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

The order arrived in the middle of the night.

A communications officer from the division headquarters rode a bicycle with a loose chain into the mine; the metallic scraping sound was particularly jarring in the silence, like an invisible alarm. He Yuzhu sat up from his bunk, and by the flickering flame of the oil lamp, unfolded the telegram and read it twice, his knuckles pressing fine wrinkles into the rough paper. He reached out and knocked on the partition: "Old Chen, get up."

Chen Dashan came over wearing an overcoat, his eyelids still heavy with sleep: "What happened, Commander?"

"The mission has arrived." He Yuzhu handed over the telegram. "Towards Jincheng. President Lee in the south is hiding a powder keg under the negotiating table. The orders are threefold: blow up the Highway 3 bridge, seize the opportunity to capture prisoners, and ascertain the coordinates of their second-line artillery positions. We must withdraw before dawn."

Chen Dashan leaned closer to the light, his brows furrowing: "Blowing up the bridge, capturing prisoners, and figuring out the second-line artillery positions... this mission is no small one."

"That's why they're looking for us." He Yuzhu had already put on his combat uniform and started checking his pistol magazines. "You pick twenty men, the most efficient ones. We'll leave in an hour."

"Let me go, Commander," Chen Dashan stopped him, "Your leg injury has just healed..."

"I'll go." He Yuzhu slammed the magazine into the gun handle with a "click." "I know the location of the bridge well; I've been there twice during reconnaissance last year. You stay here and watch the house."

Chen Dashan opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't try to persuade him further. Soon, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

An hour later, in the woods behind the mine, twenty-one figures gathered in the darkness. He Yuzhu crouched down and used the tip of his dagger to draw a simple map on the mud: "The target is here, the No. 3 highway bridge over Jinchengchuan. There's about a platoon of guards, fixed posts at both ends of the bridge, and patrol boats under the bridge, making a round every two hours."

He raised his face, moonlight filtering through the leaves and casting cold, hard lines on his cheekbones: "Divide into three groups. One group clears the sentries, the second group demolishes the bridge, and the third group provides cover and support. I'll lead the group to plant the explosives. After the bridge is destroyed, retreat to the northwest—there's an old observation post here that can give you a general view of their second-line artillery positions. The window of opportunity is only twenty minutes; we must act quickly."

"The entire journey will take four hours. We must retreat before dawn." He Yuzhu stood up, sheathed his dagger, and said, "Let's go."

The procession moved like ink drops into water, silently seeping into the night. He Yuzhu walked in the middle of the line, his canvas bag containing six pieces of TNT and matching detonators. He ignored the faint soreness in his old left leg injury.

The infiltration went more smoothly than expected. The enemy seemed to have relaxed their guard due to the negotiations; the two sentries at the bridgehead were even dozing off against sandbags, only letting out a soft groan when their throats were slit.

He Yuzhu led the demolition team to the foot of the bridge pier. The rushing river masked their movements. Old Zhou—the best demolition expert in the unit, with short, thick, yet exceptionally dexterous fingers—took the explosives and, like a gecko, clung to the concrete pier to begin the operation. He Yuzhu, gun at the ready, listened intently, his ears twitching, catching every unusual sound on the river's surface.

Halfway through planting the explosives, the roar of a car engine suddenly came from the bridge. He Yuzhu's heart tightened, and he gestured to Lao Zhou. Lao Zhou's fingers flew, and his movements became even faster.

Headlights pierced through the gaps in the bridge, sweeping over their heads. It was a jeep, swaying as it crossed the bridge and headed south. The instant the lights disappeared, Old Zhou slid off the bridge pier and gave a thumbs-up.

"withdraw."

As the team retreated into the woods near the bridge, He Yuzhu pressed the detonator. First came a low, muffled thud from inside the bridge pier, followed by a roar of twisting steel and cracking concrete. The entire bridge seemed to have been snapped in two by a giant; the middle section collapsed with a deafening roar, crashing into the river and creating a spray that looked deathly white under the moonlight.

In the distance, enemy sirens blared, and searchlight beams crisscrossed the night sky. He Yuzhu didn't stop, leading his team to rush towards the northwest hillside—according to the plan, after the bridge was blown up, the enemy would pursue them to the southeast, so the northwest was temporarily safe.

The observation point was located inside an abandoned artillery bunker, offering a wide field of vision. He Yuzhu raised his binoculars and, by the moonlight and the scattered lights in the distance, could barely make out the blurry outline of the artillery group behind the hillside. He pulled out his notebook and quickly sketched a map, marking the coordinates.

Just as I wrote down the third number, a dog barked suddenly from afar—short, sharp, the warning bark of a military dog.

"Stay hidden!" he whispered.

Everyone ducked into the shadows of their cover. He Yuzhu peeked out from the edge, his binoculars scanning the woods below. The moonlight was too faint; he could only see a patch of dark shadows moving rhythmically—not the wind, but human figures spreading out in a fan shape and advancing down the hillside. At least seven or eight, their tactical movement professional.

"We've run into some tough guys," he said, handing the binoculars to his teammate. "They're not your average patrol."

"What should we do, Commander?" Old Zhou asked in a low voice.

"Our retreat is blocked, attack." He Yuzhu observed the enemy's advance route. "Get closer, and wait for my command."

He turned his head: "What about the staff officer we arrested?"

"Wang Xiaoshuan is watching from behind."

"Tell Xiao Shuan that you must bring the prisoners back no matter what. This is a death order."

The team member crouched down to relay the message. He Yuzhu checked the submachine gun magazine and then placed two hand grenades within easy reach.

The enemy was getting closer; suppressed breathing and the slight clanging of equipment could be heard. He Yuzhu silently counted the footsteps, and when the leading figure stepped over the boulder in front of the cover, he pulled the trigger.

The muzzle flash pierced the darkness. The enemy scattered and lay prone almost at the same time the shot rang out, the bullets ricocheting off and hitting the walls of their bunkers with a series of thuds.

"Grenade!"

Three grenades arced through the air, and figures were thrown to the ground in the flash of the explosions. But the enemy's firepower did not decrease but increased instead.

"Commander, they're flanking the left flank!" Old Zhou shouted urgently.

He Yuzhu turned his head and glimpsed two dark figures flanking the flank under the cover of trees. He fired a single shot, and one figure fell. The other, however, had already rushed within twenty meters, his submachine gun spitting fire.

He Yuzhu felt as if his left leg had been struck hard by a hammer, his body swayed, and he almost knelt down. He gritted his teeth and braced himself against the edge of the cover, looking down to see blood quickly soaking through his trouser leg—the bullet had pierced through the muscle, and the excruciating pain made his entire leg tremble uncontrollably.

"Commander!" Old Zhou crawled over.

"It's alright." He Yuzhu tore off the first-aid kit and tightly bound the bandage around his thigh. "How many people are left?"

"Six...seven. We've lost three."

He Yuzhu's mind raced. The enemy outnumbered them and knew the terrain well; a direct confrontation would mean certain death for everyone. He looked towards the prisoners—Wang Xiaoshuan was protecting the trembling enemy staff officer, huddled behind a rock. Wang Xiaoshuan was only eighteen years old; before joining the army, he was the son of a hunter, his hearing so sharp he could hear mountain rats digging in the dirt.

"Old Zhou, you lead a counter-attack from the right flank to draw enemy fire." He Yuzhu tore off a piece of his sleeve and stuffed it into his mouth. "I'll lead the prisoners to retreat from the left rear. Once you hear the signal flare, you all retreat immediately and are not allowed to linger."

"Commander, your leg..."

"I won't die." He Yuzhu leaned against the wall to stand up, the excruciating pain in his left leg making his vision blur. "Execute the order."

Old Zhou nodded emphatically and turned to make a hand gesture.

Thirty seconds later, gunfire erupted from the right flank. Taking advantage of the opening, He Yuzhu dragged his injured leg to Wang Xiaoshuan's side: "Come on, help me up."

Wang Xiaoshuan lifted him up, while pulling the prisoner with his other hand, and the three of them staggered down the hillside. Bullets whistled overhead, but most were drawn to Lao Zhou and his group.

Retreating to the mountainside, He Yuzhu fired a signal gun into the sky. Three red dots rose into the air, and the gunfire on the mountain gradually subsided—Old Zhou and his men had also retreated.

When they returned to the rendezvous point, it was already dawn. He Yuzhu was deathly pale, and the bandage on his left leg was completely soaked with blood. The medic rushed over, cut open his trouser leg, sprinkled sulfanilamide powder on it, and re-bandaged it.

"A penetrating wound, no bone damage, but too much blood loss, he must be sent to the division hospital."

He Yuzhu leaned against the tree trunk, his vision blurring from the excruciating pain and blood loss. Just as his consciousness was about to fade, a familiar "ding" sound rang in his mind—

[Complete the key behind-enemy-lines sabotage mission: Destroy a vital bridge.]

[We captured an enemy staff officer (whose deployment information we obtained is crucial).]

[Points Reward: +400,000 points.]

[Current total points: 44,039,444 + 400,000 = 44,439,444.]

[Host injury detected (gunshot wound to the leg).]

[Recommendation: You can use points to redeem a "Rapid Healing Potion" (Intermediate), which costs 80,000 points and can shorten the recovery period by 70%. Redeem now?]

He Yuzhu stared at the line of text and finally chose "No." It wasn't that he was stingy with points—it was that the wounds on the battlefield healed too quickly, which was more suspicious than the wounds themselves. He had seen someone investigated by the security department for as long as six months because of this.

He closed the interface and looked at the prisoner on the stretcher beside him. He was a major in his early thirties, his uniform collar askew, his face covered in mud and cold sweat. Seeing He Yuzhu looking at him, he trembled and raised his hands, saying in broken Chinese, "I...cooperate, I won't kill you..."

"Take him back and hand him over to the division's interrogation section," He Yuzhu said to Chen Dashan. "Tell him that cooperating will reduce his suffering."

Chen Dashan arranged for people to carry the prisoners away.

When the stretcher arrived, He Yuzhu propped himself up and climbed onto it. His left leg ached so badly his jaw was chattering, but he didn't utter a sound. Old Zhou and his men gradually withdrew; of the twenty-one men, nineteen returned, two were killed, and five were wounded.

"Mission accomplished," Old Zhou walked over, his face covered in gunpowder and blood. "The bridge was blown up, and the coordinates have been determined."

"Mmm." He Yuzhu closed his eyes. "Thank you for your hard work."

The stretcher was lifted and swayed as it moved backward. Dawn was breaking, and the distant sound of artillery fire could be faintly heard—the incessant gunfire that had been heard around the negotiating table. He Yuzhu kept his eyes closed, waves of pain throbbing in his left leg, but his mind was already calculating: what tactics to use for the next mission.

The war isn't over yet, but he has to leave the battlefield temporarily. Good, he can use this opportunity to think carefully about his future.

He touched the notebook in his arms—the hastily drawn sketch on that page might save the lives of many of his comrades. This thought eased his furrowed brow slightly.