Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

On the morning of the day after the Beginning of Summer, just as dawn was breaking, a thin mist enveloped the entire mountain village. The air was crisp and cool, the perfect time to bid farewell to those embarking on long journeys. Second Brother officially set off for the county town, carrying only a simple coarse cloth bag on his shoulder, containing a few changes of clothes—clean, simple, and nothing else. Father, concerned for his arduous journey, offered to carry another small bag of food for him, filled with the family's concerns: a few fresh fruits specially selected by Xingbao, several bottles of spring water steeped in herbs, and rice cakes that Mother had hastily prepared overnight—an indispensable food in Hunan during the Beginning of Summer, soft, sticky, and incredibly filling, enough to sustain him throughout his journey. The obedient Black Charcoal was left at home, to facilitate sending Xingbao and Guixiang to study medicine.

Just before leaving, Xingbao and Guixiang exchanged a glance, then without hesitation pulled out all their savings—a few warm copper coins—and stuffed them into their second brother's hand. The family was already struggling financially. Last year, Uncle Xiong had bought all the cabbages and cabbage sprouts harvested from the farm, and the money went directly to their father, who then distributed it to the adults in each household, completely cutting off the siblings' usual meager income. These few coins were hard-earned; they were New Year's money that their kind-hearted mother had deliberately kept from taking back, which the siblings had carefully saved up until now, untouched. Giving them all to their departing second brother was the most heartfelt token of their affection.

A morning breeze swept through the courtyard, carrying a heavy atmosphere of farewell. Mother, holding Wei Bao, stood at the gate with Xing Bao and Gui Xiang, waving goodbye to the receding figures of the father and sons, her eyes filled with worry and reluctance. The second brother followed behind Father, his steps slow and heavy, turning back every few steps, his red eyes brimming with tears, repeatedly raising his hand to wave back to his family. The mountain countryside was silent in the early morning, only the lingering emotions of parting remained. In this chaotic world, the future was unknown; this journey was long and arduous, the return uncertain. No one knew how many years would pass before the family could be reunited.

Time flies, years pass swiftly, the mountains experience alternating seasons, morning mist rises and falls, and two years have passed in the blink of an eye, silently advancing to 1941. These two years seem peaceful and uneventful in the mountain village, with steady cultivation at the breeding base, orderly neighborhood life, and the children growing and transforming. However, on the land, turbulent changes and upheavals have already occurred, with one earth-shattering event after another erupting, completely shaking the landscape of the entire land of China and profoundly affecting the ordinary families in the mountains.

Among them, the most chilling and deeply shocking to the people was the devastating Changsha fire of November 13, 1938, which shocked the world. Prior to this, the front lines were embroiled in fierce fighting, with the constant roar of gunfire. Everyone knew the pain of lost territory and the tragedy of death on the battlefield, and had long been accustomed to the turmoil and cruelty of a chaotic world. Yet, when the full truth of the Changsha fire was gradually revealed and spread throughout the countryside, it still dealt a heavy blow to the entire nation, shattering everyone's last line of psychological defense.

What the world finds hard to accept is that, at that time, the front lines, over a hundred kilometers away, remained secure and fortified, with soldiers still fighting valiantly to defend their homeland, preventing the enemy from taking a single step. Yet Changsha, the provincial capital and heart of Hunan province, a city steeped in a thousand years of cultural heritage, untouched by war and unconquered by enemy forces, was reduced to scorched earth and inferno overnight. Raging flames burned throughout the night, engulfing the ancient city's pavilions, towers, old streets, and houses, destroying generations of accumulated cultural heritage and the warmth of countless homes. Countless ordinary people perished in the inferno before they could escape; tens of thousands of innocent lives were lost in an instant, countless vibrant lives and happy families reduced to nothing.

What infuriates and grieves the people even more is that this catastrophe, which destroyed the ancient city and slaughtered countless people, originated from a single, one-sided order to "scorch the earth." In the name of strategic retreat, without warning or guidance, the city hastily set fires, disregarding the people's livelihood, sacrificing the lives of tens of thousands of civilians and the foundation of a thousand-year-old city for a ridiculous act of self-preservation. And in the aftermath, this devastating disaster, which brought ruin to the region and committed heinous crimes, was ultimately resolved by hastily sending a few lower-ranking officers to take the blame. A mere handful of people were used to offset the loss of countless innocent souls and the devastation of a thousand-year-old cultural heritage, resulting in a sloppy and insignificant end to the tragedy.

The news spread far and wide, and everyone, from villagers to commoners, was filled with sorrow, incomprehension, and unbearable grief. To die on the battlefield is to defend one's country, a noble act of selflessness and sacrifice, tragic yet heroic. But this senseless demise, to be consumed by fire, the disaster originating from one's own side, the blame placed on absurdity, the deaths of countless innocent people, the inexplicable destruction of the ancient city's foundations—such an ending chills the heart and pierces the soul. This great fire consumed the ancient city's life and chilled the hearts of countless Chinese people, making those living in turbulent times acutely aware of the helplessness and desolation of a nation adrift in chaos.

Fortunately, despite the hardships of the chaotic times, China never yielded. In September 1939, the long-awaited First Battle of Changsha broke out. The Japanese invaders amassed a large force, attempting to crush the barrier of northern Hunan in one fell swoop and advance deep into the heart of central and southern China. Their military might was fierce and their advance was overwhelming, causing the entire nation to worry. Smoke and fire rose across northern Hunan. Soldiers of the three armies held their ground and fought to the death, relying on the terrain to deploy defenses layer by layer and resist step by step. Facing the Japanese artillery fire and fierce attacks, they refused to yield an inch of ground and vowed never to retreat. Countless soldiers sacrificed themselves, building an unbreakable defensive line with their flesh and blood, stubbornly blocking the fierce advance of the Japanese invaders and shattering the enemy's ambition for a quick victory and occupation of Hunan and Hubei.

This was the first major victory for the Hunan region since the devastating Changsha fire, a truly inspiring triumph amidst years of defeat and chaos. The humiliation of the burned city, the grief of a shattered land, and the suffering of displaced people all transformed into the soldiers' unwavering resolve to fight to the death. This victory secured the heart of Changsha, preserved the stability of the south-central region, and, more importantly, revived the nation's fragile spirit and hope. News spread through the mountains and villages, bringing a renewed sense of optimism to the long-suppressed communities. Every household, upon hearing the news, was deeply moved. The world finally saw that even in this land scarred by hardship, people were willing to sacrifice their lives to protect the nation's peace, carving out a glimmer of hope and light in the darkness of chaos.

On March 30, 1940, a piece of news that shocked the entire nation broke through layers of blockade and spread throughout the countryside: Wang Jingwei had formally established a puppet National Government in Nanjing, forming a central government entirely supported and controlled by Japanese forces. Former revolutionary comrades openly betrayed their country, surrendered to the enemy, and became tools for the Japanese invaders to control China and exploit the people. This act made the already precarious and fragmented nation's fate even more difficult, and the entire country was filled with indignation, condemnation, and despair.

Along with this treasonous news, a widely circulated, albeit dubious, tale of Lushan also spread through the streets and alleys. Rumors circulated in rural areas and cities that Chiang Kai-shek and Wang Jingwei had secretly met in Lushan years ago, where they agreed on a division of labor and responsibilities: one would remain in charge of the orthodox forces, advocating for war and resistance against the enemy, while the other would remain hidden, feigning allegiance to the enemy, and maneuvering to rescue people in the occupied territories. Working together, one openly and one covertly, they would jointly protect the nation's survival.

This rumor, detailed and detailed, spread rapidly among the people, blurring the lines between truth and falsehood. The common people, living in the countryside with limited access to information, had no way of verifying the secrets of the court. Witnessing the chaotic confrontation between the government and the people, and hearing all sorts of rumors, they couldn't distinguish between loyalty and treachery, truth and falsehood. They only felt that the chaotic world was a murky and unpredictable game, that people's hearts were treacherous and unpredictable, and that the future was shrouded in mist. Strangely enough, this mixture of truth and falsehood temporarily stabilized the wavering public sentiment. Ordinary people refused to believe that their former revolutionary comrades had truly betrayed the country; they preferred to believe it was a calculated move by the nation, a testament to their long-term commitment and the hope that the nation was not truly lost and that things would eventually turn around. In the midst of this somber and chaotic world, they managed to hold onto a fragile belief and a sense of security.