Courtyard House: Rebirth of a Shopkeeper in 1937

Several teenagers, drenched in sweat, rushed into the crowd, their clothes billowing in the wind. When they reached Wang Jiazhang, they were panting heavily, hands on their knees, and reported haltingly, "Old Wang... there really is an army coming from the west of the village! Judging by their size... there must be nearly a thousand! My grandfather specifically ordered us to come and deliver the message!"

Wang Jiazhang's face instantly darkened, his hands unconsciously clenching the hem of his clothes. He took a half-step forward and supported a child's shoulder, his voice filled with barely concealed tension: "Did they... enter the village to rob or loot? Or disturb the neighbors?"

"No, not at all!" An older child wiped the sweat from his brow, thought carefully for a moment, and answered confidently, "They only walked along the road, without entering any houses or touching any crops in the fields!"

"That's good, that's good..." Wang Jiachang's tense shoulders finally relaxed slightly, and he let out a long sigh of relief, muttering to himself, "Judging from this situation, it should be a team passing through our village." As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly raised his head and shouted to the villagers who were still gathered around, "Everyone, hurry back to your houses! If you have water or cooked food at home, and it's readily available, put it out at the door! Judging from the appearance of this team, they must be soldiers heading to the front lines to fight against the Japanese army. Although we cannot go to the front lines to fight, we should still let the soldiers have some hot water and a full meal!" After saying that, he did not linger any longer, turned around and hurried towards his own home to prepare the support supplies.

The crowd dispersed instantly, and the sounds of footsteps, doors opening, and clattering utensils filled the village, creating a cacophony of busy activity. Xingbao's father carried two long benches out of the courtyard, placed them steadily at the doorway, then returned inside to fetch a door panel, laying it on the benches to create a makeshift shelf for supplies. His two older brothers carefully lifted a wooden bucket full of tea and placed it beside the door panel. Xingbao and Guixiang each carried a stack of rough porcelain bowls, standing on tiptoe to neatly arrange them beside the bucket. Xingbao's mother hurriedly went into the kitchen, took ten eggs from an earthenware pot, and started a fire to boil them—it was clearly too late to prepare any other food. Xingbao gazed at the tea in the bucket, hesitated for a moment, then quietly added two drops of spiritual spring water, gently stirred it, and silently retreated to the side.

The family stood quietly at the door, their eyes all gazing westward into the village, filled with anticipation and concern. Other families in the village, whose means were slightly better off, also gradually brought out what they could to place at their doorsteps: cold tea in rough porcelain bowls, steamed sweet potatoes in bamboo baskets, and boiled eggs wrapped in cloth. Though these were all ordinary household items, they were arranged neatly, demonstrating the heartfelt sentiments of the neighbors.

Just as Xingbao's mother placed the still-warm boiled eggs on the door, a column of soldiers appeared around the bend in the distance. At first, there were only a few scattered soldiers in worn gray uniforms, but then a long column of soldiers steadily advanced—all wearing neat leggings, carrying the same type of rifle as Xingbao's father, their uniforms fluttering slightly in the wind. As the column drew closer, the soldiers' exhaustion became apparent: their shirts were soaked with sweat, and white salt stains were visible on the collars and cuffs; many had chapped, white lips, clearly from a long, forced march.

As the procession moved, soldiers would occasionally step out of formation and take the food and water that the villagers had placed at their doorsteps, but no one took more than their share, nor did anyone make a sound, demonstrating strict discipline. When they reached Xingbao's house, the eldest brother handed two bowls of warm tea to the soldier, while the second brother gently placed two boiled eggs into the soldier's hand. Xingbao's father stood by a wooden bucket, occasionally lifting it to refill the empty bowls with tea. Xingbao's mother, with Xingbao and Guixiang in her arms, stood quietly watching, her eyes full of respect.

Not a single extra word was spoken in the entire village, only the rustling of leaves in the wind and the soldiers' quiet "thank you" as they received their food. The villagers stood at their doorsteps, silently watching and bidding farewell to the weary yet determined team as they gradually disappeared at the crossroads to the east of the village.

After the exhausted troops completely disappeared at the east entrance of the village and the dust gradually settled, the eldest brother withdrew his gaze, looked at his father who was still gazing into the distance, and said softly, "Dad, when I was handing water to the soldiers just now, I heard their accents were almost the same as ours. They must be from our county."

The father nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the direction the column had gone, his voice low and heavy: "Yes, there is indeed a regiment stationed in the county. But..." He paused, not continuing, but his brows furrowed slightly, clearly indicating an unspeakable heaviness in his heart.

The second brother scratched his head in disappointment, looking at the empty road, and couldn't help but ask, "Dad, why haven't we seen any machine guns or artillery from beginning to end? I heard you say before that the troops would carry these heavy weapons when they went to war, and that with them, they would be more powerful in fighting the Japanese army."

The father then looked away, down at his children, and said with a hint of helplessness, "Judging from their condition, perhaps the orders were received too hastily, and they didn't have time to carry their heavy weapons; they're still with the rear guard. Didn't you see that the soldiers carried almost no other supplies besides their rifles? At this pace, it's undoubtedly a forced march. To be able to sustain a forced march for two days with rifles is already quite remarkable." He sighed softly, patted his second brother's shoulder, and said, "Don't be disappointed. They're carrying not only guns, but also their determination to defend their country. That's enough."

Xingbao's mother stood aside, silently tidying up the remaining empty bowls on the door panel. Hearing this, she added, "It's a comfort to the soldiers that they can pass through our village safely, have a drink of hot water and a hot egg. There's only so much we can do, but we just hope that they can reach the front lines safely and annihilate as many Japanese troops as possible."

Hearing his parents' words, Xingbao felt even more distressed. His fingertips unconsciously rubbed the hem of his clothes, his mind replaying the image of the spiritual spring water that had dripped into the teapot—its faint power might have slightly alleviated the soldiers' fatigue, but in the face of brutal war, this help seemed so insignificant. Even so, he still felt it was worthwhile; at least he had done something for these people protecting their country. Guixiang, seemingly understanding but not quite, tugged at her mother's sleeve and whispered, "Mother, will those uncles come back?"

The mother knelt down and gently rubbed Guixiang's head: "Yes, they will come back after they drive the Japanese away."

"Third Aunt, cook plenty of sweet potatoes every day these days. This road is a vital route to Guizhou, and who knows how many more troops will pass through here!" Father suddenly spoke, his voice strained with suppressed emotion, like a volcano churning beneath a calm lake, his emotions unable to find a proper outlet. Mother looked up at Father's tense profile—his jawline was taut, his eyes filled with melancholy, but she didn't press for the reason, simply nodding emphatically: "Understood. Apart from the large bag of sweet potatoes Xingbao specially brought out for emergencies, I'll cook a pot of the rest every day; if we don't finish them that day, we'll cut them into strips and dry them into sweet potato chips to store as provisions for the soldiers passing through later."

The brothers silently carried empty bowls and wooden spoons into the shop. The clinking of the bowls against each other sounded particularly jarring in the solemn atmosphere, like a fine needle pricking each person's heart. Xingbao walked at the back, his gaze fixed on the crossroads at the east of the village. The gray-clad troops had long since disappeared, but his heart felt like it was being gripped tightly by something, a heavy, aching pain. Suddenly, words he had read in a book in his past life surged into his mind—"Eighty or ninety thousand Hunan soldiers, all wiped out in this battle." Tears streamed down his face without warning, splashing onto his dusty trousers and leaving a small, damp patch. He bit his lower lip hard, refusing to let a sob escape his throat, feeling a tightness in his chest. Those vibrant figures of soldiers had now become cold, lifeless numbers, a burden he could hardly bear.

At this moment, Wang Jiazhang led a group of villagers slowly over, each person walking very lightly, as if afraid to disturb the solemnity of the occasion. Everyone's eyes followed the receding column, even those villagers who usually toiled tirelessly repairing roads, putting down their hoes and shovels to stand by the roadside and silently watch them go. Their eyes were filled with respect and reluctance, and a hint of unspeakable worry—no one knew if these soldiers heading to the front lines would return alive.

"Old Wang, what did the officer say to you just now?" A villager in a coarse cloth jacket approached Wang Jiazhang, his voice low and tentative. He was still holding a half-eaten sweet potato in his hand, but he had no appetite at all and was just unconsciously pinching the skin.

Chief Wang didn't turn around immediately, his gaze remaining fixed on the distant crossroads until the gray column had completely shrunk into a blurry dot before he slowly spoke: "They received notice yesterday morning that they needed to rush to Changsha for an emergency assembly. The heavy weapons are all in the following column. The order from the county government to 'provide supplies along the way' is probably still in transit and hasn't reached our village yet. The officer just now specifically thanked me, saying that thanks to the hot water and hot eggs provided by our village, the brothers were able to rest briefly during the march and relieve their fatigue."

"Old Wang, so... this is just the beginning? Who knows how many more teams will pass through here?" Another villager couldn't help but ask, his voice full of worry. He had a sixteen-year-old son who had been talking to him about wanting to join the army just a few days ago, and now, thinking about the dangers on the battlefield, he couldn't help but feel panicked.

Wang Jiazhang sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. The wrinkles on his face seemed to deepen, revealing his weathered appearance. Looking at the villagers present, his voice held a more earnest tone: "These young men may be mischievous in the county at times, and sometimes even take things from the villagers for free. But at this critical juncture for the nation, they haven't lost the 'toughness' of us Hunanese—knowing the dangers of the front lines, they still rush to the battlefield without hesitation!" He paused, his gaze sweeping over the villagers, and continued: "Those of you who are better off should prepare more food and water these next few days. Although we can't fight on the front lines, we can always provide passing soldiers with hot water and a hot meal. Perhaps one day, one of our village's young men on the front lines will also encounter such kind people willing to lend a helping hand."

Hearing this, the villagers remained silent, nodding in agreement and deep emotion. This brief encounter subtly changed their preconceived notions about the army—the old rumors of them "ruling the countryside" vanished in the face of the soldiers' exhaustion and perseverance, leaving only respect for those who defended their country.