Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

In March 1960, spring in Hong Kong indeed arrived earlier than usual. The sea breeze in Victoria Harbour had lost some of its biting chill, replaced by a warm, moist feel. The air on Victoria Peak was always crisper than at the foot of the mountain. In Ho Ta-min's villa, which overlooked the entire harbor, the pomegranate tree in the corner of the yard had, without anyone noticing, budded with full blossoms. This morning, one of the flowers had unexpectedly bloomed, like a tiny flame, bright red and adorning the branch, swaying gently in the slightly salty, damp morning breeze, standing out vividly.

He Damin stood on the spacious second-floor balcony, holding an elegant white porcelain gaiwan filled with freshly brewed Longjing tea. The tea leaves unfurled in the hot water, releasing wisps of steam and a delicate, bean-like aroma. He gently lifted the lid, blew away the foam, and took a small sip. The warm tea slid down his throat, leaving a lingering fragrance. His gaze, however, was fixed on the distant sea.

Victoria Harbour is always bustling in the mornings. Several huge cargo ships are slowly entering the harbor, their black hulls cutting through the azure water, leaving long white trails like churned milky ribbons, as they sluggishly approach the various docks. Cranes line the shore, already in operation for the day, and the distant sounds of ship horns and the roar of machinery can be faintly heard.

He hadn't seen the sea so peacefully in a long time. Since coming to Hong Kong, he always seemed to be busy, his nerves stretched taut like a bowstring, rarely having such a moment of relaxation.

There was a rapid knocking sound behind me.

"Go in." He Damin said without turning his head.

John pushed open the door and came in. The blond, blue-eyed Englishman was carrying a thick stack of folders, which looked quite heavy. He walked rather quickly, and his gold-rimmed glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose as he moved. He used one hand to push them up, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

"Mr. He, everything regarding the shipping company is settled." He placed the documents on the mahogany coffee table by the balcony with a muffled thud, then took a breath and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "Of the ten bulk carriers, six are secondhand purchases, and the transfer of ownership and inspections have been completed; the other four are leased on three-year contracts. All the vessels are registered under the name of 'Ocean Shipping Company.' The paperwork with Attorney Lawrence is also complete, and the Hong Kong government's shipping license was approved yesterday afternoon."

He Damin turned around and walked back to his spacious study, John quickly following. He picked up the top document, the cover of which read "List of Ships of the Ocean Shipping Company." Opening it, the names of ten ships were clearly listed—Ocean One to Ocean Six were newly purchased, while Ocean Seven to Ocean Ten were chartered. The age, deadweight tonnage, captain's name, main route plans, crew configuration, and even the estimated maintenance costs for each ship were all clearly and systematically written.

"Hmm." He Damin nodded, his finger tracing lines on the paper. "What about the grain? How's the supply going?"

John quickly flipped to the second document, a copy of a cooperation agreement: "In the US, Cargill and ADM are well-known grain traders in the industry, and we've already signed long-term supply contracts with them. Several Canadian farmer consortia have also agreed to a stable monthly supply. Together, we can guarantee a monthly supply of 50,000 tons of wheat and corn, and we've secured a 10% discount compared to the current market price. The first batch of grain has already been loaded onto ships in San Francisco, namely the Ocean One and Ocean Two, which should be sailing in the Pacific Ocean now and should arrive in Hong Kong in about ten days."

He Damin carefully reviewed the contract terms, especially the price and breach of contract clauses. After confirming that everything was correct, he closed the document and set it aside. "Anything else?" he asked John, his eyes deep.

John paused, blinked, seemingly not understanding what He Damin was referring to. "Mr. He means... are there any other documents?" He glanced at the stack of folders he had brought, as if they had all already been reported.

"Talent." He Damin leaned back in his large mahogany chair, his fingers lightly tapping the table. "I told you, how are the antiques, calligraphy and paintings, and jade pieces coming along?"

John suddenly realized, a look of "Oh, so that's what it is" appearing on his face. He quickly rummaged through the pile of documents and pulled out the third one, which was relatively thinner, a few pages of photocopies of telegrams and letters. "Mr. Ma has already made contact with the mainland. The first batch of ancient architecture experts planned to come to Hong Kong, a total of twelve, are all former professors from Tsinghua and Tongji Universities, and I heard they are very prestigious in the field. Mr. Ma is having someone handle their identity documents and exit procedures, and they are expected to arrive in Hong Kong next month."

"Was it traded for grain?" He Damin asked in a flat tone.

"Yes." John nodded, lowering his voice. "Mr. Ma said in the telegram that these old professors over there... are not having a good time, and resources are scarce, especially food. They were overjoyed to hear that they could come to Hong Kong and that their families would be well taken care of. In addition to these architectural experts, Mr. Ma also mentioned that some cultural relics experts, archaeologists, and even some old craftsmen also wanted to come. He asked if we could... exchange a few more slots."

He Damin's lips curled into a barely perceptible smile. "Tell Mr. Ma that as many as he wants are welcome. As long as they are truly capable, they will be provided with plenty of food. Settlement allowance and living expenses will be given at the highest standards."

John quickly pulled a small notebook and pencil from his pocket and jotted it down. His handwriting was a bit messy, but he captured all the information.

"And antiques and calligraphy," He Damin continued, his tone becoming more serious. "Have Mr. Ma put in the effort to inquire about them. Those scattered among the people, those formerly collected by wealthy families, those recently confiscated and temporarily without a place to put, or those simply piled up in some warehouse gathering dust... as long as they are good and valuable, they can be exchanged for grain. The specific price is not a problem, but it must be guaranteed to be genuine, not some cheap imitations."

John hesitated for a moment, adjusted his glasses, and asked with some concern, "Mr. He, won't it be... troublesome to transport these things from the mainland? After all, you know the situation there right now."

"No." He Damin waved his hand, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "I have a way. You just have Mr. Ma focus on collecting the materials; I'll arrange for someone to handle the transportation."

John didn't ask any more questions. After working with He Damin for several months, he had gradually figured out the young boss's temperament—not talkative, but decisive, and always seemed to have a way to solve seemingly thorny problems. If the boss said it would work, then it would definitely work.

He Damin stood up, walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, and looked out at Victoria Harbour once more. "Keep a close eye on the shipping company's daily operations. Once the grain arrives at the port, store it in our own warehouse and have someone guard it. When the personnel arrive, arrange accommodations for them immediately; don't mistreat them. As soon as the antiques and paintings arrive in Hong Kong, send them to me immediately."

"Understood, Mr. He," John nodded in response.

"Also," He Damin suddenly turned around and added, "go find a few reliable people and try to buy a few more plots of land in South America. They need to be suitable for growing crops, and the larger the area, the better. Relying solely on buying from North America and Canada is not a long-term solution; we need to have our own stable food supply."

John quickly jotted it down in his notebook, then looked up with a troubled expression: "Mr. He, in South America, especially in countries like Argentina and Brazil, there are many restrictions on foreign investment in land purchases. In particular, it's easy for foreigners to be rejected directly, or for the price to be driven up too high."

"Then let's find local partners," He Damin said. "On the surface, let the locals hold shares, while we control the company from behind the scenes. Go find Lawrence; he should have connections in South America. Ask him to help make connections. Money isn't the problem; the key is to acquire the land and plant things as soon as possible."

"Okay, I'll contact Attorney Lawrence right away."

John left with the documents. Silence returned to the study. He Damin stood alone by the window, watching the cargo ships slowly moving across the distant sea. He knew that at this moment, the Ocean One and Ocean Two were sailing across the vast Pacific Ocean, braving the wind and waves, fully loaded with snow-white wheat and golden corn. In this special era, that grain was not merely food, but also hard currency, a stepping stone. It would be exchanged for much-needed talent, for antiques, paintings, jade, and other artifacts that carried history and culture… for those treasures that should have been cherished but had been forgotten and discarded in the torrent of time.

He recalled leaving Beijing five years ago. The weather was gloomy that day. Yan Bugui, that stingy old man, unusually stood at the alley entrance, carrying a cloth bag containing several warm steamed buns. He stuffed them into his hand, muttering, "Eat on the road; you can't go hungry." Back then, he thought that leaving meant saying goodbye to that land, those people, and those things forever. But now he knew—some things, connected by blood, cannot be severed no matter how far you go. What he was doing now was perhaps protecting something in his own way.

As evening fell, the setting sun cast a warm golden glow over Victoria Harbour. He Damin was reviewing a preliminary report on the acquisition of land in South America in his study when a sudden burst of noise downstairs broke the tranquility.

"Uncle! Uncle! We're back!"

It was He Yushui's voice, crisp and bright, like a nightingale singing in a valley, clearly audible even two floors away. He Damin put down the documents in his hand, a smile unconsciously spreading across his lips, his eyes also softening. He stood up, walked out of the study, and stood at the top of the stairs on the second floor, looking down.

Just then, He Yushui came running in through the entryway like a cheerful little bird, her schoolbag swinging as she moved, radiating youthful energy. She was already thirteen years old, attending junior high school in Hong Kong. She had grown quite tall, almost reaching He Damin's shoulder. Her face still had a touch of baby fat, making her look round and chubby, but the childishness in her eyes had faded considerably, giving her a more mature, girlish appearance. Her eyes were clear and full of curiosity about the world.

"Uncle!" She spotted He Damin on the stairs at a glance, rushed up the stairs, and just like when she was a child, grabbed He Damin's arm and shook it vigorously. "Uncle, I missed you so much! You haven't come to see me in so long!"

He Damin smiled and ruffled her hair; it felt soft and smooth. "School's out for break?"

"Yeah! We get a three-day spring break!" He Yushui tilted her head back, her eyes sparkling like two little stars. "And, after the midterm exams, I got third in the class! Pretty impressive, right?" she said, proudly raising her chin.

"Not bad, you've improved." He Damin nodded, deliberately putting on a stern face. "However, try to get first place next time."

"Uncle, you're so greedy!" He Yushui pouted, pretending to be angry, but she couldn't hide the smile in her eyes. "Getting first place in the class isn't that easy! Our class's number one is just a bookworm!"

The sound of a door opening came from downstairs again. He Yuzhu pushed the door open and came in, carrying several bulging plastic bags filled with fresh vegetables and meat. He was wearing a white chef's uniform, his hat still covered in flour, and his face showed signs of travel fatigue, but his eyes were bright and he seemed to be in good spirits.

"Uncle!" He called out when he saw He Damin on the stairs, then handed the groceries he was carrying towards the kitchen. "Have my dad and the others arrived yet? I bought some groceries; we'll eat here tonight."

As soon as he finished speaking, several more people walked in. He Daqing walked at the front, wearing a well-fitting gray Zhongshan suit, his hair neatly combed, and a gentle smile on his face. Five years in the restaurant business had changed him a lot. The man who used to hunch over, with shifty eyes and a somewhat timid demeanor in the courtyard was gone. In his place was a middle-aged man with a straight back, clear eyes, and a composed demeanor. Although he still didn't talk much, he exuded a vitality from within, a composure and confidence honed by life.

Qin Huai followed behind him, carrying a five-year-old boy in her arms. The child was chubby and fair-skinned, like a delicately carved baby, wearing a red cotton-padded jacket that made his skin appear even whiter. He was looking around the spacious, bright, and unfamiliar place with his big, round eyes, turning his little head from side to side.

"Yu Liang, quick, call him uncle." Qin Huairu put the child on the ground, gently pushed his little back, and said softly.

He Yuliang timidly raised her head, glanced at the aloof He Damin, and then quickly lowered her head again. Her little hands tightly gripped Qin Huairu's clothes. After a while, she called out in a childish voice, "Uncle... Uncle." Her voice was soft and small.

He Damin came down the stairs, squatted down, and smiled as he patted the little guy's head. The little guy's hair was soft and smelled of milk. "Good boy."

Startled by the touch, He Yuliang shrank back and quickly hid behind Qin Huairu, only revealing half of his chubby little face as he secretly sized up He Damin. He Damin chuckled at his antics, stood up, and nodded to He Daqing. "Big brother, sister-in-law, come in and sit down."