Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

Ever since Xingbao made a mud truck model for Guixiang and told everyone that trucks would soon pass through the village, there have been many more people around the bamboo house. During the day, the village children always gather here to play, chattering and discussing around Guixiang's mud model, and occasionally running to the roadside to look around; several uncles also often sit on the benches at the entrance of the bamboo house and chat idly. However, since the beginning of autumn, not a drop of rain has fallen, and the scorching sun hangs high every day. The sweet potatoes and potatoes in the fields are starting to wilt, and everyone's faces are etched with worry. When they chat, they always sigh about the drought and long for a heavy rain.

Brother Qianjin had been visiting more frequently lately. He had already heard about the reward the Song family received for making the rice transplanter and had even made a special trip to the shop to congratulate them, his words full of praise. Learning that the people outside the bamboo house were waiting to see the trucks pass by, he secretly tipped Xingbao off: "Several new trucks will be returning to our county in a few days, loaded with quite a few bicycles. I heard they're specially approved supplies from the province! The district and township will also get a few, so when I go to the countryside to deliver messages, I won't have to walk anymore, saving a lot of effort."

As for what a bicycle was, most people in the village had never heard of it or seen it. Apart from Xingbao, only Guixiang had heard a few words about it from Yang Changfa and his brother, knowing that it was a two-wheeled vehicle that could move on its own without being pulled by animals. With Qianjin's words, everyone's anticipation for the new vehicle grew even stronger, and more and more people gathered in front of the bamboo house. Even the elderly who didn't like to go out would come to sit at the door with their canes, hoping to see what the truck and bicycle looked like soon.

Days passed, and the drought in the village showed no signs of abating. However, there was also some good news—Shanshan's sixteenth birthday was on the 26th of this month. This year was a leap month with a leap July, and the Zhang family had already set the wedding date for the 8th of August. During this time, the matchmaker hired by the Zhang family came exceptionally frequently, discussing various wedding arrangements. Mother also often went to Shanshan's house to help out. Both families were so busy that they had no time to attend to the trivial matters of waiting for the wedding procession at the bamboo house.

That afternoon, Xingbao was sitting at his desk in the main room, reciting his lessons from memory. His pen scratched across the paper, his mind completely absorbed in the book. Suddenly, a series of urgent shouts shattered the tranquility of the countryside: "The cars are here! The cars are here! So many cars!"

The shout had barely faded when the sound of clattering dishes came from the kitchen. The second brother, still washing his bowl, threw down the rag and rushed out of the kitchen, hurrying towards the village entrance. Gui Xiang, who was sitting in the passageway fanning Wei Bao in the cradle, immediately stopped when she heard the shout, forgetting even to take her fan, and ran out as well. The eldest brother, holding a rag, was wiping the counter of the kitchen when he heard the commotion. He stopped in his tracks, not moving immediately, but turning to look at his father, waiting for him to make a decision.

Father was sitting to one side writing something when he heard the noise outside. He looked at his eldest brother and the others in the room, put down his pen, and said with a smile, "The car is at the door. Everyone, go and take a look. It'll be good to see something new." After saying that, he got up and straightened his clothes. Mother quickly picked up little Wei Bao, who was sleeping soundly in the cradle, and followed gently behind Father.

Xingbao didn't want to go looking; these vehicles weren't unusual to him. But seeing his whole family heading out, he felt out of place if he stayed inside. Reluctantly, he put down his pen, tidied up his books and paper, and quickly followed his older brother to the bamboo house. They looked towards the village entrance, following everyone's gaze.

Looking into the distance, the dirt road at the village entrance was lined with green pickup trucks. In no time, the lead truck had passed the threshing ground. Its large, heavy body and rolling wheels created a soft yet deafening roar as they churned over the uneven dirt road, a sound clearly audible even from afar. The truck was covered in dust and mud, looking somewhat worn, but details like the seams and tire treads revealed it to be a brand-new vehicle. Three men sat in the cab; the one on the right gripped a gun tightly, his expression cold and stern, exuding an unapproachable air of authority.

The oncoming steel behemoth froze the villagers in place, leaving them speechless with astonishment. Their mouths were agape, wide enough to fit an egg, and they instinctively held their breath. The truck wasn't traveling particularly fast, but its unprecedented sheer size and imposing presence still exerted a powerful sense of oppression on everyone. Those standing on the roadside couldn't help but shrink back, barely daring to breathe.

As trucks slowly drove past, the contents of their cargo compartments gradually became clear. A small portion of the compartment was stacked with round oil drums, while the majority of the remaining space was filled with bicycles and some heavy, square wooden crates, their contents unknown. Two armed men leaned against the side of the truck, eyes closed, seemingly resting, their expressions wary, their presence intimidating.

Ten trucks drove past the crowd in quick succession. Only when the last truck completely disappeared around the bend ahead and the dust it kicked up gradually settled did the villagers slowly come to their senses. Instantly, a commotion erupted, with exclamations and discussions rising and falling, breaking the tranquility of the countryside.

The villagers working on the opposite mountain, upon seeing this, immediately grabbed their hoes and rushed downhill, shouting, "Look! Big trucks! So many of them!" A bricklayer repairing a house nearby was so startled he almost dropped his trowel. He quickly scrambled down, not even bothering to brush off the dust, and squeezed into the crowd, exclaiming at the top of his lungs, "My God! I've never seen such huge trucks in my life, they're like small mountains! It's so amazing!" An elderly man with gray hair, leaning on his cane, pointed shakily in the direction the trucks had disappeared, shaking his head repeatedly, his voice full of wonder: "I've lived most of my life, and this is the first time I've seen these iron behemoths. They can run without animals pulling them, it's truly incredible!"

Gui Xiang squeezed to the front of the crowd, her small body straining forward, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared intently in the direction the trucks had passed. Her little face was flushed red with excitement and amazement as she kept exclaiming, "Xing Bao, look! They're all big green trucks, and there are people with guns in the truck beds! It's so impressive and powerful! A hundred times, a thousand times more spectacular than the clay model you made for me!"

Xingbao smiled and nodded, but his gaze passed over the noisy crowd and landed on the neatly stacked oil drums in the carriage. His thoughts began to churn. He suddenly remembered the last large-scale battle on the main battlefield during the War of Resistance against Japan—the Battle of Xuefeng Mountain, also known as the Battle of Zhijiang.