Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

The 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month is the Little New Year. The sky over Beiping City is so gloomy that it looks like a dirty rag that can't be washed off. The lead-gray clouds press low on the gray roof tiles, stingily refusing to scatter even a single snowflake. Instead, the dry, cold wind blows in gusts from the alley entrances, stinging people's faces and chilling them to the bone.

Inside the courtyard house at No. 95 Nanluoguxiang, a rare touch of life had emerged. At the entrance to the main house in the central courtyard, He Daqing listlessly swept the loose dust under the eaves with a worn-out broom. The windows of the Jia family's house in the east wing were tightly shut; the Korean paper used to cover the windows had several holes, haphazardly patched together with old newspapers that rattled in the wind. The Yi family's house in the west wing was quiet, the thick curtains hanging, and no sound could be heard from inside. Only the sweet, cloying aroma of boiled sugar melon wafted from the entrance of the Yan family's house in the front courtyard, mingling with the chilly air and offering a hint of festive cheer.

He Daqing straightened up, leaning on the broom handle, gazing at the gray sky, and sighed deeply. Counting the days, it had been almost four months since Damin left. Visiting relatives in Tianjin? Learning a craft? These reasons initially sounded plausible, but as the days passed without a word, the unease he had been barely suppressing, like the chill of the twelfth lunar month, seeped into his very being. Damin, that boy, had never been talkative, but he was resolute and courageous. After what happened at Xishan that night, he felt even more strongly that there was something about his brother that he couldn't understand or reach. He said he was going to find a master to learn from, but in these chaotic times of war, what kind of master would send someone away for so long without even a message? Could it be… could it be that he had gotten into some serious trouble, or… encountered some misfortune?

The thought, like an icicle, suddenly pierced his heart. He dared not dwell on it, and could only practice the Xingyi Quan form even more diligently each day. Strangely enough, the stances and power generation methods seemed to be etched into his very bones, making practice effortless. After several months, he clearly felt his hands and feet had gained strength, his body had become much stronger, and his night sweats and wakings had lessened. This gave him a greater, albeit inexplicable, trust in the explanation left by Damin, but the more he trusted this, the deeper his worry grew.

"Cough cough..." came Lu Bingxin's suppressed cough from inside the room. He Daqing quickly threw down the broom, lifted the cotton curtain, and entered the room.

A small coal stove smoldered inside, making it much warmer than outside, yet a damp, chilly feeling lingered. Lü Bingxin sat on the edge of the kang (heated brick bed), mending a cotton-padded jacket with worn-out cuffs, using the faint sunlight streaming in through the window. Her face was pale, with faint dark circles under her eyes. Hearing He Daqing enter, she looked up and smiled, but the smile carried an unyielding worry.

"Brother Daqing, are you done sweeping? Come over and warm your hands." She put down her needlework, got up to get the tin kettle on the stove, "I'll pour you some hot water to soak your feet and relax."

"Don't bother, Bingxin." He Daqing stopped her, sat down on a small stool by the stove, and warmed his hands, which were red from the cold, over the stove opening. "You're only just getting better, don't overexert yourself. Where's Zhuzi?"

"He's tired from playing and is sleeping in the west room." Lü Bingxin still poured half a basin of hot water and brought it over. The water temperature was just right. "Take a soak. Your legs must have been working the hardest all day standing in front of the stove at Fengzeyuan." She squatted down and helped He Daqing take off his old cotton shoes with the soles almost worn through.

As his feet immersed in the warm water, a comforting warmth spread up his soles, and He Daqing sighed contentedly. He looked at Lü Bingxin's lowered eyes; the worry was so obvious that it couldn't be hidden.

"Thinking about Damin again?" he asked softly.

Lu Bingxin paused, her hands still moving. She didn't look up, but her voice trembled slightly. "It's...it's been almost four months. Brother Daqing, do you think Damin...he won't really have gotten into trouble? I'm always so worried, I can't sleep well at night." She looked up, her eyes already red-rimmed. "When he left, he only said he was going to learn a craft, and his return date was uncertain. But these days, things are so chaotic outside...he's just a kid..."

He Daqing felt a tightness in his chest, but he could only force himself to remain calm, holding his wife's slightly cool hand: "Don't overthink it. Damin... Damin is clever and capable. You saw it yourself that night, he managed to bring me back safely from the Japanese and even produced such miraculous medicine... The 'master' he mentioned is definitely not an ordinary person. When learning a skill, one must be completely focused, and he might be in some remote mountain, unable to send messages back."

These words were less a way of comforting Lü Bingxin and more a way of convincing himself. The miraculous effects of the Marrow Cleansing Pill, and the increasingly obvious changes in his own body, were the only evidence he could grasp to prove that his younger brother was "extraordinary" and therefore possibly "safe."

"But..." Lu Bingxin's tears finally fell. "Zhu Zi asks me every day when Uncle is coming back, saying he wants Uncle to bring him sugar figurines and teach him boxing... I don't know how to answer him." She remembered her son hugging her neck before going to sleep, asking in a daze, "Does Uncle not want us anymore?" Her heart felt like it was being pricked by needles.

He Daqing pulled his wife into his arms, gently patting her back, his throat tightening slightly. "She'll come back, she definitely will. If we still haven't heard from her when the weather gets warmer, I...I'll try to find out more." Actually, he didn't know where to look. Tianjin? That was just an excuse. In the vast sea of ​​people, amidst the chaos of war, where could he possibly find her?

The couple embraced silently for a moment, the only sounds being the occasional crackling of the coal in the stove and the howling wind outside the window. This worry, like the winter air in the courtyard, weighed heavily on their hearts, impossible to dispel or dispel.

At this moment, on the kang (heated brick bed) in the west room, five-year-old He Yuzhu was not sleeping soundly. He dreamed that his uncle took him to the temple fair, where they bought a large windmill and candied hawthorns. The windmill spun rapidly, and the candied hawthorns were sweet and crisp… But suddenly a strong wind blew, and his uncle disappeared. He cried and searched, only to see unfamiliar and indifferent faces all over the street. The little guy sobbed in his dream, his little hands unconsciously scratching at the corner of the quilt.

In the east wing of the front courtyard, the Jia family's residence presented a completely different scene.

The room was cold, like an icebox, with no stove lit. Eleven-year-old Jia Dongxu huddled in the corner of the kang (a heated brick bed), covered with a stiff, musty-smelling old cotton quilt. By the last bit of daylight from the window, his fingers trembled as he wrote the calligraphy exercises his teacher had assigned in his notebook. He was terribly thin, his cotton-padded jacket hanging loosely, his cheeks sunken, and his eyes, though unusually large, lacked any sparkle. He would occasionally steal a glance towards the outer room, revealing complex emotions beyond his years—fear, embarrassment, and a numb resentment.

In the outer room, Jia Zhangshi—no one calls her "Zhang Cuihua" anymore; behind her back, everyone in the courtyard calls her "Jia Zhangshi" or something even more derogatory—is facing a small, cracked mirror, applying cheap, pungent-smelling face cream and rouge. The woman in the mirror has a puffy face, heavy eye bags, and bright red lips. She tries to force a smile, but it only looks stiff and strange. She wears a worn-out, garishly colored cotton robe, the collar deliberately loosened to reveal a faded old undergarment with a red trim around the collar.

Old Jia has been dead in the latrine for almost half a year. His death was so dishonorable that even the steel mill was vague about it, so there was no hope of any compensation. The family had hardly any savings to begin with, and their savings quickly dwindled. Jia Zhangshi had considered other options, but she was used to being lazy and couldn't do needlework, nor could she endure the hardship of domestic work, and her family had long since cut off contact. With the rice jar nearly empty and her son's tuition fees fast approaching, she steeled her heart and gritted her teeth…

At first, she just flirted with the idle men and bachelors in the alleyways, getting free meals and drinks and a little money. Later, she became bolder and her reputation spread, so she decided to go all out. She specifically targeted men who had some spare cash but dared not go to places like the Eight Great Hutongs, secretly seducing them. Sometimes she would bring them to her home—while Dongxu was at school, or late at night. Sometimes she would go out to those secluded little hotels, or… simply out in the wilderness.

It wasn't that no one in the courtyard heard the commotion or saw anything. But firstly, everyone was on edge these days, each family had its own difficulties, and no one wanted to meddle and cause trouble; secondly, Jia Zhangshi was now ruthless and unscrupulous, and if anyone dared to gossip, she could block their door and curse them for three days and three nights, spewing out all sorts of vile words. Over time, everyone just turned a blind eye, only feeling sorry for the half-grown Jia Dongxu.

Madam Jia tidied her somewhat dry, yellow hair in front of the mirror, then took a small paper packet from the drawer and carefully poured out a tiny bit of cheap perfume, patting it behind her ears and onto her neck. She glanced at her son doing his homework on the kang (heated brick bed), her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but ultimately remained silent, only whispering, "There's still half a cornbread in the pot. Eat it if you're hungry. Go to sleep early, don't wait up." Her voice was dry and devoid of warmth.

Jia Dongxu didn't respond; he lowered his head even further.

Madam Jia gritted her teeth, put on a drab old cotton-padded jacket to cover her gaudy robe underneath, opened the door, and looked around. The courtyard was pitch black, with only a sliver of dim yellow light coming from the windows of the He family's house in the middle courtyard. She tiptoed out of the hanging flower gate like a cat stealing food, and her figure quickly disappeared into the shadow of the moon gate leading to the middle courtyard.

She headed towards the narrow passageway connecting the middle and back courtyards. Beside the passageway was the entrance to a cellar that had been abandoned for many years and used to store miscellaneous items. Usually, the cellar entrance was covered with broken wooden planks and weighed down with stones, and few people paid any attention to it. But in the past few months, Jia Zhangshi had become a regular there. And the person who often "bumped into" her there was none other than Yi Zhonghai, an old man in the courtyard who always presented himself as "upright" and "fair."

Yi Zhonghai had been harboring a deep resentment lately. He was a skilled, high-paid fitter at the steel rolling mill, considered a respectable man in the yard and factory. But he had one major worry – after more than a decade of marriage, his wife, Yang Lanxin, hadn't conceived. As she grew older, the desire to carry on the family line suffocated him like a vine. Yang Lanxin was gentle and not particularly robust; she had taken countless bitter medicines over the years, but to no avail. Yi Zhonghai didn't show it outwardly, but inwardly he grew increasingly irritable, finding fault with everything.

Although Jia Zhangshi was not young and somewhat overweight, compared to the sickly Yang Lanxin, she possessed a more robust figure and a vibrant, spirited air reminiscent of a common woman. Most importantly, she "needed" money and was "sensible," not clingy. Before long, the two became involved. The cellar, a secluded place, became their secret rendezvous. Yi Zhonghai derived from Jia Zhangshi the indulgence and satisfaction he couldn't get from his wife, and enjoyed the thrill of controlling and bestowing favors upon others; Jia Zhangshi, in turn, received money and food to survive, and sometimes even had Yi Zhonghai help her put pressure on the neighbors who gossiped about her.

Tonight, Yi Zhonghai used the excuse of going to the outhouse to sneak out early and lingered near the cellar entrance. When he saw Jia Zhangshi appear, his heart warmed, and he went to meet her. The two whispered a few words, and Jia Zhangshi skillfully moved the wooden planks and stones at the cellar entrance. Yi Zhonghai crawled down first, and Jia Zhangshi followed closely behind, then loosely closed the planks behind him.

The cellar was pitch black, filled with the smell of dust and rotting debris. But the two were clearly already familiar with the place. The rustling sounds of clothes being undressed, suppressed breathing, and teasing soon filled the small, enclosed space, mixed with the faint sounds of mice scurrying by.

They thought they were being discreet, but little did they know that a pair of eyes were coldly watching the direction of the cellar entrance through the crack in their back window.

The Yi family's house, east wing.

Yang Lanxin wasn't asleep. She sat on the kang (a heated brick bed), her back to the door, but her face slightly turned towards the window. The window was covered with paper; she moistened a small hole with her finger, dabbed some saliva, and peered through it, just enough to see the blurry shadows at the cellar entrance. She saw her husband, Yi Zhonghai, sneak past, saw Jia Zhangshi's familiar figure appear, saw the two of them slip into the cellar one after the other, and saw the wooden planks being closed.

Her face was expressionless, her eyes vacant, only her chest heaving slightly, her knuckles white as she gripped the hem of her clothes. She had noticed it long ago. The occasional cheap perfume clung to Yi Zhonghai, his increased nighttime urination excuses, and the barely concealed perfunctory attitude and subtle impatience he displayed when facing her… A woman's intuition, coupled with several careful observations and surveillance, allowed her to piece together the truth.

But she dared not make a sound. She was unemployed, in poor health, and entirely dependent on Yi Zhonghai's salary. If things turned sour, where could she go? Back to her parents' home? Her brothers were also struggling financially; how could they tolerate a married woman returning home in disgrace? If things escalated, Yi Zhonghai might only lose face, but Yang Lanxin might not even be able to continue her barely stable life and would become the laughingstock of the entire courtyard, even the whole alley.

So she could only endure it. Like swallowing a handful of shards of glass, she had to force herself not to cough it up. Countless nights, like now, she could only hide behind the window, watching helplessly as her heart grew colder and colder, number and number. Sometimes, she would even have a wicked thought: what if the cellar suddenly collapsed, burying them both inside…

The thought sent a chill down her spine, followed by a deeper sorrow and self-loathing. She sat there blankly, watching, until the wooden planks at the cellar entrance were moved again, and two dark figures slipped out one after the other, disappearing into the dark courtyard.

The wind picked up, whipping up dust and withered leaves from the ground, swirling them around. The entire courtyard seemed to be fast asleep in this deep winter night, or perhaps awake, each harboring unspeakable thoughts, its eyes wide open in the darkness.

No one noticed that shortly after Jia Zhangshi and Yi Zhonghai went into the cellar, a faint, almost invisible streak of light, like a weary bird returning to its nest in the dead of night, silently swept across the night sky above the He family's roof in the middle courtyard. It hovered for a moment, seemingly with a hint of hesitation, before finally gently falling and disappearing into the window of the He family's east room.

He Damin's soul, which was returning routinely to check on his brother and sister-in-law from afar, happened to witness the worried couple, He Daqing and his wife, weeping together under the lamp. He also "saw" the predicament inside the Jia family's house, Jia Zhangshi's slipping out, Yi Zhonghai's waiting, the commotion in the cellar, and... the pair of empty and painful eyes behind the Yi family's window.

My soul lingered in the warm air inside the He family's house, quietly "watching" the undried tear stains on my sleeping nephew's face, and the sorrowful expressions on my brother and sister-in-law's faces despite their efforts to stay awake. Then I "recalled" the disgusting filth and oppressive tragedy I had just glimpsed in the neighboring courtyard.

A complex emotion arose at the core of this cold soul. There was guilt and longing for loved ones, helplessness at the passage of time, and a cold scrutiny of the evil in human nature and the hardships of survival.

Jia Zhangshi... Yi Zhonghai... and that silent Yang Lanxin.

The pond in this courtyard, after he left, did not seem to calm down. Instead, due to the selfishness and weakness of some people, it stirred up an even more turbid whirlpool.

He couldn't immediately appear to comfort his brother and sister-in-law, nor could he deal with those unpleasant matters. But his "gaze" had once again enveloped the courtyard. Some thoughts, like icicles freezing in a winter night, quietly took shape.

The soul's divided spirit took one last "look" at the sleeping He Yuzhu, gently brushed the weary shoulders of its brother and sister-in-law—though they were completely unaware—and then, just as it had come, quietly slipped out of the window, rose into the cold night sky, and sped away towards the west, towards northwestern Shanxi.