Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

In late autumn in the Yanshan Mountains, the forests are ablaze with color, and the frost deepens. He Damin, stepping on the fallen yellow leaves, walks out of the secluded paradise that has guarded him for countless years. Looking back, the peaks are shrouded in mist; everything seems like yesterday, yet also like a lifetime ago.

The clothes he wore were a set he had searched for a long time in the corners of the small world. Dark blue cotton trousers clung slightly to his long, muscular legs; the matching jacket had sleeves that were a bit too short, revealing his sleek forearms. Although the fabric was new (time had almost stopped in the small world), the style was quite different from the Lenin suits and Zhongshan suits popular in the outside world. It looked more like the everyday clothes of old-time gentry or students, and on his tall, well-proportioned 186cm frame, it always seemed somewhat awkward and out of place. Fortunately, the color was understated, so it wasn't too conspicuous.

His long, jet-black hair was tied back with a simple wooden hairpin, with a few strands falling casually beside his temples. Despite years of seclusion, his face hadn't aged; instead, due to his improved cultivation and the nourishment of his nascent soul, the last trace of youthful immaturity had faded. His features were now refined, his nose high and straight, and his skin a radiant, fair complexion, the result of long periods without sunlight and successful cultivation. His eyes were particularly striking, their pupils incredibly dark, seemingly containing deep pools of water. When still, they were undisturbed, but occasionally, a fleeting glint of starlight would flash across them. Indeed, as the user described, he possessed a handsome, almost "beautiful" appearance, transcending gender and possessing a clean, translucent quality. However, the deep-seated indifference and subtle authority between his brows softened his refined appearance, adding a touch of unapproachable aloofness.

He walked at a leisurely pace, heading towards the city of Beiping he remembered. The perfected nascent soul within his body circulated its true essence, naturally forming a thin protective aura on his skin, dispelling the chill of late autumn before it even touched him. His steps were light and seemingly ordinary, yet his speed far surpassed that of ordinary people. He traversed the rugged mountain paths as if they were flat ground, and in less than half a day, the familiar yet unfamiliar outline of the city walls came into view.

The city gate was no longer the imposing structure it had been during the Japanese occupation. The soldiers on guard wore khaki uniforms with red stars on their hats, looking spirited and much more approachable to the people coming and going. Above the gate, huge banners in white on a red background proclaimed: "Long Live the People's Republic of China!" and "Long Live Chairman Mao!" The characters were fresh and stood out prominently in the autumn sunlight.

He Damin paused slightly, glancing up at the slogan, a mixture of understanding and complexity flashing in his eyes. Indeed, the world had changed. The new China… it seemed the War of Resistance had been won, and the victor was the side he subconsciously leaned towards. This slightly settled the sense of uncertainty that had arisen in his heart from his long period of seclusion.

He followed the flow of people into the city. The changes within the city were even more pronounced. The pedestrians on the streets were mostly dressed in gray, blue, and black, in simple styles. Many men wore Zhongshan suits or similar military uniforms, while women mostly wore Lenin suits or simple cotton-padded jackets, their hair cut short to their ears, exuding a vibrant and upward-looking spirit. The streets were much cleaner than he remembered, with slogans and propaganda posters everywhere, and rousing songs and clear, articulate propaganda slogans emanating from loudspeakers. There were fewer rickshaws, and more bicycles and buses. The wounds of war seemed to be rapidly healing, and a brand-new, "people's" urban atmosphere was palpable.

He Damin's out-of-season thin clothes, slightly strange old-fashioned attire, and outstanding appearance and temperament inevitably attracted some attention in the crowd. However, he remained calm and ignored the stares.

He needs to figure out the exact time first.

Reaching a relatively quiet street corner, He Damin saw an elderly man wearing a thick cotton-padded coat and carrying a vegetable basket walking slowly. He stepped forward, nodded slightly, and said in a clear and gentle voice, "Excuse me, sir. May I ask what year and month it is? I have lived in the mountains for a long time and do not know the years."

The old man stopped at the sound, sized him up, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. But seeing his polite demeanor, he didn't seem like a bad person. So, in a thick Beijing accent, he said, "Hey, young man, have you been in the mountains too long? It's the new China now! This year is 1951, October 20th! It's getting so cold, why are you dressed so lightly? Don't catch a cold!"

1951, October.

He Damin silently calculated in his mind. He had gone into seclusion in May 1943, so eight years and five months had already passed. Indeed, time flies in the mountains.

"Thank you for informing me, sir." He nodded in thanks again.

"You're welcome, you're welcome. Young man, go and put on some more clothes!" the old man kindly advised, before picking up his basket and leaving.

He Damin stood there, his gaze slowly sweeping over the familiar yet unfamiliar street scene. More than eight years—enough time for so much to happen. The War of Resistance against Japan was won, the Civil War…and it seemed that was over too. The new China was established, and everything needed to be rebuilt.

With a slight movement of his consciousness, it spread out like invisible mercury, enveloping the nearby streets and alleys. Just now, while he was talking to the old man, a middle-aged woman wearing an armband, who seemed to be a street activist, noticed his attire and his questioning of the year and month. Her face showed vigilance, and she quietly turned around and quickly walked towards a courtyard with a sign that read "Liaison Office of the Military Control Commission of XX District" not far away.

He Damin "saw" and "heard" the woman reporting to the guards at the door in a low voice: "Comrade, there's a strangely dressed young man over there who asked what year it is. He looks unfamiliar. You should go and take a look..."

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His expression remained unchanged, and he didn't even glance in that direction. Reporting and investigations were perfectly normal in this era of transition and rebuilding. He had also planned to go to the military control commission anyway—to register his household and confirm his property ownership. Since someone was "leading the way," it saved him the trouble.

He discerned his direction and headed towards the area where, according to his memory, the old government buildings were located, and which were now likely under takeover and use. His steps remained unhurried.

Before long, he arrived at a large courtyard in Dongcheng District. A wooden plaque with the words "Dongcheng Branch of Beijing Military Control Commission" hung above the gate, white background with black characters, solemn and dignified. Armed soldiers stood guard at the gate, and most of the people entering and leaving were in uniform, looking hurried.

He Damin had just reached the door and hadn't even had a chance to explain his purpose to the guard when a man who looked like an officer, in his thirties, wearing a faded military uniform and glasses, strode out. Behind him was the woman who had just delivered the message, pointing at He Damin and whispering something to him.

The cadre raised his hand to stop the woman from speaking, his gaze falling directly on He Damin. Upon seeing him, even the seasoned cadre couldn't help but show a hint of undisguised surprise in his eyes. The young man before him stood tall and straight as a pine tree, his handsome and refined features truly rare. Even more remarkable was his calm and detached demeanor, seemingly out of place in the busy and serious environment around him, yet strangely not at all jarring. He was dressed thinly and inappropriately, yet despite the chill of late autumn, his complexion was ruddy, showing no signs of shivering.

"What an outstanding person!" the cadre thought to himself, then composed himself and stepped forward, his tone calm yet businesslike: "Comrade, hello. I am Yang Chengdong from the Military Control Commission office. This comrade from the street has reported some issues. May I ask where you are from? What brings you to the city?" He used the title "comrade," both as a probe and to show a degree of respect.

Meeting Yang Chengdong's scrutinizing gaze, He Damin calmly replied, "Director Yang, hello. My name is He Damin, originally from Beiping. Years ago, to escape the war, I went into seclusion deep in the Yanshan Mountains, and only recently returned home. I was unaware of the changes that have taken place here over the years, which is why I asked passersby for directions. I've come to the city for three reasons: first, to understand the current situation; second, to register my household registration; and third, to deal with the property left behind by my family." His speech was steady, his enunciation clear, and his voice as clear as the clinking of jade, making it unforgettable to listen to.

"He Damin..." Yang Chengdong murmured the name, but it didn't ring a bell. He observed the other man's expression and demeanor; his composure and calmness didn't seem feigned, and his directness about registering his household registration and property seemed to indicate no intention of concealing anything. "You said you own property in Beiping? Where exactly? Do you have proof?"

"Nanluoguxiang, No. 95, East Courtyard." He Damin recited the address without hesitation. At the same time, with a slight thought, he probed his inner world with his divine sense and accurately located an oil paper package in the area where important items were stored. He reached into his robe (actually taking it out of his inner world), took out the well-preserved oil paper package, and opened it in front of everyone. Inside were several yellowed but clearly written house and land deeds, as well as an old government household registration certificate. The name on it was He Damin. Although the photo was small and blurry, the outline was vaguely similar to the person in front of him.

Yang Chengdong took the document and examined it carefully. The paper was old, the seal was clear, and the format and content conformed to the old system, so it did not seem to be a forgery. In particular, he vaguely remembered the address 95 Nanluoguxiang. It seemed to be a large courtyard with many households? The east wing... He turned and whispered a few words to a staff member beside him. The man nodded and quickly went into the courtyard, seemingly to check the files or notify someone.

"Comrade He... Damin," Yang Chengdong carefully folded the document and handed it back, his tone much gentler, "We have a preliminary understanding of your situation. However, this is now a new society, and old household registrations and land deeds need to be re-registered and verified, and replaced with certificates issued by the People's Government. This will take some time, and we also need to investigate your personal history. In addition, the situation at No. 95 Nanluoguxiang, which you mentioned, may be a bit complicated now. How about this, it's cold outside, and you're not dressed warmly enough. Come in and sit down, have some hot water, and we'll talk in detail. We'll also wait for the comrades who went to verify the situation to return."

Yang Chengdong's arrangement was reasonable. He Damin nodded: "Thank you, Director Yang." He did indeed need to know more about the current state of the real estate market.

The two entered the military control commission's courtyard and went to a simple office. Yang Chengdong poured He Damin a cup of hot water, then sat down himself and began to inquire in more detail about the specific time, approximate location, and lifestyle of He Damin's "seclusion in the mountains," whether he had any relatives outside the mountains. He Damin had already prepared his answer, only saying that in the spring of 1943, due to the rampant Japanese invasion and feeling disheartened, he fled into the depths of the Yanshan Mountains, finding a secluded valley where he lived by gathering, hunting, and the small amount of savings he had brought with him in his early years, almost completely isolated from the world. As for his relatives, he mentioned, "My elder brother is He Daqing, and I am his younger brother."

"He Daqing?" Yang Chengdong raised an eyebrow upon hearing the name. No. 95 Nanluoguxiang... He Daqing... He seemed to have heard a colleague who had handled neighborhood disputes there mention that there was a man named He Daqing in the courtyard, a cook? He seemed to have worked in the steel mill's canteen? He was quite a shrew, had a son named He Yuzhu, and a daughter... If He Damin really was He Daqing's brother, then the property relationship was probably even more complicated.

Just then, the staff member who had gone out returned, followed by a man who looked like a street-level official. The staff member whispered a few words in Yang Chengdong's ear, and Yang Chengdong listened and nodded, his expression becoming somewhat serious.

"Comrade He Damin," Yang Chengdong turned to He Damin, his tone still polite but with a touch more seriousness, "According to preliminary understanding, No. 95 Nanluoguxiang is now part of the public-private joint-venture rental housing of Hongxing Steel Rolling Mill, and many workers and citizens live in the courtyard. The east wing you mentioned does indeed have residents, and..." He paused, "The residents claim that the house was 'pledged' from your brother He Daqing many years ago, and there is a written agreement. He Daqing himself went to work as a cook at the Baoding Cotton Mill in the first half of the year, and only his two children are in Beijing."

He Damin listened quietly, his face showing no surprise. Eight years was enough time for many things to happen. His elder brother had sold or mortgaged the house? That wasn't surprising. But his elder brother had gold and shouldn't be short of money. Besides, the east wing, legally (regardless of old or new social policies), should still belong to He Damin. Whether his elder brother had the right to dispose of it was another matter.

"Director Yang," He Damin put down his water glass, his voice calm and even, "the property deed and land deed are here, signed in my name, He Damin. Regardless of any agreements my brother has with others, I need to first confirm the current legal status of the property. Everything can be handled according to the new regulations of the People's Government."

His calmness and methodical approach earned Yang Chengdong's silent approval. This young man didn't seem like someone who could be easily fooled.

"Of course," Yang Chengdong said. "We've already sent people to No. 95 Nanluoguxiang to ask the local police officer, street officials, and the current residents of the east wing to come and explain the situation. Comrade He Damin, please rest here and wait until everyone is here. We'll clarify this matter together, what do you think?"

"Okay." He Damin nodded in agreement.

Yang Chengdong arranged for someone to accompany He Damin while he went to handle other official business, but his mind was inevitably preoccupied with this matter. A handsome young man who had been living in seclusion in the mountains for eight years and suddenly returned, a property involving old-society property rights and complicated family relationships... this matter was probably not so simple. He vaguely felt that He Damin's return might bring some unexpected waves to that peaceful (or rather, superficially peaceful) tenement.

He Damin sat upright, his gaze fixed on the window, seemingly looking at the old locust tree in the courtyard, its leaves all fallen, yet also seemingly seeing nothing at all. His divine sense, however, had already silently spread outwards, crossing the streets and alleys, extending towards Nanluoguxiang.

No. 95 Nanluoguxiang Courtyard... Unfamiliar residents.

This first mundane task upon returning to the city doesn't seem to be going too smoothly. However, he wasn't annoyed at all. The mind of a Nascent Soul cultivator has long since transcended the shackles of worldly trifles.