Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

The cold wind of December, like a knife, swept through the alleys and lanes of Beijing, stirring up the loose soil and withered leaves on the ground, stinging the face. On such a dry and cold afternoon, the heavy wooden door of No. 95 Nanluoguxiang was pushed open by a slightly trembling hand with large knuckles.

He Daqing stood at the door, like a stone statue weathered by wind and frost.

He wore a faded, old cotton-padded jacket, stained with oil and dust, patched at the shoulders and frayed at the cuffs. He carried a similarly worn and tattered bedding roll on his back, and in his hand, a net bag containing a chipped enamel mug and half a hard, dry cornbread. His face was unkempt, his eyes sunken, his cheekbones prominent; his once tall and robust frame was now severely hunched, as if something had ripped his spine away. His eyes were cloudy and unfocused, reflecting only an almost numb weariness and… a deep-seated, bone-deep anxiety.

He stood there, gazing at the familiar yet unfamiliar courtyard. The trace of white paper that had remained at the entrance of the Yi family's house in the middle courtyard was long gone. The courtyard was quiet, save for the howling of the cold wind passing through the moon gate. The main house, the east and west wing rooms, the rear house... the layout remained the same, yet it was as if viewed through frosted glass, indistinct and unclear.

How did he get back? He couldn't remember. He only remembered that in Baoding, the military control commission woke him up and informed him of the "result": Bai Yulan (the widow Bai) and her lover "died suddenly from an illness during an illegal transaction." Since he was unaware of this and had not formally married Bai Yulan, he would not be held liable. As for Bai Yulan's three half-grown sons, since their biological father's family still existed, they had been contacted to their grandfather's house and were being taken back to be raised.

When He Daqing heard the result, his mind went blank. There was no sadness, no anger, not even a numbness to humiliation. He simply shook his head instinctively, squeezing out a few words with his chapped lips: "The child... I don't care... mine is all mine..."

The comrade from the military control commission glanced at him, his eyes showing sympathy as well as a hint of barely perceptible contempt. He didn't say anything more, just had him sign a few words, and then let him leave.

He was penniless. He had been laid off from his job at the canteen of the Baoding Textile Factory because of a "serious family tragedy." His last meager wages barely allowed him to buy the cheapest train ticket and endure the bumpy journey back to Beijing. All that was left was this rolled-up bedding and a meager amount of luggage in a mesh bag.

Back in Beijing, he didn't dare go back to Nanluoguxiang immediately. He spent a night curled up on a bench at the train station, then wandered the streets like a lost soul for two days, eating a couple of bites of hard cornbread when hungry and drinking cold water from public taps when thirsty. Only when the last bit of warmth in his body was almost taken away by the cold wind did he instinctively move back to the place where he had lived for decades and then cruelly abandoned.

The moment he pushed open the courtyard gate, he even wished it was a dream, a dream in which he would wake up still in that house in Baoding filled with cheap perfume and false warmth, or even earlier, still in his home in Beijing, with Bingxin still there, Zhuzi still a baby, and Yushui yet to be born... But the biting cold wind and the stark reality before him ruthlessly shattered his illusions.

He returned. In the most wretched, most pathetic, and most shameful way.

Faint voices seemed to come from the backyard. He Daqing instinctively flinched, as if afraid of being seen. Head down, he dragged his heavy steps towards the main house he remembered. Reaching the moon gate connecting the middle and back courtyards, he couldn't help but glance towards the east wing—the small door was tightly closed and locked. The deaf old woman… the thought flashed through his mind, but was immediately overwhelmed by a stronger fear. He was barely able to protect himself; how could he care about others?

He walked to the door of the main room. The doors and windows were tightly closed, but the window paper was newly pasted and looked clean. There was no dust on the door either. Inside...it seemed like someone was there?

He Daqing's heart skipped a beat, a faint glimmer of hope rising within him, a hope he dared not even admit himself. The pillar? The rain? They…are still here? Didn't Yi Zhonghai say…

He reached out his trembling hand, wanting to knock, but froze in mid-air. What right did he have to knock? Did he deserve it?

Just then, from the moon gate behind them came a calm, serene voice, yet one that seemed to pierce the cold wind and reach the very depths of the heart:

"What are you doing standing at the door? Are you coming in or not?"

He Daqing trembled violently, as if struck by lightning, and turned around abruptly.

Beneath the moon gate, a young man in a dark gray cotton robe, tall and straight as a pine tree, quietly watched him. The man had a handsome face and deep, calm eyes, as if he could see through all illusions. His long hair was tied back with a simple wooden hairpin, and his temperament was otherworldly and detached from the dilapidated courtyard, yet strangely, he seemed to control everything here.

He Daqing's eyes widened, his mouth opened unconsciously, and he made a "hoarse" sound in his throat, but couldn't utter a single word. This face…this face! Although it was much more mature than he remembered, and its temperament was completely different, the contours of its eyebrows and eyes…

"Da...Da Min?!" He Daqing finally managed to squeeze out two trembling words from his dry throat, his voice cracking with disbelief, shock, and bewilderment. "You...you're still alive?! You...how are you here?!"

He Damin didn't answer his question. His gaze swept over the man's tattered clothes and disheveled face, his eyes showing no surprise, only understanding and...cold calm. It was as if he had already expected him to return like this.

"It seems the food in Baoding isn't very good," He Damin said calmly, his tone revealing neither joy nor anger.

He Daqing's face flushed red instantly, then turned deathly pale. Those words were like a red-hot iron, branding his most shameful wound. He lowered his head in panic, unable to look his brother in the eye. His bedding and net slipped from his hands and fell to the cold ground.

"I...I..." He wanted to explain, to cry out, to beg for mercy, but a thousand words stuck in his chest, ultimately turning into a deeper sense of shame and an uncontrollable trembling of his body. Under his brother's calm yet soul-piercing gaze, all his attempts to embellish and shirk responsibility seemed so pale and laughable.

He Damin stopped looking at him, turned around and pushed open the door to the main room: "Come in, it's cold outside."

Like a puppet on a string, He Daqing mechanically bent down to pick up the things on the ground and staggered after He Damin into the house.

The scene inside the room stunned him once again.

It was completely different from the dilapidated, dirty, cold, and empty place he had imagined (or rather, subconsciously hoped for). The house was clean and tidy, with bright windows and spotless furniture. Thick new quilts were laid on the kang (a heated brick bed), and there was half-finished tea and several clean enamel cups on the table. Neatly stacked coal briquettes were placed next to the stove, and there were even a few childlike drawings of raindrops pasted on the wall. The air was filled with the faint aroma of food and... the smell of home.

Zhu Zi and Xiao Yu Shui had tidied this place up...very well. No, it wasn't just tidied up; it exuded a sense of peaceful and orderly life that he had never experienced before he left. And all of this clearly had nothing to do with him, the father who had abandoned his family.

He Damin sat down on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and pointed to the stool opposite him. He Daqing shrank down and sat down, his hands awkwardly placed on his knees, still not daring to look up.

"The White Widow is dead." He Damin cut straight to the point, not as a question, but as a statement.

He Daqing's body trembled again, and he nodded with difficulty, his voice hoarse: "Um... with... with some random man, died... died at home... the military control commission said it was... it was because of having an affair, and he suddenly fell ill..."

"Where are her children?"

"She...she was sent to her grandfather's house," He Daqing said hastily, as if eager to distance himself. "I...I didn't marry her! She's not my child! I haven't even taken good care of my own..." He finished speaking in a low voice, his head bowed even lower.

He Damin watched him quietly. This older brother had once been a carefree yet responsible cook, loving his wife and caring for his younger brother. But after his sister-in-law's death, he seemed to have lost his backbone, sliding step by step into depravity. Ultimately, he was blinded by the insincerity of the widow Bai and the scheming of Yi Zhonghai, committing the foolish act of abandoning his own children to follow a prostitute. Now, he had lost both love and money, his reputation ruined, and he had returned like a stray dog. In his heart, besides fear and regret, there was probably only a cold indifference towards those "burdens."

It's pathetic, pitiful, but... more than that, it's hateful.

"You failed to raise your own children properly." He Damin's voice remained calm, yet every word struck He Daqing's heart like a hammer blow. "Zhuzi is sixteen this year and almost starved to death on the streets. Yushui is seven and almost turned into a skinny rod. He Daqing, is this how you act as a father?"

He Daqing abruptly raised his head, his eyes bloodshot and filled with pain, his lips trembling: "I...I don't know! Yi Zhonghai told me...he said he would take care of me...I...I was blinded by greed! I'm not human! Damin...I..." He finally broke down, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking violently, letting out suppressed, trapped sobs. The poison of regret had only now truly begun to corrode his internal organs.

He Damin neither comforted nor scolded him. He only waited until he had cried enough before slowly saying, "Zhuzi is now at Hongbinlou, learning a craft from Master Li Baoguo. Yushui is in first grade at Hongxing Elementary School."

He Daqing peeked through his fingers, tears welling in his eyes, and froze. Hongbinlou? Li Baoguo? Going to school? This… how could this be? Yi Zhong said that Zhu Zi had already been "dismissed" by Master Li, and Yu Shui was just a clueless little girl…

"I'm back." He Damin looked at him and gave the only explanation, "So, they're doing well now. And they will be doing well in the future."

He Daqing stared blankly at his younger brother, at his calm, expressionless face and his deep, unfathomable eyes. He suddenly understood; his brother hadn't just "returned." He had become... different. Powerful, mysterious, in control of everything. The changes in Zhu Zi and Xiao Yushui were undoubtedly because of him. And his own return, in such a sorry state, was probably no accident either.

A chill, even stronger than the cold wind outside, crept up his back.

"What do you want to do back here?" He Damin asked.

He Daqing opened his mouth, wanting to say, "This is my home," but the words lingered on his tongue, unable to escape his lips. This "home," the moment he abandoned his child, was no longer his. He wanted to say, "I want to see my child," but how could he bear to? He wanted to beg his younger brother to take him in, to give him food, a place to live…

In the end, he could only hang his head in despair, like a prisoner awaiting sentencing: "I...I don't know...I have nowhere to go...Damin, I...I know I'm a bastard, I'm not human...Could you...for the sake of our dead parents...for the sake of...for the sake of how I treated you before..."

He couldn't continue, only heavy breathing and desperate waiting remained.

He Damin remained silent for a moment. The wind outside seemed to have subsided somewhat. Looking at his elder brother, once so spirited but now as humble as dust, he felt neither much pleasure nor much sympathy. Instead, he felt only a cold scrutiny based on blood ties and responsibility.

"You can stay," He Damin finally spoke, "but from now on, I'm in charge here. You have no right to, nor the face to, take care of Zhuzi and Xiaoyushui. If you want to start anew, first clean yourself up. There's an empty west wing room in the backyard; go and prepare it for yourself. I'll provide you with food and supplies, but I don't support idlers. After spring, I bought a piece of land in the northwest suburbs to build a repair shop; you'll go work there, learning from scratch. If you can do it, you'll have food; if you can't, or if you have any more crooked ideas…"

He Damin didn't finish his sentence, but the coldness in his eyes sent a chill down He Daqing's spine. He nodded frantically, "I'll do it! I'll do anything! I'll definitely do it well! I'll never... dare to do it again!"

He Damin stopped looking at him, got up and walked outside: "Go clean up yourself. Cook your own dinner. Remember what I said."

He Daqing slumped onto the stool, watching his younger brother's tall figure disappear out the door. After a long while, he finally let out a long, trembling breath, as if he had just escaped a calamity. Tears welled up again, but this time, besides regret, there seemed to be a faint glimmer of hope, one that even he himself wasn't sure of…?

He struggled to his feet, picked up his tattered bedding roll, and like a shadow, hunched over, silently walked towards the long-abandoned, dusty, and cobweb-covered west wing in the backyard.