Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

Autumn, 1957, outside Beijing.

Autumn winds whipped up withered leaves, swirling them across the empty fields. On a bumpy dirt road, a military-green three-wheeled motorcycle with a sidecar sputtered powerfully, kicking up a cloud of yellow dust as it sped towards Beijing. The driver was Xu Damao, but he was now completely devoid of the high spirits he had displayed at the start.

His cheeks still bore several lingering, throbbing bruises, his lips were cut, and his eyes were somewhat dark. His blue overalls were wrinkled and covered in dust. Although he had completed the screening, the motorcycle bed and the canvas bag tied to the back seat were stuffed full of local specialties that the villagers had insisted on giving him—a few strings of dried mushrooms, a bag of red dates, two dried chickens, some dried sweet potatoes, and even a small jar of sesame oil—but these hauls could not dispel the gloom in his heart or the discomfort in his body.

The "Guardian" sidecar motorcycle he rode was indeed outstanding in performance. It had been a great help on this trip to the countryside. In the past, riding a bicycle to the countryside would leave him exhausted, his legs cramping and his buttocks aching from the chafing, after dozens of miles of mountain roads. But this motorcycle was different; it was powerful and stable, especially when traversing those bumpy dirt roads and field ridges—it was far superior to a bicycle. It was because of it that Xu Damao dared to go to more remote mountain villages this time, such as Qinjiacun.

Thinking of Qin Family Village, Xu Damao couldn't help but shudder, subconsciously touching the wound on his face. That night, the girl named Qin Jingru, those eyes that shone amazingly bright in the moonlight, that bowl of warm brown sugar water, that dilapidated warehouse, and later the beatings from Qin Laoshuan and his two sons, and that "deal" that would kill him... scene after scene churned in his mind like a nightmare.

"Damn it, what bad luck!" Xu Damao spat, the movement aggravating the injury on his lip, making him wince in pain. His intention was just to have some fun, show off his "city cadre" status, satisfy his vanity, and maybe even take advantage of the situation. He hadn't expected this seemingly innocent country girl to be so bold and unruly, daring to sneak into his door in the middle of the night, and even more unexpectedly, to be caught red-handed. That Qin Laoshuan was a ruthless character, truly vicious, and that "written agreement" gave him complete control.

"Indecent assault, rape..." These words sent chills down Xu Damao's spine. These days, getting accused of this would mean not only losing your job, but you might really be fired! Qin Laoshuan's murderous gaze wasn't a joke. The document bearing his fingerprint, stating "I voluntarily agree to marry Qin Jingru," was like a tight band around his neck.

What would he do if he went back? Marry that village girl? Xu Damao was a thousand times, a million times unwilling. Who was Xu Damao? A projectionist at the Hongxing Steel Rolling Mill, a proper working-class man, skilled, respected, and not bad-looking (in his own opinion). He wanted to find a respectable girl in the city, preferably the daughter of a cadre who could help him climb the social ladder. How could he marry Qin Jingru, a rural girl with no job who only knew how to farm? Wouldn't he be laughed at by everyone at the factory? Would he be able to hold his head high in the courtyard house, in front of his parents?

But what if he doesn't marry her? That agreement is in Qin Laoshuan's hands; it's a ticking time bomb. If the Qin family really goes all out and takes the agreement to the factory or the police station to cause trouble, Xu Damao will be completely finished! He'll definitely lose his lucrative job as a projectionist, his reputation will be ruined, and he might even end up in jail.

"Let's take it one step at a time... Maybe if we just stall for time, the Qin family will give in on their own? Or, we can find some excuse to gloss over this?" Xu Damao held onto a sliver of hope, and he unconsciously stepped on the gas pedal even harder, the motorcycle roaring as if trying to take him away from this annoying trouble as soon as possible.

Returning to Beijing after several days' absence, Xu Damao felt a little more at ease as he looked at the familiar streets and approached Nanluoguxiang. No matter what, he decided to get home, put his things down, take a hot shower, and get some sleep first. He'd just say he'd fallen off his motorcycle and gotten the injury on his face.

He rode his motorcycle into the courtyard at No. 95. The brand-new, imposing sidecar motorcycle immediately attracted the attention of several elderly women and children who were sunbathing and chatting in the courtyard.

"Oh, Da Mao is back? This big guy is really impressive!" The third aunt's eyes lit up.

"Xu Damao, did you ride this motorcycle back? Is it a new one from the factory?" A teenager asked enviously as he circled the motorcycle.

Xu Damao's vanity resurfaced, and forcing a smile, he said, "Ah, it's a new product from the factory. They want me to test it out in the countryside to show movies." As he spoke, he began unloading the local specialties. Dried mushrooms, red dates, dried sweet potatoes... he took them out one by one, making everyone in the yard envious.

Just then, a thin, middle-aged man wearing old glasses strolled over from the moon gate leading from the front yard to the middle yard. It was none other than the third uncle of the courtyard, Yan Fugui, the primary school teacher. He walked with his hands behind his back, seemingly strolling casually, but his eyes had already been fixed on what Xu Damao was holding.

"Da Mao's back? That trip to the countryside must have been tough!" Yan Fugui pushed up his glasses, smiling broadly as he leaned closer, his eyes scanning Xu Da Mao's canvas bag and the dried chicken in the truck bed. "Wow, quite a haul! These mushrooms are dried really well; they'll be delicious stewed with chicken. And this chicken... was it a gift from a fellow villager? Look how generous they are!"

Exhausted both physically and mentally, Xu Damao just wanted to go home and have some peace and quiet. He had no desire to argue with Yan Fugui, that cunning schemer. He had long since figured out Yan Fugui's temperament; this old man was always being overly helpful, and he was just looking to take advantage of him. Normally, Xu Damao might have chatted with him a bit and shown off, but today he simply wasn't in the mood.

"Uncle, you're busy. I'll take my things back first. I still need to return the car to the factory to report back." Xu Damao said perfunctorily, picking up his things and about to leave.

"Hey, no rush, no rush," Yan Fugui stepped aside to block him, still smiling. "Work is important, but your health is even more important. Look at you, all travel-worn, and your face... What happened? Did you fall?" He noticed the injury on Xu Damao's face.

"Yeah, I accidentally bumped into it while riding my bike," Xu Damao replied impatiently, just wanting to get away as soon as possible.

"Be careful! This motorcycle looks impressive, but you still need to be careful." Yan Fugui changed the subject, bringing the topic back to local specialties. "You know, country folk are really honest. They know you projectionists work hard, so they gave you so many good things. These mushrooms are the best for soup..."

Xu Damao was getting annoyed by his nagging, and fearing that he would continue to pester him and delay his trip to his parents to discuss "important matters," he simply took out a bunch of ordinary-looking dried mushrooms from his cloth bag and stuffed them into Yan Fugui's hand: "Third Uncle, take this bunch of mushrooms back and have a taste! I really have something to do here, so I'll head back now!"

After saying that, without waiting for Yan Fugui to speak again, she picked up the remaining things, lowered her head, and quickly walked through the moon gate to her own home in the backyard.

Yan Fugui held the string of dried mushrooms in his hand, watching Xu Damao's almost hasty retreat. His smile remained unchanged, but his mind was racing: "That kid's acting a bit strange today... He's injured, seems uneasy, and yet he's so generous with his gifts? Unlike his usual stingy self... But, a fool wouldn't pass up a bargain. These mushrooms are dried well; I'll have Auntie soak some tonight, it'll be an extra dish." He happily tucked the mushrooms into his pocket, put his hands behind his back, and strolled back to the front yard to continue being his "gatekeeper," calculating who would bring something back next.

Xu Damao returned to his quiet little house (he wasn't married yet and lived alone), haphazardly put his things down without bothering to tidy up, and first found the two fattest dried chickens, carefully packing them in an old cloth bag. He planned to take them to his parents. Then, forcing himself to stay alert, he pulled out his motorcycle again, carefully secured the projection equipment, and rode to the factory.

At the factory's publicity department, he handed over his motorcycle and projection equipment, along with the "Motorcycle Test Report" he had compiled along the way—the report, of course, made no mention of the "accident" in Qinjiacun, only detailing the motorcycle's performance under different road conditions, fuel consumption, malfunctions (almost none), and the villagers' reactions (excellent). The department head glanced through it, patted him on the shoulder: "Da Mao, you've worked hard! The test drive went well, and the villagers' feedback was great! You're getting three days off, take a good rest!"

Xu Damao absentmindedly thanked him, retrieved his bicycle from the propaganda department, carefully hung the cloth bag containing the dried chicken on the handlebars, hopped on, and pedaled towards his parents' house. Each time he returned from a long filming trip to the countryside, he was given a few days off—a small token of the factory's consideration for his hard work. Normally, Xu Damao would use these days off to relax, hang out with his girlfriend, or figure out how to curry favor with the leaders. But today, this holiday felt exceptionally heavy to him.

Xu Damao's parents lived in another alley not far from Nanluoguxiang, which was also an ordinary tenement. Xu's father, Xu Fugui, was originally an old projectionist at the Hongxing Steel Rolling Mill. Later, he retired due to poor eyesight and let Xu Damao take over. He later got a job as a projectionist at a movie theater through connections. Xu's mother used to work as a maid in the Lou family, but later quit and became a housewife.

When Xu Damao arrived home, it was already dusk. His mother was mending clothes under the dim light. Seeing her son return, a smile spread across her face, but she was immediately startled when she saw the bruises on his face: "Damao, what happened to you? Did you get into a fight?"

"It's nothing, Mom. I just fell off my motorcycle." Xu Damao handed over the cloth bag containing the dried chicken. "Mom, I got these from the countryside. They're two dried chickens. Keep them and stew them for Dad to help him recover."

Xu's mother took the chicken, feeling both sorry for her son and happy that he would have meat to eat. She kept saying, "How could you be so careless? Sit down and rest, Mom will heat up some rice for you."

Xu Fugui was sitting on a chair in the inner room, eating a peanut and sipping a cheap, loose-packaged liquor that cost a dime per ounce. Hearing the noise, he coughed and said, "You're back? Did the mission go smoothly?"

Xu Damao's heart skipped a beat; he knew he couldn't avoid it. He dawdled into the inner room, dragged a stool over, sat down, and kept his head down without saying a word.

Xu Fugui was a seasoned veteran. Seeing his son's dejected appearance and bruised face, he knew it was more than just a simple fall. He put down his wine cup and stared at Xu Damao: "Tell me, what happened? Don't give me that nonsense."

Xu Damao knew he couldn't hide it from his father, so after stammering for a long time, he finally recounted the affair with Qin Jingru in Qin Family Village, omitting and downplaying the important parts. He emphasized that he was "confused for a moment," "seduced by that country girl," and then "extorted by her family," who forced him to sign a contract to marry her.

"...Dad, I really didn't mean it! It's just... I just drank a little and got a little tipsy! That Qin Laoshuan, along with his two sons, were so ruthless! Look at my face... They even forced me to write a statement saying that if I didn't marry Qin Jingru, they would report me for indecent assault at the factory and send me to the executioner's!" Xu Damao cried, blaming everything on Qin Jingru and the Qin family.

"Bang!" Xu Fugui slammed his fist on the table, his beard bristling with anger. The small wine cup was knocked over, spilling cloudy wine all over the table. He jumped to his feet, pointing at Xu Damao, his finger trembling with rage: "You! You bastard! What have I taught you? I told you to be careful outside! Be careful! Did you ignore me? Do you think you can just mess with country girls like that? Do you think you can just sleep with them? You have to take responsibility for them!"

Xu Fugui paced back and forth in the room, furious: "Indecent assault! Rape! Xu Damao, do you know how heavy those words are? Huh? Your father has been showing movies all his life, seen countless people, and haven't I been ruined by this kind of thing enough? Losing my job is a small matter; I could even lose my life! You... what am I supposed to say to you!"

Xu Damao was so frightened that he shrank his neck and didn't dare to utter a sound.

Xu's mother heard it too, and came in carrying in some warmed-up cornbread and leftovers. Upon hearing this, her face turned pale. She put down her chopsticks and grabbed Xu Fugui's arm, saying, "Husband, don't be angry. Getting angry will harm your health... Da Mao knows he was wrong. Now... now we need to think of a solution!"

"Think of a solution? Now you know how to think of a solution? Where were you before!" Xu Fugui was still furious, but looking at his son's cowardly appearance and his wife's anxious face, he knew that scolding was useless. He sat heavily back in his chair, took out his pipe, his hands trembling as he stuffed tobacco leaves into it, and it took him several matches to light it. He took a deep drag and coughed from the smoke.

Silence filled the room, broken only by Xu Fugui's heavy breathing and the hissing of his pipe. After a long while, Xu Fugui finally spoke, his voice hoarse, revealing a deep weariness and helplessness: "The agreement...you really wrote it? And you even put your fingerprint on it?"

"I wrote it...I wrote it. Several of them surrounded me, and they wouldn't let me leave until I wrote it..." Xu Damao's voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz.

"Useless!" Xu Fugui cursed again, but his tone had softened somewhat, now filled with disappointment and frustration. "That girl... is her name Qin Jingru? Is her sister really Qin Huairu?"

"Yes, she said it herself. Her sister is Qin Huairu, who married Jia Dongxu from our factory's fitter workshop."

Xu Fugui closed his eyes, tapping his temples with his fingers as he thought quickly. Qin Huairu… Jia Dongxu's wife. He vaguely remembered her; she was quite pretty, from the countryside, hardworking, and had a decent reputation in the neighborhood. If it was her sister… maybe there was still some room for maneuver? At least he knew her background.

"What else did the Qin family say besides wanting you to marry her?" Xu Fugui asked.

"Just tell me... just let me go back and prepare, to propose marriage within a month and marry within six months... If I go back on my word, I can sue you with a written agreement..." Xu Damao stammered.

"A betrothal, a marriage proposal..." Xu Fugui murmured repeatedly, his expression shifting between anger and uncertainty. He was deeply unwilling to marry a rural woman. His son was a stable city worker; if he married a rural woman with no job, their children would also have rural household registration, unable to access government-subsidized food rations—a heavy burden indeed! It would be shameful to talk about it. But...if he didn't marry her? That written agreement was a sword hanging over his head. The Qin family were country folk, stubborn and principled; if things escalated, Xu Damao's future would be ruined.

"You! You!" Xu Fugui pointed at Xu Damao, speechless with anger. After a long while, he sighed, looking as if he had aged ten years in an instant. "Forget it, there's no use saying all this now. The written agreement is in their hands, that's their leverage. This matter can't be dealt with by force, and dragging it out... probably won't work either. Country folk are honest, but they're also stubborn. Once they've made up their minds, nothing can change their minds. If we drag this out too long, they might really dare to cause trouble at the factory."

"Then... what should I do, Dad? I really don't want to marry her..." Xu Damao said with a mournful face.

"Don't want to marry me? Is it up to you?" Xu Fugui glared at him. "Now you know you don't want to? Why didn't you say so earlier!" He took a few puffs of his cigarette in frustration. "Here's what we'll do: next time you have a mission to show movies in the countryside, I'll go with you to Qin Family Village."

"You're coming with me?" Xu Damao was taken aback.

"Nonsense! I'm not going. What can you possibly accomplish with your pathetic state?" Xu Fugui said irritably. "I'm going to meet with that Qin Laoshuan. Let's see if there's any other way to handle this. If all else fails..." He paused, his voice hoarse, "If all else fails, this marriage... we'll have to accept it. Let's get through this hurdle first. Marry her, keep her at home, and we'll figure out a solution later. It's better than you going to jail right now!"

When Xu Damao heard that his father might really want him to marry Qin Jingru, he was extremely unwilling, but he didn't dare to object. He could only hang his head and hum in agreement.

"You're staying home these next few days! Don't go anywhere! And don't go looking for trouble with any shady characters!" Xu Fugui sternly instructed. "If anyone asks about the injury on your face, just say you fell and hurt yourself. Don't give yourself away!"

"Okay, Dad," Xu Damao said dejectedly.

That night, Xu Damao ate a tasteless dinner at his parents' house. Xu's mother sighed, Xu Fugui smoked silently, and Xu Damao ate without tasting anything, his mind a jumble of thoughts. One moment he saw Qin Jingru's shy and timid face, the next he saw Qin Laoshuan's fierce and menacing appearance, and then he saw that damned document.

After finishing his meal, Xu Damao, seemingly lost in thought, rode his bicycle back to courtyard number 95. It was late at night, and the courtyard was quiet, with only a few houses' windows letting in a dim, yellowish light.

He had just pushed his bicycle into the small open space in front of his house when he vaguely saw Yan Fugui peeking out from behind the moon gate before retreating. Xu Damao didn't bother with him. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and bolted it shut. He didn't even bother to turn on the light, and simply collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed, staring blankly at the dark ceiling. The future was shrouded in uncertainty; the disaster in Qin Family Village weighed heavily on his heart like a large stone.

Meanwhile, in the front yard of Yan Fugui's house, the scene was quite different.

Yan Fugui, carrying his "treasured" bottle of bulk Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) diluted with an unknown amount of water, wandered around Xu Damao's house for a long time, but no one returned. As it grew darker and he could hear the sounds of people eating inside his own house, Yan Fugui's little scheme fell through, and he couldn't help but mutter to himself, "What a blunder!"

His original plan was perfectly executed: Xu Damao, that kid, would definitely bring back a lot of good food after his trip to the countryside. He would bring this bottle of "wine" (although mostly watery, at least it had a hint of alcohol) over, using it as an excuse to welcome him. After a few words, given Xu Damao's prideful nature, he would surely have to invite him to dinner. Then, the table would be laden with the local specialties Xu Damao brought back, and he could legitimately freeload a decent meal, at least getting some meat. He could save himself the trouble of his "planned" dinner that evening. In short, he only contributed a bottle of "watery wine," and he could get a sumptuous dinner, while also building a relationship with Xu Damao and catching up on interesting stories from his time in the countryside or news from the factory—a win-win situation.

No matter how much they planned, they hadn't anticipated that Xu Damao wouldn't stay home for long after returning! Judging from his hurried manner, he probably went to his parents' house. Well, that's it, their plan to freeload a meal is completely ruined.

Yan Fugui hefted the wine bottle in his hand with annoyance. Listening to the barely audible chewing sounds and occasional chatter from inside his house, he knew dinner was already served, and certainly not for him. The Yan family's meals were meticulously planned by "Third Uncle" Yan Fugui: one portion per person, rationed and never more. If he had returned late, his portion would have been gone, or already "allocated."

Helpless, Yan Fugui could only dejectedly carry his "wine" and turn back to his home.

Upon entering, a familiar, bland aroma wafted over. In the dim light, around an old eight-immortal table, sat his wife, his third aunt, and their three young children—the eldest son, Yan Jiecheng; the second son, Yan Jiefang; and the youngest daughter, Yan Jiedi. The eldest daughter, Yan Jiedi, was already married and rarely returned home.

The dinner laid out on the table was the Yan family's "standard configuration" for decades: a hard, yellowish-black cornbread in front of each person. This cornbread wasn't the refined cornmeal of later generations, but rather the coarsest and cheapest grain, ground into powder with the corn kernels and cob intact. It had a rough texture and was harsh on the throat, but it was filling, and most importantly—cheap! Yan Fugui was shrewd and calculating. He used almost all of his monthly ration of refined grains (white flour and rice) to exchange for this cornbread on the black market or through connections. Because he could get a lot more, he considered it the most cost-effective option.

Next to the cornbread was a small dish with a few finely shredded pickled vegetables, so salty they were almost cloying, meant to encourage people to eat less vegetables and more cornbread. In the middle of the table was a bowl of cornmeal porridge, so thin it was almost like rice water, with a few scattered cornmeal lumps floating in it.

Yan Jiecheng had already started working as an apprentice at the Hongxing Factory. He was at the prime of his life, and looking at the small cornbread and the thin, watery porridge in his hand, his brow furrowed so deeply it could trap a fly, but he dared not speak, simply munching away in silence. Yan Jiefang and Yan Jiedi, being younger, also ate listlessly. The Third Aunt herself had only the same portion; she lowered her head, sipping her porridge in small mouthfuls, not daring to look at her husband's expression.

Seeing Yan Fugui return, the third aunt quickly stood up: "Dad, you're back? Haven't eaten yet? I... I'll go get you some cornbread." She then headed towards the kitchen.

"No need!" Yan Fugui waved his hand dismissively, slamming the bottle of liquor on the table. "I already ate out!" Of course he hadn't eaten, but looking at the meager amount of food on the table, and remembering that he hadn't gotten a free meal from Xu Damao, he felt a tightness in his chest. More importantly, he couldn't allow himself to "overspend." He had set the rules for the family: a fixed amount for each person. If he ate more today because he hadn't gotten a free meal, how could he manage this large family in the future?

"You won't go poor from eating or dressing, but you will if you don't plan ahead!" This was Yan Fugui's favorite saying, and also his life motto. He felt he had been shrewd all his life, relying on calculation to establish himself in Beijing, support his four children, and even accumulate some wealth. Indeed, Yan Fugui did have some wealth. His ancestors had run small businesses, and before the founding of the People's Republic of China, his family owned a small stationery store, making them small business owners. Although most of their assets had been handed over or merged after the reforms, Yan Fugui secretly kept some "gold bars," but he hid them very well. This was his confidence, his biggest and deepest secret, unknown even to his aunt and children.

He taught at Hongxing Elementary School, and his salary wasn't low. It used to be a little over forty yuan, which was considered average for a teacher. But after Wang Huanbo arrived, the Hongxing Factory developed rapidly, and the affiliated Hongxing Elementary School received substantial subsidies. The school buildings were renovated, all the desks, chairs, and books were replaced, and free school uniforms were provided for the students. Teachers' salaries also rose accordingly. Yan Fugui's salary had quietly increased to fifty yuan a month! At that time, this was definitely a high income.

But in the courtyard, he always complained of being poor, always calling himself a "stinking intellectual" with a low salary of only "twenty-seven yuan and fifty cents." Why? Just to continue taking advantage! By complaining of poverty, he'd get a little something from his neighbors when they had something good, like welfare benefits or handouts; he could also give the least amount of money, or even nothing at all, by citing "difficult circumstances" when someone in the courtyard had a wedding or funeral; and he could "act as a doorman" at the gate, getting free fruits, nuts, and thread from his neighbors, which seemed "perfectly natural." If others knew he only earned fifty yuan a month, who would let him take advantage? They might even try to freeload off him.

Yan Fugui's calculations regarding his own family were taken to the extreme. He kept a thick ledger, meticulously recording every expense he considered "expenses" for his four children from birth to the present: food, clothing, tuition, even the smallest amount spent on medicine when they were sick... He euphemistically called it "cost accounting for raising children." He had already "made it clear" to his children that all this money was "lent" to them, and that they would have to repay him with interest once they grew up, started working, and earned wages! His eldest son, Yan Jiecheng, was now an apprentice at the Hongxing Factory, earning eighteen yuan a month. But Yan Fugui "managed" that eighteen yuan. After deducting Yan Jiecheng's accommodation expenses at home (Yan Fugui resolutely refused to let his son live at the factory), food expenses (even meals at home required payment), and the installments of Yan Fugui's calculated "debts" from childhood to adulthood, Yan Jiecheng would ultimately receive no more than five yuan a month.

Yan Jiecheng was furious but dared not speak out. He was young, needed to socialize, needed to find a girlfriend; what could five yuan buy? But Yan Fugui argued vehemently: "How much did it cost me to raise you? Now that you're earning money, shouldn't you pay me back? Five yuan is more than enough! When I was your age, I only earned a few cents a month. Be content!"

This extremely oppressive and calculating family atmosphere fueled a burning resentment within Yan Jiecheng. His gaze towards his father grew increasingly cold, even carrying a hint of hidden hatred. He worked tirelessly, hoping to become a permanent employee soon, hoping for a higher salary and more savings. But Yan Fugui's calculations were far more shrewd; he had already factored in any potential salary increase after Yan Jiecheng's promotion into his "debt repayment plan." Between father and son, affection had long been replaced by cold numbers and calculations, leaving only a thick, suffocating ledger. Yan Jiecheng's discontent, like molten lava underground, steadily accumulated, waiting for a trigger to erupt and shatter this facade of peace.

Yan Fugui was unaware, or rather, indifferent, to the growing resentment in his son's heart. At this moment, he was sipping his watered-down wine with pickled vegetables, still feeling the pinch of missing out on Xu Damao's meal, while simultaneously calculating whether he should visit Uncle Yi Zhonghai in the central courtyard or Uncle Liu Haizhong in the back courtyard tomorrow to see if there were any new opportunities or information to "scheme" about. His small eyes, behind his glasses, gleamed with a shrewd, insatiable light as he continued to manipulate the relentless calculations of gain and loss in his mind on this somewhat chilly early winter night.

The night deepened in the courtyard. In the front yard of the Yan family's house, the sounds of chewing and the occasional clinking of bowls and chopsticks conveyed a sense of suppressed frugality. In the back yard, Xu Damao's house was deathly silent, save for the heavy, irritated breathing of its owner. In the middle yard, the Yi family's light was on, and the eldest uncle, Yi Zhonghai, seemed lost in thought. From the Jia family's window, one could faintly hear Qin Huairu's whispers as she soothed her child to sleep and Jia Zhangshi's discontented grumbling. In this ancient courtyard, caught between the tides of time and individual destinies, the mundane, real, and vibrant daily life, full of warmth and coldness, continued to unfold. Meanwhile, at the Hongxing Factory, the dream of "high-rise buildings" and "new homes" was rising day by day under the roar of machines and the sweat of workers—another world, another hope, echoing the petty squabbles and calculations of this courtyard, yet seemingly separated by an invisible chasm.