Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

"Want to be a mom?" He pinched her cheek, just like he did ten years ago.

Chen Xueru lowered her head, her cheeks as red as ripe apples, and softly hummed in agreement.

He Damin smiled and kissed her forehead. Her forehead was warm, with a little bit of sweat. "Then let's have one. A daughter, as beautiful as you, with big eyes and dimples when she smiles."

Chen Xueru looked up and glared at him, a smirk playing on her lips: "How do you know it's a daughter? What if it's a son?"

"Our son is the same," he said, picking her up and spinning her around. She screamed in fright, then hugged his neck and laughed. "Just like me, he can earn money and protect you."

"Get lost! Who needs your protection?" She punched him lightly, her face turning even redder. "Who's going to...try hard for you..."

He Damin laughed heartily, then pulled her down onto the sofa. The setting sun shone through the window, casting their shadows onto the carpet, overlapping like a warm and cozy painting.

The next morning, Ah Zhong picked them up in his black Lincoln. Chen Xueru was wearing the red dress, her hair draped over her shoulders, and white magnolia earrings given to her by He Damin—they were custom-made in Suzhou by him, crafted from mutton-fat jade and exquisitely carved. She sat in the car, her hand gripping the window, gazing out as if her eyes couldn't take it all in.

"Look, Brother Da Min! Everyone on the street is wearing so little!" she exclaimed in surprise, pointing to pedestrians in short sleeves. "It's winter already!"

He Damin smiled and helped her fix her hair: "Winter in Los Angeles isn't cold, it's about the same as in Hong Kong." He recalled that yesterday at the hotel pool, there were people swimming in swim trunks, and Chen Xueru was stunned at the time, saying, "Americans really aren't afraid of the cold."

The entrance to Universal Studios was packed with people, mostly families with children. The kids were holding cotton candy and balloons, chattering away. As soon as Chen Xueru got out of the car, she was drawn to a huge poster at the entrance—it depicted a man wearing a cowboy hat, riding a horse across a desert.

"Wow! It's like a scene from a Western!" She grabbed He Damin's hand and ran inside, her red dress like a dancing flame in the crowd.

He Damin followed behind her, carrying a camera, while Ah Zhong carried a large bag filled with water and snacks. Chen Xueru was like a child, finding everything fascinating. She stopped in front of the "Wizard of Oz" set and pointed to the crooked little wooden house: "This is Dorothy's house! I saw this movie in Hong Kong!" She stood in front of the house, letting He Damin take her picture, her eyes crinkling into slits with laughter.

In front of an Egyptian temple set, she mimicked a mummy from a movie, stretching out her hands and baring her teeth, prompting He Damin to quickly press the shutter. In a New York street scene, she wore a red dress, stood next to a yellow taxi, and struck a pose like an American woman with her hands on her hips, making the foreign tourists around her laugh.

As He Damin took photos, he suddenly became lost in thought. He recalled the first time he saw Chen Xueru twenty years ago in a silk shop in Yau Ma Tei, Hong Kong. She was only eighteen then, wearing a light blue cheongsam, her hair neatly styled in a bun, sitting behind the counter calculating on an abacus. Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on her as if gilding her with a layer of light. He had stood before the counter, watching her slender fingers fly across the abacus, his heart pounding like a rabbit's, unable to utter a single word.

"Damin! What are you daydreaming about?" Chen Xueru ran over, her forehead beaded with sweat and her cheeks flushed. She handed him a bottle of water. "Hurry up and have a drink."

He Damin took the water, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to her: "You drink first."

She took a couple of sips, wiped her mouth, and looked at him curiously: "What were you thinking about just now? You were laughing so silly."

"I was thinking about the first time you met me," he said with a smile. "Back then, you were standing behind the counter, making a deafening noise with your abacus. I thought you were a tigress."

Chen Xueru spat and pinched his arm: "You're the tiger! Back then, you stood there like a wooden stake, and when I asked you what kind of material you wanted, you couldn't utter a single word for ages. I thought you were there to steal something!"

"I was just nervous," He Damin said, grabbing her hand and kissing it. "I was afraid you wouldn't talk to me."

"You're so glib!" Chen Xueru pulled her hand back, her face as red as the sunset, but she couldn't help but laugh.

At lunchtime, He Damin ordered two hamburgers and fries at a small restaurant in the cinema. Chen Xueru frowned as she looked at the bread with a beef patty on her plate: "Can this thing even taste good?" She picked up the hamburger, took a careful bite, and her eyes suddenly lit up—the beef patty was fried to a fragrant perfection, filled with cheese and tomato, and had a refreshing touch of pickled cucumber.

"Delicious!" She took another big bite, with some ketchup on the corner of her mouth.

He Damin took out a handkerchief and wiped it off for her: "Eat more if you like."

"No," she shook her head, touching her stomach, "I'll get fat. Look at those American women, so many of them are chubby."

"You look good even if you're chubby." He Damin picked up a French fry and handed it to her. "You look good no matter what."

Chen Xueru glared at him, but obediently ate the fries. Sunlight streamed in through the restaurant's glass windows, falling on her red dress like a sprinkle of gold dust.

In the afternoon, we went to Hollywood Boulevard, where the Walk of Fame is studded with stars, each engraved with a name. Tourists were looking down, searching for familiar celebrities on the ground. Chen Xueru joined in, but after searching for a long time, she didn't recognize a single name.

"Who are these people?" she asked, squatting down and pointing to a star. "John Wayne? Never heard of him."

He Damin laughed: "They're all American movie stars. We'll get to know each other if we watch more movies together."

"Watching movies costs money," Chen Xueru said, standing up and brushing the dust off her skirt. "It's better to stay home and listen to opera."

"When we get back, I'll open a movie theater in Hong Kong, specializing in American movies," He Damin said, leading her forward. "I'll let you watch as many as you want."

"No way," she shook her head, "The people in American movies talk too fast, I can't understand them."

They walked to the entrance of the Chinese Theatre, where there were many handprints and footprints of celebrities. Chen Xueru placed her hand on Marilyn Monroe's handprint and exclaimed in surprise, "Her hand is so small!" He Damin took out his camera and took a picture of her. In the photo, her hand overlapped with the golden handprint, like a small ritual.

As He Damin passed a movie theater, he suddenly stopped. A huge poster hung at the entrance, depicting an Asian man in a black bodysuit, holding nunchucks, his eyes sharp and piercing, as if they could see right through the poster. The poster read the movie's title: *The Green Hornet*.

"Bruce Lee," He Damin whispered the name.

Chen Xueru leaned closer to look: "You know him?"

"I've heard of him in Hong Kong. A very powerful kung fu star." He Damin looked at the man on the poster, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He recalled his past life, in which this man would suddenly pass away a few years later, at the young age of thirty-three. The whole world mourned him, and newspapers reported on him extensively. Some said he was murdered, while others said he had gone mad from practicing kung fu.

"Even better than you?" Chen Xueru asked curiously. She knew that He Damin knew kung fu; once in Hong Kong, he encountered robbers and knocked them down with just a few punches and kicks.

He Damin laughed: "He's no good at fighting, and I'm no good at acting."

"Let's go see his movie!" Chen Xueru pulled him into the movie theater. "I want to see how he fights."

The movie tickets weren't expensive, just two dollars per person. The theater wasn't crowded, mostly with young people. The movie started, and Bruce Lee played a supporting role named Kato, the protagonist's driver and bodyguard. His screen time was limited, but every appearance was captivating. His movements were incredibly fast; his punches and kicks were like the wind, and the bad guys were down before they could even react. Especially his nunchucks, which seemed to come alive in his hands, whistling through the air.

Chen Xueru watched without blinking, muttering in amazement, "My God! How did he move so fast!"

He Damin watched intently. He could tell that Bruce Lee's kung fu was genuine, not just for show. Every movement was clean, crisp, and full of power. But he always felt that there was something hidden in Bruce Lee's eyes, like a fire, burning too brightly, as if it might burn him up at any moment.

After the movie ended, Chen Xueru was still excited: "That's amazing! This person will definitely become a big star!"

He Damin nodded, but his heart sank. He suddenly made a decision: "Let's go, I'll take you to see him."

Chen Xueru was stunned: "You know him?"

"I don't know them." He Damin pulled her towards the back of the movie theater, "but we can get to know each other."

Behind the movie theater was Paramount Pictures' soundstage. Two bodyguards in black suits stood at the entrance, arms crossed, their expressions serious. He Damin asked Ah Zhong to speak to the bodyguards, but they shook their heads, saying that no one could enter without an appointment.

He Damin took out his phone and dialed a number. The call was quickly answered, and he spoke a few words in English before hanging up. Less than ten minutes later, a white man in a gray suit with slicked-back hair came running out, smiling broadly and bowing obsequiously to He Damin: "Mr. He! I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were here! Please come in! Mr. Li is filming a night scene, he'll be done soon!"

Chen Xueru looked at He Damin in surprise and asked in a low voice, "You know him?"

He Damin smiled but didn't speak. Of course, he wouldn't tell her that last year, through an overseas company, he had quietly bought a portion of Paramount's parent company's shares, and now he was one of the film company's shareholders. The white man was the studio manager; the call just now was to him.

The studio was noisy, the lights blindingly bright. Tracks stretched across the floor, cameras slid along them, and crew members ran around shouting instructions. Bruce Lee was filming a fight scene against a tall, white actor. The director yelled "Action!" and Bruce Lee pounced like a cheetah, his punches so fast they were just afterimages. "Bang!" The white actor was knocked back several steps, crashing into the set wall.

"Cut!" the director yelled, frowning. "Bruce, it was too fast! The camera can't keep up! Can you slow it down?"

Bruce Lee nodded, wiped the sweat from his face, his eyes showing a hint of impatience, but he still readjusted his stance. He was wearing a black kung fu uniform, which was soaked with sweat and clung to his body, revealing his well-defined muscles.

He Damin stood in the corner, watching him repeat the action over and over again. Every time the director yelled "Cut," he would take a deep breath and start over. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead onto the ground, leaving a small wet patch, but his eyes remained focused, like a wolf eyeing its prey.

"He's very serious," Chen Xueru said softly, her eyes filled with admiration.

He Damin nodded. He knew how hard Bruce Lee worked. In Hollywood at that time, it was very difficult for Asian actors to get ahead; they could only play villains or minor supporting roles. Bruce Lee had suffered countless hardships to get a good role.

Finally, the director yelled "Cut!" Bruce Lee breathed a sigh of relief and picked up a towel to wipe his sweat. At that moment, the white manager walked over and said a few words to him. Bruce Lee turned his head, looked at Damin Ho, paused for a moment, and then walked over.

"Mr. He?" He extended his hand, his Chinese a little broken but very standard, "Hello, I'm Bruce Lee."

He Damin grasped his hand; his palms were sweaty, and his grip was strong. "I've long admired your name, Mr. Li."

Bruce Lee sized up David Ho, his eyes filled with curiosity: "Mr. Ho, you also practice kung fu?"

"I've only had a little bit of training," He Damin smiled.

"How about we spar sometime?" Bruce Lee's eyes lit up, as if he had met a kindred spirit.

"Okay." He Damin nodded.

Bruce Lee then looked at Chen Xueru and asked with a smile, "And who is this?"

"My wife, Chen Xueru," He Damin introduced.

Chen Xueru smiled at him and gave a slight bow: "Hello, Mr. Li."

"Hello, Mrs. Ho." Bruce Lee quickly returned the greeting, then looked at Ho Damin and winked, "Mr. Ho is very fortunate."

He Damin smiled too. The way he looked at Bruce Lee was like seeing his younger self—the same passion, the same indomitable spirit.

They found a rest area and sat down, where staff brought them coffee. Bruce Lee took a big gulp and began talking about his dream of making movies. He said he wanted to make a real kung fu movie so that the whole world would know about Chinese kung fu and that the Chinese people were not the "sick men of East Asia."

"They always think Chinese people can only play villains like Fu Manchu, or laundry workers and restaurant waiters." He waved his hand excitedly, his eyes shining. "I refuse to accept this! I want to show them that Chinese people can be handsome, good at fighting, and can be heroes too!"

He Damin listened quietly, somewhat moved. He recalled when he first arrived in Hong Kong, foreigners looked down on Chinese people, thinking they only knew how to run restaurants and build railways. Over the years, he had worked tirelessly to earn money, hoping to allow Chinese people to hold their heads high overseas.

"I believe you can do it," He Damin said earnestly.

Bruce Lee looked at him and suddenly smiled: "Mr. He, you are no ordinary person."