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

The gate creaked open, revealing whitish wood where the paint had peeled off.

The few small garments hanging on the clothesline billowed in the wind, their red and green colors swaying in the twilight. From the kitchen came the sound of a spatula hitting a wok, clang, clang, clang, three times, then a pause, as if someone was keeping time.

Light streamed through the window of the west wing, casting a dim, yellowish glow that made the "福" (good fortune) character pasted on the window paper appear as a blurry outline.

He Yuzhu stood in the courtyard, listening to the sounds from the kitchen and looking at the window letting in light. His legs felt heavy; the fatigue he had accumulated from seven days and seven nights in the Northwest was now overwhelming him. He stood there for a few seconds before finally walking towards the west wing.

The door was open.

Qin Huairu sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), her back to the door, sewing something with her head down. Inside the kang, He Nianhua was asleep, her small body curled up in a ball, the quilt covering her chin. The flickering flame of the oil lamp cast the shadows of the mother and daughter on the wall.

He Yuzhu stood at the door without saying a word.

Qin Huairu had stitched up a few stitches, and as if sensing something, she turned around.

She looked at him, the needle in her hand frozen in place.

"You're back?"

His voice wasn't loud, just like usual. But she didn't move; she just stared at him.

He Yuzhu walked over and sat down beside her. The edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) was warm, having been heated by the oil lamp all night. He glanced at the small garment in her hand, red with white flowers, the stitches fine and dense, much neater than those made by He Yushui.

Qin Huairu lowered her head and continued sewing.

"Are you hungry? I've made pork ribs with the rainwater."

He Yuzhu shook his head.

He looked at the little figure on the kang (a heated brick bed). He Nianhua's face was turned to the side, her little mouth slightly open, her breathing soft, and a glistening drool hung at the corner of her mouth. As she slept, her brows would occasionally furrow, as if she were dreaming of something.

He reached out, wanting to touch her small face, but then pulled his hand back. His hand was too cold.

Qin Huairu saw this from the side and chuckled.

"What's there to be afraid of? She doesn't bite."

He Yuzhu rubbed his hands on his cotton-padded jacket, then reached out and gently touched her cheek with his fingertips. It was soft and hot, like a freshly steamed bun.

He Nianhua stirred and opened her eyes.

She looked at him for two or three seconds. His eyes gleamed darkly in the dim light, reflecting the flickering flames.

Then she grinned and smiled.

Her toothless gums were pink and tender, and she laughed so hard that drool dripped from the corner of her mouth, soaking a small patch of her pillowcase.

He Yuzhu stood there, his hand still hanging in mid-air.

Qin Huairu looked at him and laughed so hard her shoulders shook.

"Are you stupid?"

He Yuzhu didn't say anything, he just stared at the smiling man.

At dinner, He Yushui's stewed ribs were bubbling away in the pot. The deaf old lady also came over, sat at the table, chopsticks in her hand, and squinted at He Nianhua. The child, held by Qin Huairu, was sleeping soundly, completely unaware that everyone at the table was watching her.

He Yushui ladled out a bowl of soup and placed it in front of He Yuzhu.

"Brother, try this recipe I just learned."

He Yuzhu took a sip. It was salty, savory, and had a medicinal taste.

"Good."

He Yushui smiled and put another piece of pork rib on his plate.

After finishing their meal, He Yushui cleared the dishes, while Qin Huairu took the baby back to her room to breastfeed. The deaf old lady stood up, walked over to He Yuzhu, and reached out to touch his face.

"You've lost weight."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

The old lady withdrew her hand, leaned on her cane, and slowly walked away.

He Yuzhu sat there alone, listening to the sound of water in the kitchen and the faint humming coming from the west wing. It was Qin Huairu soothing a child, her tune off-key, soft and gentle.

He stood up and went back to his room.

The oil lamp was lit, and the flame flickered, illuminating the room roughly.

He Yuzhu sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and brought up the system interface.

The screen lit up in the darkness, its cold white light illuminating the numbers clearly.

[Record of Points Changes in 1958]

[Beginning-of-year balance: 56,580,000 points]

[February: Exchange for Tank Blueprints - 6,000,000]

[April: Redeem lithography machine data - 8,000,000]

[May: Iron Anvil Caught +800,000]

[June: Memory Erasure +800,000]

[July: Steel Technology -15,000,000? No, it's +15,000,000?]

He paused for a moment, then looked closely at the line of text.

[July: Steel Technology Bonus +15,000,000 points]

The numbers are correct.

He continued scrolling down.

[August: Sparks flying +3,000,000]

[September: Moscow events +800,000]

[October: Hammer Caught +1,000,000]

[October: Total map captured +1,200,000]

[November: Gasoline engines break through +600,000]

[November: Yasukuni Shrine quest +100,000,000]

[November: Live stream donations +140,000,000]

My fingers paused for a moment.

Yasukuni Shrine. Live stream. The barrage of comments, the donations, the flood of "Godhood" and "Awesome." And those heads, that blood, that tower.

He glanced at that line of text for a few seconds, then continued scrolling down.

[December: Rocket Technology - 10,000,000]

[December: High Temperature Alloy-1,000,000]

[December: Kinmen Artillery Battle +5,000,000]

[December: Northwest Mission - 500,000]

Current balance: 158,830,000 points

One million five hundred and eighty thousand? No, it's one hundred and fifty-eight million eight hundred and thirty thousand.

He looked at the string of numbers three times.

At the beginning of the year, it was over 50 million. Now it has almost tripled.

Behind those missions, those exchanges, those rewards, and those numbers lies the path traveled this past year. Traitor, steel, Yasukuni Shrine, son, missile.

He continued scrolling down.

At the very bottom of the screen, there was another line of text, red and larger than the others.

[The "Rise of Yanhuang Plan 2.0" meets the upgrade requirements. Upgrading will unlock new permissions. Upgrade now?]

【whether】

He stared at the words, tapping his finger lightly on his knee. Once, twice, three times.

I remember that night in Tokyo. I remember those comments on the screen. I remember tens of millions of people watching the live stream, the screen lagging from all the spam.

He recalled the way He Nianhua smiled at him earlier. That little face, those bright black eyes, that wide grin.

Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing the yard in a white light. The few small garments hanging on the clothesline were still swaying, their red and green hues turning into varying shades of gray in the moonlight.

He stretched out his hand, his fingers hovering above the screen.

点？

Not ordering?

A baby's soft whimper came from the west wing, delicate and gentle, like a kitten's meow. This was followed by Qin Huairu's gentle patting and soothing, and then her off-key humming.

He lowered his hand.

The screen was still lit, and the line of red text was still there.

He looked at it for a few seconds and then swiped it.

The screen went out.

The room darkened, with only the flickering flame of the oil lamp remaining.