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

The sound from the radio was intermittent, like someone coughing on the other end of a wire.

Ma Yuejin pressed his ear against the speaker, his face almost squashed. Lin Jianguo stood beside him, a notebook clutched in his hand, the pen hovering over the paper, not falling. Sun Xiaomei squatted in the corner, staring at the radio, motionless.

"...The Fujian front-line troops of the Chinese People's Liberation Army... are attacking Kinmen..." The static suddenly increased, swallowing the announcer's voice.

Ma Yuejin slammed his hand on the table: "Why did you break it off now!"

Lin Jianguo didn't even look up: "It's no use you taking pictures."

Sun Xiaomei whispered, "My cousin is on the front lines in Fujian. He went there last year. I wonder how he is now..."

The radio rang again.

"...Hundreds of cannons fired simultaneously...Kinmen Island was engulfed in flames..."

Ma Yuejin straightened up, his eyes a little red: "Well done!"

Lin Jianguo made a note in his notebook, and the nib of his pen tore the paper.

He Yuzhu stood at the door, not going in. His face was expressionless, but his fingers tapped lightly on the door frame.

The order arrived that afternoon.

Old Sun placed the file folder on the table, not in a hurry to leave. He glanced at He Yuzhu and lowered his voice: "The fighting at the front is too intense, and the communication equipment is suffering heavy losses. Ballistic calculations used to be done by hand, which was too slow. A soldier was killed a couple of days ago because he couldn't calculate accurately."

He Yuzhu opened the file bag and glanced at it.

When do you need it?

Old Sun looked at him: "The sooner the better. Ideally, within three days."

He Yuzhu picked up the phone.

"Ma Yuejin, call the communications team here. Lin Jianguo, bring your men to the conference room."

On the first night, Xiao Wang from the communications team damaged a module while soldering.

He slammed the circuit board on the table, then crouched down, clutching his head. "It's ruined again. Three days isn't enough time."

No one spoke inside. The welding torch was still plugged in, the soldering iron tip glowing red-hot.

Ma Yuejin walked over, picked up the board, and examined it. He was silent for a few seconds, then turned and walked out. At the door, he turned back: "If it's welded badly, re-weld it. Back when we were welding tanks, how many did we weld badly? Did you count them?"

Xiao Wang raised his head, his eyes red-rimmed, but he didn't say anything.

There was also an argument on Lin Jianguo's side. Old Liu from the ballistics team slammed his half-finished calculation sheet on the table: "The data you provided is wrong! The wind direction and speed are from yesterday; they've changed today!"

Lin Jianguo took the paper, glanced at it, and his face darkened. He opened his notebook, found the original data, compared the two, and fell silent.

"It was my mistake. Let's recalculate."

Old Liu paused for a moment, took the paper back, and said nothing more.

The next night, the head chef from the canteen brought in a pot of porridge. He placed the pot on the table, looked at the people slumped over their workbenches, and sighed.

"This is the third batch. You guys are courting death."

No one looked up.

The head chef walked up to He Yuzhu and lowered his voice: "Dean He, please try to persuade them. Three days and three nights without sleep, even the strongest person couldn't endure it."

He Yuzhu shook his head: "No need to persuade them. Let them do it."

He walked over to Xiao Wang, picked up the damaged module, and examined it. Then he picked up the soldering iron and sat down.

Xiao Wang was stunned.

He Yuzhu didn't speak, his hand steady. The soldering iron tip touched the circuit board, the solder melted, flowed, and solidified. Ten minutes later, he handed the module back.

"Test again."

This time it's over.

At 4 a.m. on the third day, the last batch of equipment was being tested.

Lin Jianguo's expression changed as he held the test report.

"Module 3, the encryption delay exceeded 0.3 seconds."

Xiao Wang from the communications team turned pale: "0.3 seconds? On the battlefield, that can mean a difference of hundreds of meters."

Ma Yuejin panicked: "Weld another one? There's no time; it has to be loaded onto the truck by dawn!"

The room suddenly fell silent.

He Yuzhu walked over, picked up the module, and examined it. He turned to leave, but after a couple of steps, he turned back and said, "Grab your tools and come with me."

Five minutes later, he removed a part from an old machine and replaced it.

"Test again."

This time it's over.

As dawn broke, the last batch of wooden crates was loaded onto the truck. Ma Yuejin stood there, dark circles under his eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came out.

He Yuzhu patted him on the shoulder: "Go to sleep. I'll take care of things behind you."

The truck traveled on the road for three days.

He Yuzhu sat in the passenger seat, watching the scenery outside the window change from plains to hills, and from hills to mountains. The driver, surnamed Chen, was a local from Fujian, a man of few words, but he drove steadily.

On the evening of the third day, the car stopped.

Master Chen pointed to the dark mountains ahead: "Dean He, we've arrived. The frontline command post is just ahead."

He Yuzhu jumped out of the car and stood on the dirt road. It was getting dark, and a few lights could be seen in the distance. Further away, there was a hazy, gray sea.

The handover was more complicated than expected. The staff officer receiving the equipment looked at it for a long time, scratching his head: "Dean He, this batch of equipment is more advanced than what we use. We don't know how to use it."

He Yuzhu rolled up his sleeves: "I'll teach you."

He held the device and explained things one by one. A group of people surrounded him, some nodding, some still asking questions. After almost two hours of explaining, the staff officer finally said, "Alright, you understand."

Just as He Yuzhu was about to leave, the phone rang in the command center. Someone answered it, shouted a few words, hung up, and ran off.

"Position No. 3 needs fire support! Quickly!"

The staff officer pulled He Yuzhu up: "Dean He, please stand back, the shelling is about to begin."

Before he finished speaking, flames exploded simultaneously on the mountain peaks behind them.

The earth trembled from beneath our feet, making it hard to stand. Shells whistled overhead, the sound as loud as a train whizzing past our ears. In the distance, on Kinmen Island, bursts of fire—red, yellow, and white—lit up half the sky.

He Yuzhu stood there, motionless.

He was still holding the enamel mug in his hand. It was the water the staff officer had poured for him earlier, but he hadn't drunk it yet.

He remembered a night in Korea that year. The sound of cannons was the same, the flashes of light were the same. A Sichuan soldier, surnamed Zhou, only nineteen years old, lay prone beside him and shouted, "Squad leader, this cannon is fucking loud!"

After he shouted, half of his head was sliced ​​off by shrapnel.

The water in the jar scalded him.

He glanced down and saw that it was hot.

The sound of cannon fire is still ringing out.

He Yuzhu stood there, holding the enamel mug, motionless.

The face of that Sichuan soldier reappeared. He was nineteen years old, and people called him "squad leader," but that was it.

The water in the jar had cooled down.

He looked up at the flickering firelight over there.

Those years, those people.

It's all gone.

The cannons are still firing.