Courtyard House: Home Alone

The main room fell silent for a moment, with only the occasional soft popping sound coming from the charcoal brazier.

Lin Yifan picked up his teacup and blew on the foam. "Grandpa Tang, do you believe in ghosts and spirits?"

"Me?" Tang Baolin was taken aback, then nodded. "I believe you. It's only been a little over a year..."

"I'm glad you believe me."

Lin Yifan put down his teacup, the porcelain bottom touching the sandalwood with a crisp sound. "Then you can take it as a sign from our ancestors, sending a 'ghost' to protect us Chinese."

Tang Baolin stared at him for a long while, then suddenly reached out and patted his shoulder, the force neither too light nor too heavy, carrying the unique generosity of an elder: "Alright, I won't ask anymore. The ancestors have shown their power... That's a good saying, better than any explanation."

He got up and walked to the window, gazing at the old plum tree in the courtyard. The branches were still covered with snow, but a few flower buds were already swelling, exuding a stubborn vitality: "Huaijin, I am sixty-three years old this year, and I have seen quite a few storms."

In the year of Gengzi (1900), the Eight-Nation Alliance entered Beijing, and I witnessed foreign soldiers burning, killing, and looting in the southern part of the city.

In the year of Xinhai, the Qing emperor abdicated, and I followed Tang Hualong and others to work on constitutionalism, thinking that we could usher in a new era.

And the result? Yuan Shikai's attempt to become emperor, Zhang Xun's restoration, warlord conflicts... All these decades of turmoil, when you look at the details, it's clear that the Chinese people have brought this upon themselves.

He turned around, his gaze intense: "It wasn't until last year, when the 'ghost' story came out, that I first realized—perhaps the world really is about to change."

Lin Yifan listened quietly, his fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of the teacup. The texture of the purple clay was warm and delicate, like some ancient promise.

"Mr. Tang," he suddenly spoke, "do you know why I chose to cooperate with you?"

Tang Baolin raised an eyebrow.

"It's because I trust your character." Lin Yifan's voice was soft, but every word was clear.

"So I know that if I give you penicillin, you won't use it to profit from the national crisis; if I give you the power plant and steel mill, you won't cut the workers' rations. The world is chaotic, but someone has to uphold some principles, don't you think?"

A burst of clear laughter suddenly came from outside the window; it was Wenxiu and the others playing in the side room. Tang Baolin took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was a little hoarse: "Huaijin, your eyes...see too clearly."

"Isn't it good to see things clearly?"

"Good, and bad." The old man sat back down in his armchair. "Those who see things so clearly live a tiring life. How old are you this year? Eight? Nine?"

"Eight years old (by Chinese reckoning), nine years old (by the traditional Chinese age reckoning)."

"Eight years old..." Tang Baolin murmured repeatedly, then suddenly remembered something and took out a red lacquered wooden box from the drawer. "I almost forgot, this is your New Year's money. Don't refuse, it's from your elders, take it."

Lin Yifan took the box; it felt heavy in his hand. He opened the lid and inside lay a jade pendant, made of mutton-fat white jade, carved with a crane spreading its wings.

"This is……"

"It was a gift from my mentor when I was young."

Tang Baolin's gaze became distant. "He said that a crane can soar through the heavens and also dwell in the swamp, moving freely in and out of the water—that is what makes a great man. In my life, I've neither moved forward well nor retreated well. This jade pendant has been wasted with me. Now, giving it to you is... finding a good home."

Lin Yifan did not refuse, solemnly closed the box, and put it into his bosom: "This junior will certainly not fail your trust."

The two chatted about various details, from the boiler model at the power plant to the converter capacity at the steel mill, from the security arrangements for the transport lines to the training plan for the pharmaceutical factory workers. As the sun began to set, the charcoal brazier in the main room was replenished twice, and the tea was brewed three times before the conversation gradually came to an end.

"It's getting late," Tang Baolin glanced out the window, "Why don't the four of you stay for a quick meal? I'll have the kitchen prepare..."

"No, thank you," Lin Yifan stood up, "I still have to visit a few people for the New Year, so I can't stay too long. Another day when you're free, I'll invite you to my house for hot pot, and we can chat more then."

"Okay, it's a deal."

When the three maids were led back by the servants, their cheeks were flushed, probably from the strong charcoal fire in the west wing. Wenxiu was still clutching half a piece of pea flour cake in her hand. When she saw Lin Yifan looking over, she hurriedly hid it behind her back, but Xinyi laughed and exposed her: "Sister Xiu ate three pieces!"

"You ate just as much!" Wenxiu glared at her.

Xia Yan smiled with pursed lips, but steadily carried a box of pastries in her hand—it was a return gift from the Tang family, filled with a box of Poria cocos cakes and Sachima.

Lin Yifan bowed to Tang Baolin in farewell and left the Tang residence with the three maids. The four of them walked out along the alley, their boots crunching on the thin ice.

"Young Master," Wenxiu trotted up to him, "What did Master Tang say to you? He talked for so long."

"Tell me how to make big money," Lin Yifan said casually.

"Make a lot of money?" Xinyi's eyes lit up. "Then can we buy new clothes? Last time I went to Ruifuxiang, I saw a piece of mauve satin that I really liked..."

"All you ever think about are clothes!" Xia Yan gently tugged at her sleeve. "Young Master is talking about serious matters, don't interrupt."

Lin Yifan smiled but didn't reply. His gaze passed over the bare old locust tree at the alley entrance and looked towards the hazy gray sky in the distance. There, a flock of pigeons was flying by, their whistles clear and long, like some ancient prophecy.

Before they knew it, it was the sixth day of the first lunar month. As soon as it was light, Lin Yifan asked Xia Yan to go next door and call Chen Gongshu over.

Chen Gongshu arrived quickly, wearing a worn gray woolen overcoat, his hair still damp with morning dew. He brought a gust of cold wind with him as he entered, and the three maids who were roasting chestnuts around the charcoal brazier all shrank their necks at the chill.

"Young Master." Chen Gongshu clasped his hands in greeting, his gaze sweeping over the furnishings in the main room—this was the main room of the east courtyard, where Lin Yifan usually entertained guests. A painting titled "Fishing Alone on a Cold River" hung on the wall, and a Xuande incense burner sat on the table, its smoke curling upwards, giving it the air of a scholarly family.

"Sit down." Lin Yifan gestured to the chair opposite him. "Xia Yan, pour Grandpa Chen a cup of hot tea, Pu'er, to warm his stomach."

As Chen Gongshu sat down, the hem of his coat was lifted, revealing a Browning pistol tucked into his waistband. Wenxiu, with her sharp eyes, noticed it but remained calm, simply adding two pieces of silver charcoal to the brazier before pulling Xinyi and Xia Yan out, gently closing the door behind them.

"Young master, is it urgent that you called me so early?"

Chen Gongshu took the teacup but didn't drink it right away. Over the years in the Military Intelligence Bureau, he had developed a habit of never touching anything that he would put in his mouth when he was outside—except when he was with Lin Yifan.

Although the boy was young, he possessed a composure that inspired inexplicable trust, as if the tea he served contained some kind of guarantee.

"Didn't you want to see what 'Ghost' is capable of? I'll show you in a bit."

Chen Gongshu's fingers paused on the rim of the cup, the steam from the tea rising and forming a thin mist between his brows. He set down the cup, leaning forward unconsciously: "Young master, you mean... today?"

"today."

Lin Yifan took out a pocket watch from his sleeve. The brass case was engraved with intricate intertwined floral patterns. "Have a cup of tea. I'll have Wenxiu and the others bring over breakfast. We'll set off after we've eaten."