashed down, he felt his breath stop.

The shrapnel was lodged between two layers of muscle, right next to a blood vessel. He had to use tweezers to remove it, being careful not to touch the vessel. He inserted the tweezers, grabbed it—it slipped. He tried again, and it slipped again. On the third try, he held his breath, the tip of the tweezers wedged into the gap between the shrapnel and the muscle, and gently pried it open.

The shrapnel moved.

He pulled it out and threw it on the ground with a crisp clang.

Blood gushed out, hot and sticky, covering his hand. He quickly pressed it with gauze for a few seconds, then began to sew.

He will never forget the feeling of the suture needle piercing his flesh.

After stitching up the last stitch, he applied anti-inflammatory ointment and wrapped it with bandages. The calf was wrapped up tightly, looking like a white radish just dug out of the ground.

He raised his head.

Old Zhou looked at him with a complicated expression. The two new recruits looked at him with something indescribable in their eyes—not gratitude, not surprise, but the kind of look that comes from seeing something they shouldn't have seen and not knowing what to do.

He Yuzhu put the used equipment back into the first aid kit and stuffed it deep into his backpack.

"Carry him." He stood up, put the PRC-6 back in his pocket, and said, "We have to get back before dawn."

-

4:10 a.m.

They crossed the dry riverbed between two mountain ridges. The man surnamed Zheng carried the new recruit in the middle, his steps steady. Old Zhou led the way, stopping every few steps to listen for any movement. The man surnamed Liu brought up the rear, scattering camouflage powder behind him as he went.

When they crossed the last mountain ridge, He Yuzhu suddenly stopped.

Ahead, at the foot of the mountain, beams of flashlight beams were swaying. Not just one, but several.

"A U.S. military search team," Old Zhou said in a low voice, "at least one squad."

They lay motionless in the bushes on the hillside. The beam of the flashlight swept across the foot of the hill and went in another direction. The footsteps grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared from sight.

He Yuzhu waited a minute before letting out a soft breath.

"Walk."

As we crossed that mountain, the eastern horizon began to lighten. It wasn't the white of dawn, but a pale, grayish-white, like something about to brighten but not yet.

In the distance, the gray-white line is a marker post for the military demarcation line.

He Yuzhu stood there, staring at the line for a few seconds.

Then he stepped over.

Old Zhou stepped over. The man surnamed Zheng stepped over carrying someone on his back. The man surnamed Liu stepped over last.

All five people came over.

He Yuzhu glanced back to the south. It was pitch black there, and he couldn't see anything at all.

He turned around and walked towards the camp.

-

At 9:50 a.m. on July 27, Kaicheng Laifengzhuang.

Peng Dehuai sat at the table, picked up a brush, and dipped it in ink. His hand was steady as he signed his name on the armistice agreement. Those standing beside him—Chinese, Koreans, reporters, and translators—all watched him.

At the same moment, He Yuzhu stood in the lookout post on the front line.

He leaned against the rough wooden stake, watching the enemy flag on the opposite position fall slowly, as if someone were pulling on a rope bit by bit.

My left leg still hurts. I didn't sleep all night; my eyes are sore and my head feels heavy.

But he stood there, watching.

He took the notebook out of his pocket, opened it, and wrote a sentence on the blank page with the short pencil.

"Three years. I can remember some names, and I can't. But they're all here."

He closed his pen and notebook, then tucked them back into his pocket.

The unopened letter in his left breast pocket was pressing against his heart.

He glanced down at it. The envelope was as soft as an old piece of cloth, the edges frayed, and the dried bloodstains had turned a dark brown. He pressed the letter against his clothes, but didn't open it.

The flag in the distance was still falling.

He stood there, watching.