Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

Just after six in the morning, the sky over Hong Kong was already bright. Golden sunlight, like melted honey, thick and warm, poured into the bedroom through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. The smooth rosewood floor, bathed in the morning light, seemed to shimmer with fine gold dust within its grain. The air still held the lingering scent of last night's intimacy, mingled with the faint jasmine soap scent on Chen Xueru and the crisp, herbal fragrance emanating from He Damin.

He Damin opened his eyes, his eyelids squinting slightly the moment they came into contact with the light. Beside him, Chen Xueru was still fast asleep, her long eyelashes like two small fans, quietly covering her eyelids. Her breathing was even and long, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath, carrying a tranquil rhythm. Seven consecutive nights of dual cultivation had taken a toll on her mortal body, but for He Damin, it was more of an energy exchange and refinement. The recovery ability of a Nascent Soul cultivator far exceeded mortal imagination; after just two hours of meditation and breathing exercises, the true essence he had depleted was replenished, even more condensed than before.

He carefully turned to the side, trying not to make a sound. The silk sheets beneath him were smooth and cool, rubbing against his skin with a comforting coolness. He gently lifted the thin blanket, his bare feet touching the slightly cool floor, and walked to the window. He casually took a moon-white silk robe from the nearby clothes rack and loosely tied it around his waist. The robe's fabric was light and soft, carrying a faint scent of sunshine.

Standing by the window, the entire morning view of Victoria Harbour unfolds before me. A salty, damp sea breeze slips in through the slightly ajar window, brushing against my face with the unique freshness of the morning. In the distance, cargo ships, like giant steel boxes, slowly enter the harbor, belching wisps of black smoke; the deep roar of their engines seems to vibrate the earth itself. Red and white ferries, like busy beetles, dart back and forth in the harbor, their whistles echoing and creating ripples on the water. Several white seagulls spread their wings, circling above the pier, emitting sharp cries, occasionally swooping down to snatch up anything floating on the water. This city, like a tireless giant, awakens each day in this hustle and bustle, full of vitality.

But He Damin's gaze lingered beyond the bustling scene, landing on the slightly smaller villa next door. That was where He Daqing and Qin Huairu lived.

Since moving his family to Hong Kong, He Daqing has become a completely different person. The man who once idled away his time in the courtyard, causing trouble and even heartlessly abandoning his child, is now as silent as a stone washed by rain, without any edges or life. Occasionally, when He Damin finishes his morning meditation and stands by the window for some fresh air, he can always see him sitting in the old rattan chair in the courtyard, holding his youngest son, Yuliang, for most of the day. His eyes are vacant, as if he is looking into the distance, or as if he is looking at nothing at all. He seems to be isolated from his surroundings, leaving only a blurry and desolate silhouette.

In contrast, Qin Huairu adapted much faster. Having endured hardship herself, she possessed remarkable resilience. After arriving in Hong Kong, she tidied her small home meticulously, keeping it spotless and bright. She planted several easy-to-care-for pothos and spider plants in the yard, their leaves glossy green. She even learned a few broken Cantonese phrases from Chen Xueru, and every day at the market, she could use her thick Beijing accent to haggle with the vendors, often eliciting laughter, but she never got annoyed, remaining cheerful and enjoying her life. Little Yuliang, whom she had raised to be plump and healthy, with chubby little arms and legs like sections of lotus root, had begun to babble, occasionally uttering the indistinct word "Mom," adding much life to the somewhat dull home.

But He Daqing… He Damin frowned slightly as he looked at the figure sitting blankly in the courtyard. This man, if he continues like this, he'll really be ruined. We need to find him something to do.

Breakfast was simple: toast baked by Chen Xueru herself, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, spread with butter and strawberry jam, its aroma filling the air. There were also golden-brown fried eggs, slightly charred at the edges, with a semi-liquid yolk that would overflow at the slightest touch. He Yushui ate with her little mouth all greasy, chattering about funny things that happened at school. Chen Xueru occasionally handed He Damin a glass of milk, her eyes filled with concern. He Damin didn't eat much; his need for food was minimal these days, his priority being spending time with his family.

After breakfast, He Damin went next door alone.

He Daqing's yard wasn't large, but it was very tidy. Several potted plants sat in the corner, their leaves still glistening with morning dew in the sunlight. A clothesline stretched from one end of the yard to the other, hanging with freshly washed diapers and a few colorful pieces of clothing, swaying gently in the morning breeze and carrying a faint scent of soap. He Daqing sat in his wicker chair as usual, holding his son in his arms. The little boy seemed used to his father's silence, nestled quietly in his arms, sucking his little fingers, his big, dark eyes curiously observing everything in the yard. He Daqing, however, gazed at the sky, lost in thought, unaware that He Damin had even walked to the yard gate.

"Big Brother," He Damin called out, his voice not loud, but loud enough for He Daqing to hear.

He Daqing seemed to be pricked by a needle, snapping back to his senses, a flicker of panic and confusion in his eyes. When he saw that it was He Damin standing at the courtyard gate, he hurriedly and stiffly stood up. Yu Liang, whom he was holding, was startled, her little mouth trembling, almost bursting into tears. He Daqing quickly and clumsily patted her back, making soothing "oh oh" sounds. "Damin? You... why are you here?" His voice was a little dry, carrying a habitual timidity and unease.

He Damin walked into the courtyard, which was paved with bluestone slabs, washed clean by the rain, with a few tenacious little grasses growing in the cracks. He sat down on a stone bench next to He Daqing. The stone bench was cold and damp with dew.

"I've come to see you and Yu Liang." He Damin's gaze fell on Yu Liang. The little guy had stopped crying and was looking at him with wide, curious eyes.

A commotion came from inside the house. Qin Huairu, wearing an apron, peeked out from the kitchen. When she saw He Damin, a warm smile immediately appeared on her face, and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes smoothed out. "Oh, it's Brother Damin! Come in and sit down. I just boiled some water and made you some tea." Her hands were still covered in flour, so she was obviously preparing lunch. As she spoke, she wiped her hands and quickly came out to greet him.

He Damin waved his hand: "Sister-in-law, don't bother, I'll just sit for a while, I won't go in."

Qin Huairu responded, but still turned and went inside. She quickly brought out a cup of hot tea and placed it on the stone table beside He Damin. The teacup was an ordinary white porcelain cup, with some minor flaws, but it was very clean. The tea was dark brown, emitting a rich, slightly bitter aroma. Then she carefully took Yuliang from He Daqing's arms. The little one immediately felt safe in his mother's arms, nuzzling his head against Qin Huairu's chest. Qin Huairu said softly, "You brothers chat, I'll take Yuliang inside to breastfeed." She glanced at He Daqing, her eyes filled with a barely perceptible worry and helplessness, then carried the child into the house and gently closed the door.

Only the two brothers remained in the courtyard, and a quiet silence fell over them. The air was filled with the faint scents of tea, grass, and soap from diapers. The distant sound of ship horns from the harbor added to the stillness.

He Damin picked up his teacup and took a sip. The tea was indeed ordinary, the cheapest kind of coarse tea sold in street-side grocery stores, but Qin Huairu had clearly brewed it with care. The water temperature was just right, and the tea flavor was fully extracted. Although it was slightly bitter at first, there was a faint sweetness in the aftertaste.

"Brother," he put down his teacup, his gaze falling on He Daqing, "you've been in Hong Kong for a while now, almost a month, right? How are you feeling? Are you settling in?"

He Daqing kept his head down, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the knees of his faded trousers, where a thin layer of calluses had formed. Hearing the question, he lowered his head even further: "It's...it's alright," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Not bad?" He Damin's tone was flat, revealing no emotion, but if you listened carefully, you could sense a subtle sharpness. "I see you just sit here all day doing nothing. You've practically worn out the rain beam from carrying it around."

He Daqing's body stiffened slightly, as if someone had touched a sore spot. He knew his brother was telling the truth, but he didn't know how to refute it. He really couldn't do anything, and knew nothing. In Beijing, at least he was a cook, able to stir-fry dishes and earn a living with his skills, though he didn't live a very good life, at least he had some sense of existence. In Hong Kong, he couldn't understand the language the people spoke, he couldn't recognize all the characters they wrote, there were more cars on the streets than bicycles in Beijing, and the skyscrapers made him dizzy. He even had to rely on Qin Huairu to buy groceries. What could a grown man like him do?

"I...I want to do something," he stammered, his voice tinged with grievance and helplessness, "but..."

"But what?" He Damin pressed.

"But I can't do anything," He Daqing's voice was almost inaudible, filled with deep frustration. "I can't understand Cantonese, and English is even worse—it's like listening to gibberish. I can't even tell which way is which. What can I do? Who would want me?"

He Damin watched him quietly. This "elder brother," once a vague and even somewhat unpleasant memory in his mind, was now hunched over, like a wronged child, his eyes darting away, avoiding his gaze, his face filled with inferiority and confusion. The man who had been arrogant, troublesome, and abandoned his wife and children in the courtyard had now had all his edges worn away by the completely unfamiliar environment and life, leaving only a humble, bewildered middle-aged man.

He Damin remained silent for a moment, and the only sound in the courtyard was the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"You're the cook," he suddenly said, his voice clear and certain.

He Daqing was taken aback, then suddenly looked up, a hint of doubt flashing in his eyes, not understanding why He Damin would suddenly say this.