Courtyard House: Home Alone

Lin Yifan didn't answer immediately. He reached out and stirred the water, watching the ripples spread out in circles, hitting the side of the tub and then bobbing back.

Why? He had asked himself that question before. In his past life, he had enjoyed the love and care of his grandmother and parents, and his subordinates had come and gone, but he had never put in this kind of effort for anyone.

But in this life, perhaps it's because this body is too young and the blood is too hot, or perhaps it's because the atmosphere of Beiping is too smoky and pungent...

"Didn't I say," he finally said, "fair trade."

Chunxing stopped asking. She knew that if he didn't want to talk about it, asking again would be pointless.

"There's something else. Were your names given after you arrived at the Tang residence? What were your original names?" Lin Yifan asked as he stood up, water droplets sliding down his shoulders.

Chunxing hurriedly turned her face away, gripping the loofah sponge in her hand even tighter: "It's...it's the rule of the Tang family that all maids who enter the household must be given a new name."

My original name was Da Ni, Qiu Ju's surname was Tian and her name was San Ya, Xia He... Xia He's original surname was Xia, and her nickname was He Jie'er.

"Da Ni, San Ya, He Jie'er."

Lin Yifan stepped out of the wooden tub, and Chunxing quickly handed him the cotton towel draped to the side. "It's more practical than Chunxing, Qiuju, and Xiahe, but this one sounds like a maid who serves people."

When you go to sleep, ask them if I'll give you new names tomorrow at dinner. You can keep your original surnames; we can't forget our ancestors.

Lin Yifan wiped the water droplets from his hair; the cotton towel, soaked with water, became heavy. He looked down at his hands—the hands of an eight-year-old child, his knuckles still rounded like a child's, but the lines on his palms held memories of more than thirty years.

"Young master,"

Chunxing, with her back to him, was tidying up the loofah sponges in the wooden bucket. Her voice drifted through the steam, "What...what names are you going to give us?"

"I haven't decided yet."

He draped a cotton cloth over the back of the chair, bent down to reach for his undergarment draped over the screen, and said, "We need to consider your individual personalities. Names, like clothes, are best when they fit."

Chunxing turned around, still clutching the dripping loofah in her hand. Candlelight filtered through the paper window, casting shadows on her face: "Then...then can we really change our surname back?"

"Why not?"

Lin Yifan tightened his belt, his movements as practiced as if he'd done it a thousand times—in his past life, he had indeed done it a thousand times. "Yu, Tian, ​​and Xia are all respectable surnames. Your ancestors might even have produced scholars who passed the imperial examinations. Isn't that better than following the Tang family name?"

Chunxing lowered her head, and water droplets from the loofah sponge fell into the bucket, making a soft "drip-drip" sound.

She recalled that when her mother was alive, she would occasionally mention her family, saying that her maternal grandfather was a scholar who had failed the imperial examinations his whole life, and finally opened a private school in the village.

Back then, her name was Yu Dani, her younger brother was Yu Xiaobao, and her younger sister was Yu Xiaoman. The year they fled, Xiaobao died in the chaos of gunfire at Lugou Bridge. When Xiaoman went south, she had a high fever. Her mother carried her on her back, and they disappeared into the dust and smoke, one step at a time.

"Young master," she suddenly spoke, her voice trembling slightly, "I...can I ask you for a favor?"

"explain."

"If...if there's any news about my mother and sister in the future, could you...?"

Lin Yifan paused in tying his belt. He turned around and looked at Chunxing's drooping neck—a sixteen-year-old girl whose neck already showed mature lines, but whose shoulders were still trembling slightly.

"Yes," he said.

Chunxing suddenly raised her head, her eyes already red.

"But there's a condition," Lin Yifan bent down to look her in the eye, the candlelight burning two small flames in his pupils, "You have to first make something of yourself. I've inquired about the accelerated course at the Western Academy; it takes three months to complete, and it teaches double-entry bookkeeping and basic foreign languages."

After graduation, you'll work for me at the pharmaceutical factory, starting as a bookkeeper. I'll pay you thirty silver dollars a month. Next year, I'll place advertisements in the newspapers for you in several cities to the south.

"Thirty yuan..." Chunxing murmured repeatedly. She knew what that meant—the accountant at the Tang family only earned twenty-five yuan a month.

"Too much?" Lin Yifan straightened up and began putting on his outer robe. "Female bankers in Shanghai start at fifty. Yours is considered low."

"Young Master, I... I don't want a salary, I just want to stay by your side and do things for you," Chunxing said, bowing her head.

"How can you not need a salary? You'll need money in the future, you'll need to start a family, and you'll need to have your own children. None of these things require money. Alright, just listen to me."

"Dry me off, the water's cold, I'm getting up." With that, he climbed out of the tub and stood in front of Chunxing.

Chunxing hurriedly picked up a dry cotton towel, her fingers trembling slightly as they touched his shoulder. Water droplets slid down the lines of his back, pausing briefly at his lower back before continuing downwards. She held her breath, her movements extremely gentle, as if she were wiping some fragile porcelain.

"Young master," her voice was muffled, "what you said... is it true?"

Which sentence?

"The matter of finding a missing person."

Lin Yifan turned around to face her. Chunxing's handkerchief was still hanging in mid-air, but her gaze involuntarily fell on his chest—there was a small mole there, reddened by the hot water. She hurriedly lowered her eyes, her ear tips burning as if they were about to catch fire.

"When I, Lin Yifan, speak,..."

He reached for the towel, wiped himself haphazardly a couple of times, and said, "A promise is a promise. But you have to promise me one thing."

"You said."

"Once you've found the person, don't rush off."

He tossed the towel into the wooden basin, splashing a small amount of water. "The pharmaceutical factory is just starting out. You need to train a few apprentices for me. Once they've taught them, they can go wherever they want."

Chunxing clutched the soaked hem of her clothes, her knuckles turning white. She wanted to say "I'm not leaving," she wanted to say "I'm not going anywhere," but the words stuck in her throat. A man like her disliked hearing such sentimental talk.

"I've got it."

She finally said, her voice soft but steady, "I will definitely graduate in three months."

Lin Yifan nodded and bent down to reach for the cotton socks draped over the screen. Chunxing grabbed them first and knelt down to put them on for him.

Her fingers ran through his ankle, warm and carrying the fresh scent of soap. This gesture reminded her of putting shoes on her younger brother when she was little; he would always kick them off, and her mother would laugh and scold him.

"Young master,"

She held the cloth strap around the top of her sock and suddenly spoke, "You said... are my mother and the others still alive?"

Lin Yifan looked down at her. A few strands of Chunxing's bangs were damp with moisture and stuck to her forehead, revealing the pale blue veins underneath.

He recalled an archive he had seen in his previous life at the Nanjing Massacre Memorial Hall, a population statistic after the fall of Nanjing, the numbers as cold as a printing error.

"Living," he said.

Chunxing raised her head.

"People who went south in 1937,"

Lin Yifan shifted his gaze to the embers of the stove visible on the window paper. "Most of them went to Wuhan and Chongqing. Your mother and your sister survived as long as they didn't get sick or get caught in the bombing."