Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

After seeing the group off, Xingbao returned to the shop with his parents. As soon as he entered, he saw his father's undisguised excitement and immediately guessed that the students had given him a substantial reward. Taking advantage of the fact that no one was looking, Xingbao quietly tugged at his father's sleeve and whispered the details. It turned out that in addition to the food and lodging expenses, the students had also given his father extra money for renting a car in Yongfeng the previous day, plus the cost of looking after them over the past few days—a total of over ten silver dollars. This was probably the largest tip his family had ever received since opening the shop. In those days, time-consuming and laborious tasks like running errands and looking after people were never included in the lodging fees; tips were entirely based on the customer's mood. But this time, the tips they received for hosting the teachers and students from Sanmin Middle School totaled a whopping thirty silver dollars!

Thinking of this, Xingbao's smile gradually faded. He suddenly remembered that the last batch of students hadn't arrived yet, so he frowned and said to his father, "Father, logically speaking, this last batch of students only set off one day later than Li Guangsheng and the others, but eight days have passed and there's still no sign of them. Something must have happened. I think either they're stuck in the city and didn't get out before the Japanese besieged it, or they were robbed by refugees on the way. No matter what the reason, it's not a good thing for them!"

Upon hearing this, Dad sighed softly, reached out and patted Xingbao's head, his tone gentle yet tinged with helplessness: "Xingbao, in these chaotic times, people are often powerless to control their own lives. Now that they've come, we'll take good care of them as promised. There's nothing else we can do! Why are you worrying so much, you're just a child. The paper's been bought, go and study your books."

Time flies, and it's already the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month, the Laba Festival. On this day, the aroma of porridge wafts from the kitchens of every household in the village. Although it's called Laba porridge, in this remote mountain village, there aren't many fancy ingredients. They just add whatever they have at home, simply for good luck at the end of the year, hoping for peace, prosperity, and a bountiful harvest in the coming year. Only Xingbao's family cooks their porridge with extra care, finishing it before the guests who stayed overnight have left. His mother specially gathered eight ingredients—soft and sticky rice as the base, sweet potatoes from Xingbao's space, fresh cabbage and carrots from their own garden, plump mung beans, and peanuts, lotus seeds, and barley that his father had specially bought from Yongfeng a while ago. With all eight ingredients, the porridge is thick, sweet, and fragrant, its aroma wafting far and wide.

After her mother reheated the slightly cold porridge, Guixiang eagerly picked up two rough porcelain bowls, filled them to the brim with Laba porridge, and then pulled Xingbao to take one as well. She excitedly headed towards Fugui's house—she wanted to share her family's Laba porridge with her friends and show it off. A dozen or so half-grown children had already gathered in an empty room at Fugui's house. This room, originally used by Fugui's family to house day laborers, was next to the side door, making it very convenient to come and go. It was also well-lit and usually clean. Aunt Bai had previously discussed with Xingbao's parents the idea of ​​having her older brother set up a school at her house, specifically to use this room as a classroom. Later, as Fugui became familiar with the village children, this room gradually became their secret gathering place. On rainy days, or when they had things they didn't want the adults to know, the children would gather here to discuss and play.

Children, by nature, often think that other people's food tastes better than their own. The group sat together, each holding a bowl of Laba porridge they had brought from home, chattering and complaining as they ate. Gui Xiang took a bite of a peanut from her porridge, frowned, and complained softly, "Our porridge is fragrant, but the peanuts and lotus seeds are a bit hard, and the lotus seeds still have the bitter core left over." Fu Gui immediately chimed in, pouting, "Bitter is nothing! My porridge is even worse! My mom put in so much sugar, it's sickeningly sweet, I can barely swallow it." The brothers Xue Wen and Xi Wu nodded in agreement, frowning as they complained, "Our porridge is even worse! My mom put in so many herbs, it tastes like medicine, it's impossible to swallow." The siblings Xiao Hu and Xiao Hua were even more aggrieved, lowering their heads and whispering, "We didn't even have all eight ingredients, just some rice and sweet potatoes, it's so bland."

Despite their complaints, the children couldn't resist sharing their porridge. They scooped a spoonful from each other and ate with great relish. Xingbao was no exception; Guixiang pulled him to try Fugui's sweet porridge and then sampled Xuewen's medicinal porridge, a faint smile appearing on his face. After the meal, Fugui's bowl was the first to be empty—though he disliked the sweetness of his own porridge, he couldn't resist eating it so heartily. Xingbao and Guixiang's bowls were naturally the last to be empty, as most children dislike bitter tastes, and the bitterness of lotus seeds deterred many of their friends. Only Xingbao, along with Guixiang, slowly finished their porridge.

When Guixiang and Xingbao returned from Fugui's house, chatting and laughing, it was almost noon. As soon as they entered the shop, they saw Qianjin sitting at the counter, a bowl of Laba porridge in his hand. He was sipping it slowly while quietly discussing the latest battle situation with his father, eldest brother, second brother, and Dashan. Their expressions were all very serious, and a heavy atmosphere filled the air. Xingbao and Guixiang quickly stopped laughing and quietly moved closer. Just then, Qianjin's voice turned somber, filled with grief and indignation: "Have you heard? The Japanese took Jinan with little effort, and the Yellow River defense line has fallen. Our soldiers are fighting so hard, but the higher-ups..."

Before he could finish speaking, his father's already troubled face instantly lost all its gentleness, replaced by an almost ferocious ferocity—his brows furrowed into a tight knot, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes twisted with extreme anger, his hands clenched tightly, his knuckles turned white, and even the gaps between his fingers seemed to seep into his skin. Then, with a loud "bang," he slammed his hand hard on the counter, making the bowls and chopsticks on the counter clatter, and the porridge on the rim of the bowls even splashed slightly. He abruptly stood up, his back ramrod straight, like a bowstring about to snap. A surge of rage, mixed with long-suppressed murderous intent, erupted from his throat, his voice hoarse as if sanded, each word dripping with furious rage: "How dare they! Even with the nation destroyed, families ruined, and lives lost, they're still scheming against each other, eliminating dissidents, only concerned with preserving their own power. What do they care about the country and its people! If only the general were still here…"