Courtyard House: Home Alone

He spoke with certainty, as if stating a fact that had already occurred. Chunxing didn't know if this was comforting or what, but she chose to believe. The words of this eight-year-old child gave her more peace of mind than any fortune slip from a temple.

"Young master," she said, putting on his other sock as she tied a knot in the fabric strap, "how did you know all this?"

Lin Yifan didn't answer. He walked to the door, pushed it open a crack, and a cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed in, making him shiver.

"I went to Chongqing before you came. My parents and sister are there, so I know," he said.

Chunxing tidied up the wooden basin and towel, then stopped at the door: "Young master, what else do you... know?"

Lin Yifan had his back to her, his shadow stretched long by the candlelight, casting a silhouette on the blue brick floor like that of an adult.

He dreamed of so many things—concrete jungles, moving metal boxes, and steel behemoths that flew in the sky and swam in the water.

He dreamt that he was lying on a white bed, surrounded by people crying and screaming, but he felt very light, as if he were about to float away.

"I dreamt of the three of you," he finally said, his voice as soft as falling snow, "that you all lived to be eighty, surrounded by children and grandchildren."

Chunxing smiled, but her eyes reddened even more. She opened the door, and a gust of cold wind swirled in with snowflakes. She shrank her neck and said, "Young master, you're just fooling me. This girl's life is cheap; she'll be lucky to live to fifty."

"If I say it's possible, then it's possible."

Lin Yifan strode towards the main room. "Go to sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow. Remember to ask Qiuju and Xiahe what they think; the name is their own choice."

Chunxing responded and returned to the main room. The moment she did, Lin Yifan heard her gently stomping her feet on the veranda—the snow water had soaked through her cloth shoes, and her feet were freezing.

He blew out the candle and climbed into bed in the dark. The bedding had been warmed by Chunxing beforehand and still carried a faint scent of soapberry. He lay on his back, listening to the sound of snow falling outside the window, but his thoughts drifted far away.

The 26th year of the Republic of China. 1937. He silently repeated these two years, as if confirming something. In his previous life's history books, this year was a watershed moment, the beginning of countless families falling apart.

Chunxing's mother and sister, Qiuju's father, Xiahe's brother—how many of these people who went south would make it to Chongqing? How many would live to see the day of victory?

He didn't know. All he knew was that in this time and space, he had to do something.

It wasn't the kind of momentous event that would change history—he didn't have the ability or the ambition for it; he just wanted to live a good life for himself.

He just wanted the few people around him, the workers in the pharmaceutical factory with their families, and the neighbors in the alley who had once brought him a bowl of hot soup noodles to live a few more years and enjoy a few more years of peaceful life than others.

This is enough.

Lin Yifan drifted off to sleep and dreamed that he was standing in ruins, surrounded by broken walls and rubble, but smoke was rising from the chimneys in the distance.

He walked toward the direction of the smoke, getting closer and closer, and saw Chunxing wearing a gray cheongsam, standing in front of a shop, holding a little girl with pigtails in her arms.

"Young master," Chunxing said with a smile, "why are you only arriving now?"

He wanted to answer, but then he woke up.

The sky outside the window was already turning white. Chunxing coughed softly outside the door—this was their agreed-upon signal, indicating that she would come in to help him wash up. Lin Yifan sat up, rubbed his eyes, and suppressed the dream deep in his heart.

"Come in."

Chunxing pushed open the door and came in, carrying a copper basin, followed by Qiuju and Xiahe. The three maids had all changed into freshly washed clothes, their hair was neatly combed, and their faces carried a cautious expectation.

"Young Master," Chunxing put down the copper basin, "we've discussed it. Yu Dani, Tian Sanya, and Xia He all want to change it back."

Qiu Ju—Tian Sanya—took a step forward, twisting the hem of her clothes with her fingers: "Young Master, I...I want to learn to cook, so I can cook for you for the rest of my life, okay?"

Xia He—Sister Xia He—did not speak, but simply opened her bright eyes, waiting for Lin Yifan to speak.

Looking at them, Lin Yifan suddenly remembered what his grandmother had said in his previous life. His grandmother was from northern Jiangsu. She fled famine to southern Jiangsu, worked as a maid for a landlord, and later married his grandfather, who was a boatman. She always said that in this life, being able to have a proper name and earn a living with one's skills is a blessing.

"Okay," he said, "but the name needs to be changed. Da Ni, San Ya, and Jie'er are all nicknames; we need a proper name."

He walked to the desk, spread out a sheet of Xuan paper, and dipped his brush in ink. The brush was made of wolf hair. In his previous life, he had practiced calligraphy for a few years, but then he had to give it up because he was busy with work. He never expected that the hands of this body would remember those strokes.

"Chunxing," he said as he wrote, "you know the most characters and have a steady temperament. Add 'Wen' to the character 'Yu' and you'll be called Yu Wenxiu. 'Yu' means both beautiful and intelligent; Wen is good at bookkeeping, and Xiu is good at managing a household."

Chunxing—Yu Wenxiu—looked at the two neat characters on the paper, her lips trembling slightly.

"Qiuju," Lin Yifan wrote down another name, "You're skillful and thoughtful. Add 'heart' to the character 'Tian' to make Tian Xinyi. Xinyi means 'easygoing and skillful.' You should put your heart into cooking, and you should put your heart into being a person."

Tian Sanya—Tian Xinyi—covered her mouth, tears already streaming down her face.

"Xia He," Lin Yifan put down his pen, looking at the most clever girl, "you're the most cunning, quick-witted, and perfect for relaying messages and running errands. Adding 'speech' to 'Xia' makes Xia Yan, meaning trustworthy and reliable. But I've also prepared a character for you, 'Shen,' to remind you that the more you say, the more mistakes you make, so be careful with your words and actions."

Xia He'er—Xia Yan—blinked her eyes, then suddenly knelt down and kowtowed: "Young master, this name sounds nice, I like it."

Lin Yifan waved his hand: "Don't kneel, I don't do that. The names are yours now. From now on, when you do things, you'll use your own surnames and given names. They have nothing to do with the Tang family, and nothing to do with me, Lin Yifan."

The three maids exchanged bewildered glances. Yu Wenxiu was the first to react: "Young Master, you...you're trying to send us away?"

"Why are you rushing me?"

Lin Yifan folded the Xuan paper and handed it to them, saying, "This is to teach you to stand up straight and behave properly. After the pharmaceutical factory starts operating, you will each have your own tasks, and you can't always be called 'maids'."

Yu Wenxiu is a bookkeeper, Tian Xinyi is my personal cook, and Xia Yan is a street vendor—all respectable professions, so they need to have respectable names.

Xinyi, there's something else. Take some things from the cellar and deliver them to the He family next door. While you're at it, ask Uncle He if he'd be willing to teach you how to cook some simple home-style dishes.

He spoke calmly, but all three girls' eyes reddened. Tian Xinyi cried the most, her sleeves soaked with tears; Xia Yan turned her face away, her shoulders trembling; Yu Wenxiu didn't cry, but clutched the paper, her knuckles turning white.

"Young master," she finally spoke, her voice hoarse, "we...we'll kowtow to you. Not for your name, but because you treat us like human beings."

Lin Yifan didn't stop them. The three girls knelt down side by side and kowtowed three times properly. He accepted their kowtows, and only after they stood up did he take out three silver dollars from the drawer and give one to each of them.