Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

When it came time to settle the bill, the student in the school uniform, who was at the head of the group, took the bill his father had prepared, glanced at it quickly, and then took out a silver dollar from his pocket, gently placing it on the counter. It was significantly more than the amount on the bill. He smiled and said, "Manager, although your dishes aren't lavish, each one exudes a homely warmth, and the taste is very authentic. Except for the slightly rough knife work, everything else is almost on par with the chefs in Nanjing. Especially the boiled cabbage—sweet, crisp, and refreshing, with a subtle sweetness, even more flavorful than what the city chefs make; and the sweet potato—soft, sweet, and melt-in-your-mouth—a rare delicacy. In Nanjing, these dishes would cost ten times more, and people would still be scrambling to eat them. Consider these extra silver dollars a small token of our appreciation, a small compensation to you."

Father quickly clasped his hands in thanks, saying repeatedly, "Thank you so much for your generosity, young master! You're too kind! Oh, by the way, young master, there's something else I almost forgot to tell you. I noticed that those of you who drank the ginger soup are all sweating profusely. In this freezing weather, with the wind biting, if you go out in the wind with that sweat on, the cold will definitely seep into your bones through your pores, making your cold even worse and delaying your journey. If you don't want to stay at the inn, at least change into some dry clothes and wrap yourselves up properly before you continue your journey."

Upon hearing this, the group's hearts tightened, and the relaxation on their faces vanished instantly. They all turned to look at their companions who had drunk the ginger soup, only then remembering how they were covered in sweat after drinking it. They felt a wave of fear and quickly bowed to their father, saying, "Thank you for reminding us, shopkeeper. We almost messed up something important. We'll go ask everyone's opinion right away."

In the end, however, the teachers and students were unwilling to delay even a moment and insisted on getting to the new school as soon as possible, refusing to stay at the inn. Seeing this, Father did not insist any further. He quickly instructed Xingbao and Guixiang to take the guests, who were covered in sweat and had caught a cold, to the two guest rooms next door to change their clothes. He also found some thick, coarse cloths stored at home and told them to wrap themselves tightly to prevent catching a cold. Guixiang also carefully put away the handwritten copy of the poems, gently smoothing the creases on the pages. She quickly walked to Mr. Wang, held the book in both hands, and respectfully handed it over, her voice soft and respectful: "Mr. Wang, thank you for your book. We have finished reading it and are returning it to you now. It's not damaged at all."

With everything packed, the Song family went to the entrance of the kitchen to help the teachers and students carry their luggage and assist the sick guests onto the carriage. Before leaving, Mr. Wang sat in the carriage, holding the luggage, and shouted loudly to Xingbao, who was standing by the roadside: "Xingbao, don't forget our promise! If you don't understand anything in 'Principles of Mechanics,' remember to come to the school to find me, and I'll teach you!" His voice pierced through the cold wind, full of expectation and concern.

Xingbao stood by the roadside, nodded vigorously, and replied in a loud voice, "Sir, I remember! I will definitely come to the school to see you!"

The carriage moved slowly, gradually disappearing at the end of the path at the village entrance. Xingbao stood there, still holding the two copies of "Principles of Mechanics" in his hands, gazing in the direction the carriage had gone, his heart filled with anticipation. This brief encounter—Mr. Wang's appreciation of talent and gentleness, and Xingbao's intelligence and composure—had left a deep impression on both of them. And that carriage heading towards the new school seemed to bring a different kind of vitality to this small mountain village.

The family turned back to the kitchen. The aroma of food and a faint scent of books still lingered in the main room. There was still plenty of rice left in the rice bucket, along with uneaten sweet potatoes and dishes that hadn't yet been served—enough for everyone to have another hot and filling meal. As for the leftovers, apart from a few bites left of a bowl of stir-fried smoked rabbit with chili peppers, the rest had been devoured by the teachers and students—probably from their long journey and extreme hunger, or perhaps because it was home-cooked food that suited their tastes so well. Qianjin, needing to rush to the village to deliver the remaining mail, didn't dare delay. He quickly filled a bowl with rice and wolfed it down with the sweet potatoes and leftovers, finishing it in no time. Wiping his mouth, he got up to leave. As Xingbao saw him off, she didn't forget what she was thinking about, quickly tugging at his sleeve and softly asking, "Qianjin, what's the date today? I've been getting confused lately."

Brother Qian tightened his clothes and replied with a smile, "Xingbao, today is the eighth day of the eleventh lunar month, which is the tenth day of the twelfth lunar month. Are you looking forward to the New Year? Come inside quickly, it looks like it will snow soon."

December 10th!

These words, like a cold, sharp knife, pierced Xingbao's heart, instantly dispelling all warmth from his body. He froze, nearly dropping the "Principles of Mechanics" he was holding. A bone-chilling cold rose from his spine, spreading through his limbs and bones, making his teeth chatter slightly. He stood there, stunned, his gaze fixed on Nanjing in the east. The expectation and joy in his eyes were instantly overwhelmed by a profound sense of despair and helplessness. He knew better than anyone that Nanjing was already engulfed in war, filled with the smoke of battle, and that unforgettable, horrific day was only three days away!

At this moment, he wished he could be like Guixiang, like the other innocent children in the village, knowing nothing, understanding nothing, only knowing to chase after the aroma of sweet potatoes, only knowing to pester his parents for candy, unaware of the cruelty of the chaotic world, unaware of the ruthlessness of war, unaware of the despair of the future. Then, he wouldn't have to bear this heavy memory spanning time and space, wouldn't have to watch helplessly as tragedy was about to unfold, standing in this small mountain village, powerless and helpless; wouldn't have to worry day and night about his uncle struggling in the war, wondering if he was still alive, if he could return safely; wouldn't have to hide a heart tormented day and night, unable to find peace, behind this seemingly peaceful kitchen and thriving vegetable fields. He longed to be selfish, to cast aside all memories and worries, and happily spend time with his parents, grandparents, older brothers, and Guixiang, tending to this small shop and this lush green vegetable field. He wanted to work at sunrise and rest at sunset, to peacefully get through the winter and live each day well, even if life was poor and he could only eat sweet potatoes and cabbage. It would be better than being torn apart by despair.

But he knew in his heart that fate was fair. The memories of his past life gave him a chance to be reborn, the ability to protect his family, and the capacity to plan ahead and avoid disaster. But at the same time, they also brought him endless torment and burden. He had gained too much, and naturally, he had to bear too much. This memory that transcended time and space was both a blessing and a shackle. From now on, he could only carry this burden, step by step, doing his best to protect those he wanted to protect, even if the road ahead was full of thorns, even if it was just a drop in the ocean. The cold wind swirled up broken leaves, slapping his face hard, stinging him, but he was oblivious. He just stood there motionless, gazing eastward. His small figure held a weariness and helplessness beyond his years.