Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

The last rays of dusk cast a dark golden hue over the mottled walls of Nanluoguxiang. He Damin, carrying an oil-paper package, walked steadily through the front yard. Faint, suppressed sobs drifted from the direction of the Yi family's house. Several women were still gathered at the Yan family's door, whispering amongst themselves. Their gazes lingered on him curiously for a moment before shifting away—they assumed he was an official sent by the factory to help handle the accident, or some distant relative of the Yi family.

He didn't stop walking and went straight to the Intermediate People's Court.

The middle courtyard was even more desolate than the front courtyard. The three main rooms that originally belonged to He Daqing had their doors and windows tightly shut, the window paper torn in many places, rustling in the evening wind. Weeds grew rampant in the open space in front of the houses, and some broken-down belongings, belonging to someone else, were piled up in the corner, covered with a thick layer of dust. In the twilight, the three rooms looked like a silent, curled-up, wounded beast.

He Damin stood before that familiar wooden door, now peeling and drafty. He didn't knock immediately, but the keen spiritual sense of a Nascent Soul cultivator had already silently penetrated the door.

Inside, the light was dim. A small oil lamp flickered on the kang table, barely illuminating the small space. At the edge of the kang, a tall, thin boy was engrossed in a chipped bowl, wolfing down something dark and sticky. Opposite him, a smaller girl with dry, yellowish hair held an even smaller bowl, eating slowly, occasionally glancing timidly at her brother. The room reeked of an indescribable stench, a mixture of mustiness, dust, and the smell of cheap food. Both children's clothes were worn and thin, patched upon patched, clearly insufficient to keep them warm in the late autumn evening. The boy, though tall, was terribly thin; his shoulder blades seemed about to pierce his thin cotton-padded jacket. The girl's face was even more pointed, her large eyes appearing unusually large in the dim light, yet lacking any sparkle.

Is this the pillar? And what about He Yushui?

He Damin's calm, still heart was suddenly stirred by a small pebble, creating ripples that were subtle yet real. After eight years of seclusion, his Nascent Soul had reached perfection, his divine sense capable of covering half a city, and he could take lives with a wave of his hand. He viewed the world from a superior perspective, habitually analyzing pros and cons, calculating gains and losses, and seeking the simplest and most effective solutions. He viewed people as he viewed objects, subconsciously assessing their threat level, their exploitable value, and… how to incapacitate them with minimal cost.

But at this moment, through this broken door, seeing the two children huddled under the dim oil lamp inside, eating some unknown porridge, especially the little girl's innocent yet timid eyes, the coldness and indifference that had accumulated in his heart over the years, belonging to a top assassin, seemed to be quietly melted away by a touch of human warmth in the twilight.

It's no longer about finding the fatal pressure points to kill with a single blow, nor is it about assessing the opponent's strength and exploitability.

A long-lost, almost forgotten feeling quietly resurfaced. It was... the responsibility and bond that belonged to the identity of "He Damin" and the title of "Uncle," the most primal stirring deep within the blood ties.

He raised his hand and tapped the mottled wooden door three times, neither too hard nor too softly.

"Tap, tap, tap."

The sound of people shoveling rice inside the house suddenly stopped.

Immediately following was a rough, hoarse roar, typical of a teenager going through puberty, filled with irritation and wariness: "Who is it?! Who's coming over during dinner time?! We'll talk tomorrow!"

His voice was full of the bravado of a young man, and a hint of barely perceptible panic.

He Damin didn't respond, but knocked three more times with steady force.

"Coming, coming! Calling me a minute!" Accompanied by an impatient grumbling and the sound of worn-out shoes shuffling, the door latch was roughly pulled open from behind.

With a creak, the wooden door was pulled open a crack, and a hairy head peeked out. The boy, around sixteen or seventeen years old, still had a touch of childishness on his face, but his features already showed a strong, defined look; it was He Yuzhu. His face was smeared with black smudges, and his eyes squinted as they were suddenly exposed to the slightly brighter light from outside. He stared blankly at the person standing outside, his expression a mixture of annoyance and wariness at being disturbed.

"Who are you?!" He Yuzhu asked gruffly, his gaze quickly sweeping over He Damin's face and body. This man was very tall, wearing strange old-fashioned clothes, but very clean. His face... was strangely handsome, but expressionless, looking a bit... cold. He wasn't one of the people in the compound, nor did he look like one of the usual cadres or workers in the factory.

He Damin's gaze passed over He Yuzhu's shoulder and landed on the little girl by the kang table inside the room, who had turned her head at the sound of his voice and was looking at him with wide, curious eyes. He Yushui. Then his gaze returned to He Yuzhu's face. Eight years had passed. The little boy who used to be so lively and playful, who could be coaxed into running all over the yard with just a piece of candy, had grown into this thin and stubborn teenager, his face prematurely etched with the hardships and wariness of life.

The ripples in his heart spread, and the warmth beneath the ice, like a deep spring in spring, flowed slowly and steadily. Unconsciously, his gaze towards people lost its condescending scrutiny and calculation, and gained more... the warmth of "humanity".

He spoke, his voice not loud, yet it reached He Yuzhu's ears clearly, carrying a strange, calming steadiness:

"Zhu Zi, it's your uncle. I'm back."

He Yuzhu seemed rooted to the spot by those words, his impatience and wariness freezing instantly. His eyes widened, staring intently at He Damin's face, his lips trembling uncontrollably. The floodgates of memory were flung open, a torrent of fragmented images rushing in—a broad, warm hand, sweet-smelling candy held high, the hearty laughter as he watched the temple fair with He Yuzhu perched on his shoulders, and the words spoken before leaving home, patting his head and saying, "Good boy, Yuzhu, wait for Uncle to come back..."

The faint warmth of childhood, almost buried by suffering, hunger, cold, and the daily struggle, is suddenly revived at this moment, along with this familiar yet somewhat unfamiliar face that has become estranged with the passage of time!

"Uncle... Uncle?" He Yuzhu's voice trembled, dry and hoarse. He flung open the door, exposing himself completely to the light, which allowed him to see his uncle's face more clearly. It was him! It really was him! Although his demeanor had changed drastically, the contours of his eyes and brows, especially the depth of his gaze, remained the same!

The immense grievances, years of pent-up fear, loneliness, anger at being abandoned, and that tiny glimmer of unbelievable hope that seemed like a miraculous escape... all these emotions erupted like a volcano, instantly shattering the tough shell the boy had been putting on.

"Wow--!!!"

A heart-wrenching wail burst from He Yuzhu's throat. This boy, who was only half a teenager, seemed to have suddenly turned back into that helpless child. He lunged forward and hugged He Damin's waist tightly with both hands, burying his dirty, tear-streaked face in He Damin's old but clean clothes.

"Uncle! Uncle, you're finally back! Waaah... Dad doesn't want us anymore! He ran off with a widow from Baoding! Mom's gone too... It's just me and Yushui left... They bully us... We have no food... We're cold... Uncle... Why did it take you so long to come back?!" He Yuzhu cried uncontrollably, his words incoherent, tears and snot streaming down his face and onto He Damin's clothes. He held him so tightly, as if if he let go, this relative who had fallen from the sky would disappear.

The sudden outburst of crying startled several women in the middle courtyard who were still discussing the Yi family's affairs. They all turned to look at the backyard and were stunned to see the tall, unfamiliar young man being tightly embraced and wailing by the He family's boy.

"Who is that? Why is that young man from the He family crying while hugging him?"

"I don't recognize him... He's dressed strangely, he's not from the factory, is he?"

"Hey, you newbies don't know, that looks like... He Daqing's younger brother? The second son of the He family? I heard he went to Tianjin to learn cooking years ago and we haven't heard from him since. How come he suddenly reappears?" These words came from Jia Zhangshi, the longest-living and most gossipy woman in the courtyard. She squinted at the backyard, her expression shifting. The second son of the He family? She still remembered how formidable this man was back then. Her own dead husband, Jia Youcai, seemed to be... She shuddered, not daring to think further, but her eyes already held a mixture of fear and anticipation.

He Yushui, who was inside the house, was startled by her brother's sudden outburst of crying. Her little mouth trembled, and she burst into tears as well. Although she had no recollection of this suddenly appearing "uncle," her childlike instincts told her that she could sense the immense emotional turmoil in her brother and that...dependence and catharsis. She dropped the small bowl in her hand, climbed off the kang (a heated brick bed), ran barefoot to the door, looked up at her tear-streaked face, saw her brother embracing the stranger, and cried even louder, reaching out her little hand to try and tug at her brother's clothes.

He Damin stood still, letting He Yuzhu hold him and weep, feeling the boy's thin body tremble violently and the hot tears that soaked through his clothes. He reached out, hesitated for a moment, and finally placed his hand on He Yuzhu's messy, dusty hair, gently patting it. The movement was somewhat stiff, but it carried an undeniable comfort.

His gaze fell on Xiaoyushui, who was crying and hiccuping. The little girl was pitifully thin, her face dirty, with streaks of white tears streaming down her cheeks. He bent down and gently wiped away the tears and dirt from Xiaoyushui's face with his other free hand, a gentleness he himself had not expected.

"Don't cry, this is just rainwater." His voice was still steady, but it seemed a little lower and gentler than before. "Uncle is back. From now on, no one will be able to bully you anymore."

This sentence is like a promise, and also like a reassurance.

He Yuzhu's crying gradually subsided into suppressed sobs, but he still clung tightly to He Damin's waist, refusing to let go, as if it were the only piece of driftwood he could grasp in this cold world. He Yushui also stopped sobbing, tilting her little face up, her big eyes red, looking at this gentle stranger with curiosity and timidity.

He Damin's gaze swept over the two chapped bowls on the kang table inside the room, filled with dark, almost unrecognizable gruel, and then looked at the empty, dust-covered stove. The warmth in his heart was mixed with a cold sharpness.

He gently patted He Yuzhu's back: "Zhuzi, let go, let your uncle go in."

He Yuzhu reluctantly let go, wiped his face haphazardly with his sleeve, and stepped aside. He Damin stepped into the house, closing the door behind him to block out the curious or inquisitive gazes from outside.

The room was even more dilapidated and shabby than what the divine sense had perceived. Apart from a kang (a heated brick bed) and a broken table, there was almost no decent furniture, and dust and debris were everywhere. The bedding on the kang was thin, stiff, and filthy. The mixed odor in the air was even more pronounced.

He Damin placed the oiled paper package on the kang table and opened it. The aroma of crispy white flour flatbread and salty braised meat instantly filled the air, dispelling some of the musty smell in the room. He Yushui's little nose twitched, her eyes lit up, and she stared intently at the oiled paper package, unconsciously swallowing. He Yuzhu was also stunned, his stomach growling loudly, and his face flushed red.

"Eat something first." He Damin divided the sesame seed cake and braised meat into two portions, giving the larger portion to He Yuzhu and the smaller portion to He Yushui. "Eat slowly, don't choke."

He Yuzhu looked at the glistening, white sesame flatbread handed to him, and the thinly sliced, tempting, dark brown meat. His Adam's apple bobbed violently. He looked up at his uncle's calm face, then at his sister's longing eyes, and his own eyes reddened. He took the flatbread, but didn't eat it immediately. Instead, he broke off a large piece and handed it to Yushui: "Yushui, eat more."

He Yushui looked at her brother, then at her uncle. Seeing her uncle nod slightly, she carefully took the food, but quickly bit down with her small mouth, her cheeks immediately puffing out.

Watching the two children wolf down their food while still thinking of each other, He Damin quietly sat down on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed). Outside, the autumn wind howled; inside, the oil lamp flickered, illuminating the three figures of one adult and two children.

The killer's heart is being warmed anew, little by little, by the simplest of kinship and responsibilities.

For some, however, their nightmare may have only just begun.