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

As the snow began to fall, He Yuzhu was squatting at the entrance of the tunnel, rubbing his hands together. The winters in North Korea were bitterly cold; the wind was like a knife, stinging one's cheeks. He breathed into his palms, and the rising white mist was quickly dispersed into the hazy gray sky.

The regimental clerk jogged over, a thin layer of snow on his hat brim, holding a kraft paper envelope sealed with the division's red seal.

"Commander, orders."

He Yuzhu took it, but didn't rush to open it; his fingertips first touched the cold wax seal. He looked up at the document—the young man's expression was complicated, as if he were happy, yet also reluctant.

"What content?"

"They said it was... a transfer." The clerk scratched his head. "The division headquarters didn't go into details over the phone, but they told us to send it over quickly."

He Yuzhu hummed in agreement and tore open the seal. Inside was only one page of paper, the mimeographed writing clearly visible:

"...In view of Comrade He Yuzhu's outstanding performance and remarkable achievements in various battles, the Volunteer Army Headquarters has decided, after deliberation: 1. To promote Comrade He Yuzhu to the rank of lieutenant colonel; 2. To transfer him to the position of commander of the reconnaissance regiment of the XXth Division of the Volunteer Army, effective immediately..."

The rest was just routine platitudes. He Yuzhu's gaze lingered for a moment on "division-affiliated reconnaissance regiment" and "effective immediately." A nineteen-year-old lieutenant colonel, promoted ahead of schedule. But the phrase "directly under division headquarters" and "effective immediately" together conveyed an undeniable urgency. The nascent joy in his heart was instantly overshadowed by more complex emotions—an instinct honed on the battlefield, a wariness of any arrangement that was too "perfect" or "rushed."

"Commander, has he been promoted?" the clerk asked tentatively.

"Yes, you've been promoted." He Yuzhu slowly folded the order paper, his movements steady, but his heart was like a lake with a pebble thrown in, with ripples flowing beneath the surface.

"Then our group..."

"I'm leaving, the regiment is still here." He Yuzhu stood up and brushed the snow off his knees. A gust of cold wind swept in from outside the tunnel, making the observation post's curtain flutter violently, casting a long, distorted shadow at his feet. "Go and call Deputy Regiment Commander Wu and Political Commissar Zhao."

The clerk ran off. He Yuzhu stood at the tunnel entrance, gazing at the swirling snow. His chest felt empty, like the snow-covered plain before him.

Wu Dayong and Political Commissar Zhao arrived quickly. Both of them had read the orders, and their expressions were not good.

"What kind of mess is this!" Wu Dayong's voice was muffled. "The battle hasn't even completely ended, and you're already transferring your commander? You brought this regiment from Jiangbei to Jiangnan, you brought it out of the blood and fire of Shangganling! And now you're sending it to a newly formed reconnaissance regiment, those old hands..."

"Old Wu," Political Commissar Zhao interrupted him, turning to He Yuzhu, his gaze behind his glasses carrying a deeper meaning, "Yuzhu, what's your opinion on the orders?"

He Yuzhu placed the envelope on the ammunition box and unconsciously tapped his finger: "Order from superiors, execute."

"You're quite steady." Wu Dayong plopped down, the wooden crate creaking. "I've heard about the reconnaissance regiment. The soldiers are the cream of the crop from various units, they're very discerning. They're directly under the division headquarters, so how many people are watching their every move? They're not easy to manage, and they don't feel comfortable either."

Political Commissar Zhao pushed up his glasses and lowered his voice: "I've heard about it indirectly. On the surface, this appointment is an important promotion, putting you in a more crucial position. But on the other hand..." He paused, "being close to the division headquarters, close to the leaders, means being close to their 'eyes.' Division Commander Song called specifically the day before yesterday to ask about your situation. This transfer is probably not just a reward for your combat achievements."

The meaning is clear. This is pulling him out of his long-established unit and putting him in a transparent glass case. The credit is yours, the honor is yours, but you also have to move from the shadows to the light and be placed on the table.

He Yuzhu was silent for a moment: "When are you leaving?"

"The order says it's effective immediately," Political Commissar Zhao said. "The division headquarters requires you to report within three days. I'll hand over the work here to Lao Wu."

Wu Dayong added in a low voice, "The brothers in the regiment are not happy about it."

The news spread faster than the wind. In the afternoon, He Yuzhu went to the various battalion positions, and wherever he went, he felt eyes glued to his back. In those eyes were reluctance, confusion, and the soldiers' natural anxiety about personnel changes.

The Third Battalion's position was at the very front. Liu the Big Guy was leading his men to reinforce the frozen fortifications with shovels when he saw He Yuzhu. He stuck his shovel into the frozen soil, straightened up, and wiped his frosty eyebrows.

"Commander, I heard you're leaving?"

"Yes, transfer the reconnaissance team."

Liu, the big guy, was silent for a moment, then pulled out a half-pack of crumpled "Da Shengchan" cigarettes from his pocket, flicked one out, and handed it to He Yuzhu. He took it, lit it with the match Liu had lit, and took a puff—the pungent taste of the cheap tobacco rushed into his lungs, making him cough softly. He almost never smoked.

"What will happen to our group...?" Big Liu lit his own fire, the embers flickering in the dim light.

"Fight as usual." He Yuzhu tried to keep his voice steady. "Deputy Regiment Commander Wu and Political Commissar Zhao are both here. You are both seasoned veterans, so I'm at ease."

"That's different." Big Liu shook his head, his voice rough. "You're the backbone of our regiment. If you leave, our spirit will be scattered."

"Nonsense." He Yuzhu stubbed out his cigarette on the frozen ground after taking only one puff. "The regiment belongs to hundreds of brothers, not just me. Hold the position well, fight the battle well, and if you stand firm, the regimental flag will never fall."

He patted Liu the big guy on the shoulder forcefully, then turned and walked towards the next position.

As he passed the Seventh Company's sentry post, Wang Xiaoshuan was standing in the snow with his gun. Upon seeing him, he snapped to attention and saluted. His young face was red from the cold, and his eyes were even redder.

"Commander..."

"Stand firm at your post." He Yuzhu stopped. "I'm leaving. You're a veteran now. Veterans need to be reliable."

Wang Xiaoshuan pursed his lips tightly, his Adam's apple bobbing, and finally straightened his back even more forcefully, nodding emphatically.

After completing their rounds and returning to the regimental headquarters, it was already pitch black. An oil lamp was lit in the tunnel, where Wu Dayong and several battalion and company officers were present. On the table were several opened cans of pork and two bottles of liquor with illegible labels.

"A farewell drink. Nothing fancy, just something to have." Wu Dayong used his teeth to open the bottle cap and poured the contents into the enamel mug.

He Yuzhu sat down. The dim light illuminated the faces sitting in a circle—faces he knew all too well. Some had followed him from Jiangnan to Jiangbei, some had rolled together in the scorched earth of Shangganling. Some had scars still on their faces, some had bloodshot eyes.

The wine was bad, tasted like strong liquor, but no one frowned. The jar was passed from person to person, one sip at a time, without a word, only the sounds of swallowing and heavy breathing.

On the third round of drinks, Black-faced Li arrived. Since returning to the team after recovering from his injury, he had become much quieter, and the scar on his face appeared even more prominent under the lights. He sat down next to He Yuzhu and took a large gulp from his mug.

"Kid," he began, his voice like sandpaper rubbing against wood, "when you get to a new place, toughen up and be more resourceful. The reconnaissance regiment is full of elites, but also troublemakers. But you're He Yuzhu, and the soldiers you train are all tough guys."

He paused, his cloudy eyes fixed on the flickering lamplight: "If someone tries to cause trouble, straighten them out. We old-timers from the military can't bend our backs."

He Yuzhu met his gaze: "I'll remember, Uncle Li."

Dark-faced Li grinned, trying to laugh but failing. He stretched out his rough, tree-bark-like hand and gripped He Yuzhu's hand tightly: "Also... take care of yourself. Don't always be at the forefront. You're the regimental commander now, the commander. Your life isn't just your own."

"Know."

That night, the drinking went on until very late. No one was truly drunk, but everyone had something weighing on their minds. He Yuzhu lay on his bunk, the cold wind howling outside the tunnel. His eyes were closed, his mind a jumble: the bustling atmosphere of his first time in the mess hall, the trembling in his calves when he led his team in their first charge, the scorching, distorted air of Shangganling, and the long-silent, cold data interface…

The next morning, the snow stopped, and the world was a blinding white. At the regimental headquarters, all the able-bodied soldiers stood in silent ranks, stretching from the tunnel entrance all the way down the hillside. There were no commands, no one moved, only silent gazes fixed on He Yuzhu.

He came out carrying simple luggage. Wu Dayong stepped forward and stuffed a faded, patched old military uniform into his arms: "Take your spare clothes. You need to have something to change into in this new place."

Political Commissar Zhao handed over a thick notebook, sewn with needle and thread, its cover worn smooth: "The names, hometowns, and family situations of all the comrades in the regiment—everything I can remember—are all here. You should look at it often in the future."

He Yuzhu took it. The rough fabric of his military uniform rubbed against his palms, and the hard edge of the notebook dug into his fingers. He wanted to say something, but found his throat and chest blocked by frozen soil. The icy air he inhaled stung like needles. In the end, he said nothing, only squeezed the notebook tightly, turned to face the silent ranks, stood at attention, and slowly raised his right arm in salute.

Swish!

Hundreds of arms were raised at the same time, and the tattered sleeves brought up a gust of cold wind.

The jeep that brought him was parked on the snow-covered roadside, and the driver was a stranger sent by the division headquarters. He Yuzhu took one last look at the hillside repeatedly plowed by the war, and at his figure, which looked like a sculpture in the snow, before opening the car door and getting in.

The engine started. As the car slowly drove away, he heard someone call out in a hoarse voice, "Commander! Take care!"

Then, more voices rose up one after another, merging into a deep and powerful surge: "Take care, Commander!"

He didn't turn around, but simply stretched his hand out of the window and waved it vigorously behind him.

The car bumped and jolted as it rounded the mountain bend, and the position, the figures, and that familiar red flag completely disappeared. He Yuzhu leaned back against the cold seat and closed his eyes. The exhaustion from days of travel and the feeling of despair at parting overwhelmed him.

In that hazy state, a familiar, cold, and non-human sense of "presence" awakened without warning deep within his mind.

System maintenance complete. All functions restored.

[Host's rank promotion detected (Lieutenant Colonel).]

Promotion Bonus Points: +100,000.

[Current total points: 44,889,444.]

[Warning: The system has detected a significant deviation in the historical process. The perturbation value of the relevant causal chain has reached the threshold.]

(He Yuzhu's eyelids twitched almost imperceptibly. The tactical details of Shangganling that were ahead of their time, and the faces that should have faded but were still vivid, flashed through his memory.)

[Note: Large-scale alterations to historical node behavior will trigger unpredictable chain reactions. The points acquisition rules have been adaptively adjusted—they will now be more focused on anchoring and rewarding tactical achievements under the host's personal command and direct control. Please plan your points usage carefully.]

Tactical achievements under individual and direct command?

He Yuzhu slowly opened his eyes. The snowy fields outside the car window rushed past, the world vast and boundless. The division's reconnaissance regiment... was full of elites... directly under the division headquarters... right under his nose.

The sharp sense of understanding mixed with chilling coldness in his heart gradually became clearer.

Being placed under the spotlight brings constraints and scrutiny.

But perhaps it's also... that he was given the sharpest and most handy "dagger".

Four thousand four hundred and eighty-nine thousand four hundred and forty-four points.

How should this enormous "resource" be used to make the best use of this "knife"?

The jeep left two deep ruts in the snow-covered plain, pointing towards the misty distance ahead. The road ahead was long, but a new chessboard had already been laid out.