Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

The history I had learned in my previous life flashed clearly in my mind: Zhijiang Airport was the core hub of the Sino-American joint air force in Southwest China at that time. Fighter planes could take off from here and fly directly to Central China, South China and even the East China Sea, constantly bombing Japanese transportation lines and military strongholds, which had long been a major concern for the Japanese army. The Japanese army launched the Xuefeng Mountain Campaign in order to destroy this airport, and the fact that this dirt road could be built and opened to traffic in a short period of time was largely due to the construction and preparation of Zhijiang Airport.

The Xuefeng Mountains are steep and rugged, with high peaks and deep valleys, and cliffs everywhere. It would be no easy task to completely open up this transportation route! Xingbao looked at the dirt road that the convoy had driven on, and he seemed to see the figures of countless migrant workers in his mind: they worked under the scorching sun and in the sweltering heat, digging through the rocks with hoes and carrying away the soil on their shoulders, working day and night to rush the work and finally building this road before the completion of Zhijiang Airport.

Those green pickup trucks speeding by, along with their neatly stacked oil drums, bicycles, and square wooden crates, were clearly there to support the construction of Zhijiang Airport and ensure logistical support for the upcoming campaign. The gasoline in the drums was vital for the takeoff of fighter jets and the transport of supplies by vehicles. The lightweight and agile bicycles were perfect for the rugged mountain roads of western Hunan, and were likely intended for communications soldiers delivering messages and military intelligence to villages and towns, enabling them to quickly establish communication links and ensure timely delivery of military orders.

Watching the convoy gradually disappear into the distance, the dust it kicked up slowly dissipating in the wind, Xingbao's heart grew heavier, as if a huge rock was pressing on his chest. He realized that logistical support during the War of Resistance was far more urgent and difficult than any description he had read in books in his previous life. Every allocation of supplies, every road construction, was imbued with the blood, sweat, and perseverance of countless ordinary people. He suddenly remembered the safety rope he had made at home, and silently prayed that the soldiers and laborers rushing to the front lines and traveling along the mountain roads could use this small convenience to ensure their safety and well-being.

The villagers remained gathered at the village entrance, their feet seemingly rooted to the spot, reluctant to leave. They kept replaying the scene they had just witnessed in their mouths, becoming more and more excited as they talked. Their noise carried far across the open space in the countryside, lingering for a long time.

Someone clenched their fists, their face flushed, and excitedly slapped their thigh, exclaiming, "My goodness! This truck is huge! It's two or three times bigger than the widest cart in our village! How much grain and goods will it carry on this trip!"

A group of people huddled together, craning their necks to look in the direction the truck had disappeared, speculating about the supplies inside: "Those round metal drums look like oil drums! And those two-wheeled vehicles, aren't they the bicycles Brother Qianjin mentioned? They look incredibly valuable; only county and township officials could afford them. We'd probably never even get our hands on one in our lifetime!"

There was also an elderly man with gray hair, leaning on a cane, shaking his head shakily, his voice full of awe: "Our country is truly capable! It can build such powerful iron machines that can run so fast without being pulled by animals. With these good things, we will definitely have more confidence in fighting the Japanese devils, and we ordinary people will have more hope. Life will eventually get better!"

Gui Xiang held Xing Bao's hand, her little body trembling slightly with excitement, her face beaming. She kept talking about the truck and the bicycle in the truck bed, asking again and again when she could see it again.

Xingbao snapped out of his reverie and forced a smile, saying, "Sister, these trucks will be running on this road from now on. I guarantee you'll get tired of seeing them." He reached out and ruffled Guixiang's hair, but his heart was heavy—he knew these trucks weren't made in his own country; they were supplies from foreign aid during the War of Resistance. But seeing the villagers' hopeful faces, he couldn't bear to reveal the truth. He could only suppress his feelings, secretly grateful that his family's high-yield rice varieties could provide the villagers with an extra food supply before the war. More importantly, the construction of Zhijiang Airport was a top-secret military operation; few people in the county knew about it yet. Even if he knew perfectly well, he couldn't reveal a single word, lest he cause trouble and bring disaster to his family and fellow villagers.

Unbeknownst to Xingbao, his small act had subtly influenced the course of the war. In the original timeline, the government, fearing the secret construction of Zhijiang Airport would be exposed, had never stockpiled any war supplies in Shaoyang beforehand. By the time the transport route was completed, the sea route was almost completely blocked by the Japanese. Even with the route completed, insufficient supplies could not be delivered in time, ultimately rendering it largely ineffective. But now, because he invented the rice transplanter, which could effectively increase grain production and ensure food supplies for both the military and civilians, the government, under the guise of a reward, legitimately supported Shaoyang by transporting these war supplies ahead of schedule. However, resources were extremely scarce during wartime. These supplies might have been sent to other, more urgent battlefields, destroyed during transport, or even fallen into enemy hands and exploited. This change could potentially sway the course of a battle!

The day after the convoy passed by, it set off again from Shaoyang for the provincial capital. As it drove past the village entrance, it left behind a lingering smell of herbs, which Xingbao could detect from afar. This became a regular occurrence, happening every few days, shuttling back and forth, kicking up dust. Occasionally, if they missed mealtimes, the convoy would stop at Song's shop for a quick bite. The drivers and their entourage would go in to rest, eat, and replenish their water and dry rations. Whenever this happened, Guixiang would use the excuse of watching the trucks to drag her friends along, ignoring the scorching midday sun, to surround the trucks, staring intently at them. They wouldn't dare touch them, but they thoroughly examined every detail. When the adults came to call the children home for lunch, even ignoring their scolding, the little ones wouldn't budge, unwilling to leave. The adults, helpless, could only stand aside and wait, taking in the novel steel behemoths while muttering, "What a wonderful thing!"

Over time, many more children in the village started playing with mud, all imitating Xingbao and making mud truck models, chasing each other and playing. As time went on, the villagers no longer found trucks strange, but instead became more wary, constantly watching their children, afraid that they might run into the middle of the road while playing and get hit by passing vehicles.

What's truly heartbreaking is that not a drop of rain falls, the sun blazes overhead every day, the rice seedlings in the fields droop listlessly, and the water in the ditches dwindles day by day until it finally dries up completely. The villagers argue and fight daily over the limited water resources, and the water disputes have become the new hot topic of conversation in the village. The former harmony has vanished, and complaints and arguments can be heard everywhere.