Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

The encoffining ceremony was solemn and heavy. Everyone, filled with grief, carefully arranged their uncle's belongings, neatly placing each piece of clothing. Xingbao and his three siblings stood to the side, their eyes red-rimmed, silently placing the unfinished copy of *Journey to the West* into the coffin, to be buried with their uncle's clothes. This book had been their uncle's most cherished possession; it was he who had encouraged their eldest brother to copy it. However, their uncle resolutely joined the army, and their eldest brother, worried about disrupting his studies, ultimately failed to complete the copy. Now, things had changed, and this unfinished manuscript became the four siblings' final memento of their uncle, allowing it to accompany him in the afterlife, comforting their unfinished longing.

Night had fallen, but the mourning tent remained brightly lit, with many villagers staying behind to keep vigil. Gui Xiang, still young, was overwhelmed by days of grief and sleepless nights; her eyelids drooped heavily. Only after being repeatedly comforted by relatives and friends did her mother manage to suppress her grief, carrying young Wei Bao, and taking Gui Xiang and Xing Bao home to rest. Only her father, eldest brother, and second brother remained in the mourning tent to keep vigil and spend the last night with her uncle.

The funeral was held the next day. Just as dawn was breaking, both families had an early meal, quickly ate their fill, and then began preparing for the procession. The graves of the maternal grandfather's family and Uncle Youcai's family were not in the same direction, and since the younger uncle was a captain and company commander, his rank was slightly higher. According to local custom, the funeral procession would break the basin and carry the coffin first, sending the younger uncle off on his final journey.

The funeral procession was solemn and dignified. As the dutiful son, Brother Dashan was the first to smash the mourning basin. The crisp sound of it breaking shattered the silence of the mountain village, signaling the official start of the funeral. Xingbao and his three siblings, wearing long white mourning headbands, followed behind Brother Dashan, kneeling every three steps as they went, paying their respects to their uncle. The villagers had already cleared the snow from the old street, but the road was still slippery. After several kneelings, everyone's trouser legs were still damp, the chill creeping up their legs, but no one cared, their hearts filled with reluctance and grief.

Mother, aunt, and Sister Shanshan, along with other female relatives, clung tightly to the cold coffin, weeping loudly all the way. Their mournful cries, mingling with the sound of the wind and snow, drifted into the distance, each one carrying the weight of their deep sorrow and reluctance to part with their loved ones. The village's young men vied to carry the coffin, their expressions solemn and dignified. They strained with all their might, steadily supporting the coffin as they moved forward, not daring to slacken for fear of disturbing the hero's final journey. Father, carrying a gun, walked at the head of the procession, his gaze steady, silently ensuring everyone's safety and protecting his uncle on his final journey. Along the way, villagers set up altars and offered tea and incense, standing silently in the swirling snow to bid farewell. No one made a sound, only solemn respect and deep sorrow; the scene was grand and solemn, fully demonstrating the villagers' respect and remembrance of the heroes.

Only after the funeral procession left the village did the elders of the clan allow the kneeling ceremony to end, and the procession quickened its pace slightly. The Liu family's burial mound was on the other side of the reservoir, requiring a crossing of a mountain, which was not a short distance. Fortunately, the able-bodied men of the village worked together, taking turns carrying the coffin with steady steps; the Liu family members on the other side of the mountain had also sent able-bodied men to meet them early on, and the two groups worked together to escort the coffin to the burial mound.

The burial ceremony was solemn and respectful. Everyone carefully placed the coffin and filled it with soil, comforting the spirit of the deceased uncle in heaven. When everything was settled and everyone returned home, it was already afternoon. The cold wind had not yet subsided, but the respect for the martyrs and the sorrow for the loved ones were deeply imprinted in the hearts of everyone present.

In the days that followed, memorial certificates for soldiers from the front lines continued to arrive in the village, each piece of tragic news weighing heavily on the hearts of the entire village. During these farewells to the fallen heroes, Xingbao noticed a subtle detail: most of those receiving memorial certificates were from the Central Army, including many who had fallen on the Shanghai battlefield the previous year. However, their memorial certificates and compensation payments were delayed, far slower than those from the 36th Division, and the amounts were significantly lower. Only the 36th Division, where his uncle served, received its memorial certificates promptly, and its compensation payments were exceptionally generous. This special treatment deepened the villagers' respect for this heroic division.

Grandma, however, was still unable to escape her grief, spending her days immersed in longing for her younger brother. She would often take out the memorial banner, gently tracing the words with her fingertips, silently weeping, oblivious to the tears soaking her clothes. Xingbao and Guixiang saw this and felt deeply for her. They visited Grandma more often, wanting only to spend more time with her and ease her pain. During their time together, Grandma would often chatter on about her brother's childhood, her eyes filled with tenderness, but as she finished speaking, she would always fall into endless silence and tears.

As time went on, Xingbao gradually understood that since the start of the war, upon learning that his uncle had gone to the battlefield, his grandparents had already prepared for the worst, but they always held onto a sliver of hope that their son would return safely. Perhaps this was also a drawback of the timely issuance of the death certificate—when life and death were uncertain, at least there was still a glimmer of hope and a sense of connection; but when the death certificate was truly received, that last hope was completely shattered, and the heart was empty, leaving only endless longing and grief.

This year, the cabbages produced at the breeding base are growing very well, and Uncle Xiong bought them all for two cents each. Even the cabbage stalks that grew later, except for the portion reserved for seeds, were all pre-ordered by him. Uncle Xiong travels to and from the mine every day, and his carriage stops in front of the bamboo house, so he can easily pick up the cabbages and cabbage stalks along the way. The children at the base don't need to worry about transporting them, saving them a lot of trouble.

The cabbages planted by every household in the village, though slightly smaller than those from the breeding base, tasted almost identical and sold for a good price of over one millet per head. However, without Captain Li's help, the villagers were cheated out of a lot of money when selling their vegetables by unscrupulous vendors, and even had several disputes with other farmers. It's common for new varieties to take over the market from older ones, but fortunately, the villagers worked together and looked out for each other, so they didn't suffer too much loss. Overall, everyone made a considerable amount of money, and the gloom that had hung over them by the bad news for days finally eased somewhat.

But this rare moment of relief didn't last long. A piece of news suddenly spread through the village, like a bolt from the blue, instantly suffocating everyone—Wang Jingwei had openly surrendered. This close friend of the Father of the Nation, former Chairman of the National Government, and now holding multiple positions including Vice Chairman of the Supreme National Defense Council, Vice President of the Kuomintang, and Speaker of the National Political Council, wielding power second only to the Chairman of the National Assembly—was a veritable number two figure in the party and government, yet he had openly betrayed his country and surrendered to the enemy. Coupled with the previous loss of territory, the shadow of national subjugation instantly loomed over everyone's hearts; the future seemed bleak, devoid of any hope. The villagers seemed to have lost all their vitality overnight; their former laughter and joy vanished, replaced by silence and numbness. The entire village was shrouded in a heavy cloud, oppressively suffocating.