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

When He Yuzhu first stepped into the demilitarized zone, he felt that this place was even more awkward than the battlefield.

Men stood on both sides of the hill, wearing their own military uniforms and carrying guns, but no one fired. In the middle, the grass grew knee-high, and no one dared to step on it—who knew what might be buried beneath? A section of the barbed wire had been removed, leaving an opening with yellow flags on either side bearing black lettering. The lettering was in Korean for the Chinese side and in English for the American side.

The translator, Xiao Liu, read the line of English to him: "Military Armistice Committee, entrance and exit."

He Yuzhu nodded and walked in through that opening.

There were three people standing opposite him. Two were in U.S. military uniforms, and one was in a South Korean military uniform. The U.S. lieutenant colonel in the middle saw him, took two steps forward, and smiled—the kind of smile that had been practiced at the negotiating table, flawless but devoid of warmth.

"Lieutenant Colonel He? I've heard so much about you." He extended his hand. "I'm Jason, the American investigator for the committee."

He Yuzhu shook it. The hand was soft, unlike one that had ever handled a gun.

"Let's go check out the scene."

The scene is on the southern edge of the demilitarized zone, a gentle slope leveled by artillery fire. According to a report submitted by the US, three days ago, "unidentified armed men" crossed the ceasefire line and kidnapped a South Korean military sentry.

He Yuzhu squatted down, spread the map on his knees, and looked at it against the actual terrain.

wrong.

The "sentinel post" marked on the map was at least a hundred meters away from the spot beneath his feet. He stood up, glanced around, and found a crooked telephone pole—an old thing from before the war, with fixed coordinates.

He walked back to Jason and handed him the map.

"Lieutenant Colonel Jensen, the coordinates of this sentry post do not match the actual location."

Jason took it, glanced at it, and shrugged.

"Map errors are a legacy of the war. You know, Lieutenant Colonel He, nobody had time to re-survey maps during the war."

He Yuzhu looked at him. The smiling face was still there, but the eyes weren't smiling. He had seen that kind of smile in the POW camp; those American advisors smiled the same way—polite, impeccable, leaving you with no grounds for complaint and no way to get anything done.

Six months ago, he would have already infiltrated behind the enemy's outpost by now. Now, he has to stand here, discussing coordinates with someone who has never even handled a gun.

"Your report states that the sentry's location was calculated using these incorrect coordinates?"

Jason's smile froze for a moment.

"Our people were indeed attacked at this location."

"Who are your people?"

"The Sentinel himself."

"What's his name?"

"Park Jung-ho, Corporal."

"Did he see what uniform the attacker was wearing?"

"It was too dark, I couldn't see clearly."

He Yuzhu didn't ask any more questions. He squatted down, picked up a spent cartridge from the ground, and examined it against the sun. It was a cartridge from an American M1 rifle, made of brass, not rusted, fired within the last three days. He put the cartridge in his pocket and stood up.

"I've finished looking at the site. I'll go back and write a report."

Jason looked at him, the smile still on his face.

"Lieutenant Colonel He, you are very thoughtful."

He Yuzhu didn't reply and turned to walk back.

They walked out of the meadow, crossed the path marked with a yellow flag, and returned to their side. The translator, Xiao Liu, followed behind, whispering, "Deputy Division Commander, those spent cartridge cases…?"

"The Americans fired it themselves." He Yuzhu handed him the spent cartridge. "Keep it; you never know when you might need it."

Xiao Liu took it, looked at it, and put it in his pocket.

He Yuzhu stood at the entrance of the passage and looked back.

Jason was still standing on that slope, talking to his two entourage. In the sunlight, his yellow-green American uniform looked incongruous with the hillside behind him, which had been leveled by artillery fire.

The war is over.

But another battle has just begun.

In one month, He Yuzhu handled seven controversial cases.

Of the seven cases, three could not be attributed to "insufficient evidence." Of the remaining four, two involved violations by the US and two by the South Korean military—the determination is one thing, but whether the other side admits it is another.

He began to understand why Shen Lian had interrogated him in that way back then.

Finding evidence within a set of rules and letting guns do the talking on the battlefield are two completely different skills. On the battlefield, whoever fires first is right, and the matter is settled after the fighting. In a ceasefire committee, every single piece of evidence—witnesses, coordinates, time—must be scrutinized until the other side has no way to deny it.

He wrote down his work experience over the past month on two pages and sent it to Shen Lian.

Shen Lian did not reply.

But he sent someone with a message: "Have you learned it?"

He Yuzhu pondered this question for a long time. He tried to imitate Shen Lian's tone and ask himself the question, but then felt something was off—he still hadn't figured out what he should learn. Was it learning to navigate the rules? Or learning to see through what lay beneath the rules?

At the end of September, he wrote a report to Commander Song, requesting to stay on the committee for a longer period of time.

Commander Song approved it, but added a sentence at the end of the document: "The country may be considering your next steps. Don't delay too long."

He Yuzhu folded the paper and stuffed it into the metal cabinet where documents were kept.

That evening, he sat alone in his room and brought up the system interface.

[Current total points: 44,830,000]

Main quest progress: 55.1%

[44,900,000 points away from the 100 million target]

The interface was still the same. After the ceasefire, the system rarely popped up on its own, as if it were in hibernation. Sometimes he would browse the exchange list before going to bed, staying up very late. Resources, technology, knowledge, special items—he flipped through them over and over, without exchanging anything.

It's not that I don't want to change.

I don't know what else they can do after the change.

He closed the interface, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

Outside the window, searchlights were still on in the demilitarized zone, beams of light seeping in through the gaps in the curtains and moving slowly across the ceiling.

1953 October.

The orders for the first batch of rotating troops to return home have been issued. He Yuzhu's name is on the list, with the following note after his rank: "The ceasefire supervision mission has been completed; he will be reassigned upon returning home."

He read the order three times, folded it up, and put it in his pocket.

Packing took an entire afternoon. Shen Lian hadn't given a clear answer as to what to do with the captured documents, codebook, and the AN/GRC-9 radio. He thought for a moment, then packed the documents separately and asked someone to deliver them to Shen Lian. The radio and encryption device were disassembled, the parts separated, and hidden at the very bottom of the luggage.

When Chen Dashan came in, he was stuffing the last part into his sock.

"Commander, are you smuggling?"

"Shut up."

Chen Dashan grinned, sat down next to him, took out a cigarette, and offered one to He Yuzhu. He took it, but didn't light it; he just held it there.

"What are your plans after you go back?"

He Yuzhu thought for a moment.

"have no idea."

Chen Dashan lit a cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled.

"Me too. After fighting for three years, suddenly being told to go back to farming leaves me feeling empty."

He Yuzhu did not respond.

The sound of a train whistle drifted in from outside the window, far away and drawn out.

In October, the Yalu River is shallower than in summer, revealing the tree stumps on the banks that were blown up by artillery fire.

The military train was moving very slowly.

He Yuzhu sat by the window, his left leg stretched out and resting under the seat opposite him. Chen Dashan was asleep next to him, his head against the window, swaying back and forth with the train. Yang Xiaobing sat opposite him, clutching the White Tiger Regiment flag in his hand—made of silk, neatly folded and wrapped in oilcloth.

He Yuzhu glanced at him.

Yang Xiaobing tucked the flag into his arms and said nothing.

The train began to cross the bridge. The sound of the wheels rolling over the rails changed, clanging, clanging, clanging—growing louder and louder, more and more frequent.

He Yuzhu looked out the window.

The river water beneath the bridge was muddy and flowed swiftly. On the other side of the bridge lay Chinese soil. The rice paddies of the Northeast Plain had just been harvested, revealing vast expanses of black earth with rows of rice stubble still standing, gleaming faintly golden in the sunlight.

The train crossed the bridge.

The clanging sound returned to its original rhythm, slowing down and stabilizing.

Chen Dashan was jolted awake. He opened his eyes and looked outside groggily.

"Did you pass?"

"Passed."

Chen Dashan rubbed his eyes, sat up straight, and stared at the black earth outside the window for a long time.

Suddenly, the wheels rattled loudly. He Yuzhu instinctively reached for his side—but found nothing.

His hand froze in mid-air for two seconds before slowly lowering it.

Yang Xiaobing didn't notice; he was pulling a corner of the flag out of the oilcloth, looking at it, and then stuffing it back in.

Chen Dashan was still looking out the window, muttering to himself, "This land is really fertile."

He Yuzhu hummed in agreement.

The train continued on its way.

The fields outside the window receded one by one, faster and faster.