Courtyard House: Starting with a 28-inch motorcycle

The film tells the story of the great changes that have taken place in remote mountain villages after electricity was brought in: water pumping, flour milling, and lighting have all been implemented; villagers from the east and west villages rushed to Liuzhuang overnight with gongs and drums, and discussed the plans for drilling wells, building canals and starting production.

Under the call of the Party and in response to the most fervent hopes of the farmers, a vigorous upsurge of rural people's communes was launched.

A red sun leaps over the horizon, its golden rays bathing the fields, and songs drift in the wind, joyful and passionate.

As Lou Xiao'e walked out of the cinema, her eyes sparkled and a smile lingered on her lips.

In those days, a single command from the state could truly ignite a spark in people's hearts.

Seeing that the problems that had plagued the poor mountain village for generations were being solved one by one, she was overjoyed.

Having grown up in luxury, I've never seen real hardship. It wasn't until I saw it with my own eyes that I understood what it meant to "turn my life around".

Lou Xiao'e raised her face, her voice soft but firm: "Shazhu, we are so lucky to have been born in the land of China under the red flag."

"Hmm." He Yuzhu responded heavily, his gaze deep, like a deep pool reflecting sunlight.

Lou Xiao'e: "Come on, it's my treat!"

He Yuzhu raised an eyebrow: "Let's go to my place, I'll cook—I promised, I can't go back on my word."

Lou Xiao'e slightly upturned her nose, snorted, and a faint blush rose to her ears before leaping into the car and disappearing into the distance.

He Yuzhu took off chasing after him, straddled the bicycle, and pedaled hard a few times until the wheels were almost smoking.

Sure enough, she went straight to the courtyard house.

"Stop up ahead for a bit! Let's stop at the supply and marketing cooperative to buy some vegetables—we're almost starving at home," he called out to the front.

Lou Xiao'e ignored it, swerved the handlebars, and drove straight toward the gate of the courtyard.

He Yuzhu quickly locked his car, slipped into the store, weighed out two pounds of pork belly, and casually wiped clean the meat coupons that the system had just issued.

Suddenly, a thought struck me: Can I sign in here?

"System, sign in!" he muttered to himself.

"Ding! Sign-in successful, reward: two cabbages."

The crisp sound in his head almost made him choke—well, this time even a cabbage stalk isn't worth five cents.

Back at the courtyard house, Lou Xiao'e's bicycle was already securely locked next to the gate, but she was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as I reached the gate of Uncle San's courtyard, I saw him carrying a shiny manure jar, scooping out the manure one ladleful at a time, making the rose leaves glisten with oil.

The third uncle, with his sharp eyes, spotted the meat wrapped in oil paper in He Yuzhu's hand and immediately grinned, "Silly Zhu! Want to have a couple of drinks tonight? The bottle of wine you gave me last time still has the cap tightly closed!" His words were tinged with a mixture of greed and envy.

Teachers were given meat coupons that were as thin as paper each month. It took them half a year of hard work to save up enough to cut up half a plate of sliced ​​meat with alternating layers of fat and lean meat.

It's mental work, and there aren't the rigid food ration quotas like those for factory workers.

He Yuzhu readily agreed: "Sure! I'll come and call you tonight."

The third uncle grabbed his wrist: "It's a deal!" He was afraid the man would slip away.

"But I'm afraid I'll be late today—I have to go to night school after dinner," He Yuzhu added.

The old man squinted and gestured with his chin toward the courtyard: "That girl in the blue cotton shirt, isn't she the one who came to see you a couple of days ago? Sha Zhu, is she your girlfriend?" His eyes looked like he had a sparrow fluttering around inside him.

"Colleague." He Yuzhu only said two words before turning and leaving.

As soon as I pushed open the door, Lou Xiao'e was standing under the eaves of the main room, twisting the hem of her clothes with her fingers, her cheeks hotter than the embers in the stove.

He quickly stepped aside to let her in, then turned and went into the kitchen to get busy.

First, lift the pot lid and put the steamed buns on the steamer—for northerners, wheat-based foods are the mainstay of daily life; rice? That's a rare treat.

The meat chunks simmered and churned in the pot, turning from pink to brown, the sauce thick and glossy. When a plate of braised pork was served, the whole room was filled with an irresistible aroma.

Make an egg drop soup, its clear liquid brimming with golden fluff, and as the steam rises, a warm feeling spreads from your stomach to your fingertips.

The old lady's portion had already been divided up and was placed in a coarse porcelain bowl, covered tightly.

He carried the bowl to the backyard.

When he returned and looked up, he saw a little girl with pigtails peeking at him from the edge of the table.

He Yuzhu didn't rush into the house. He first glanced in the direction of the Jia family's house—a copper lock hung on the door, and the heavy iron chain dangled. He just shook his head slightly and then turned around to invite Lou Xiao'e to sit down.

The silly girl picked up some food while bending down to feed Xiao Dang, her movements so gentle it was as if she were afraid of startling something.

After the meal, the two walked out of the courtyard gate side by side.

Only then did they see Jia Zhangshi leading a stick, carrying locust flowers on her back, swaying as she moved back.

See you tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow." Lou Xiao'e replied, then lowered her head and ran off, her back as light and nimble as a swallow skimming over the eaves.

While it was still light, he decided to first go to the black market, and then go to the steel mill night school.

The black market is a place where people are always around, just changing from one group to another – today it's selling secondhand goods, tomorrow it's dealing in grain coupons.

He took out a dime and handed it over. He found a corner, squatted down, put the two coarse cloth bags on the ground, and opened a corner of the bag: a bag of golden corn kernels and a bag of round potatoes, quietly revealing a sense of honesty.

Nowadays, food supplies are rationed, with ration coupons controlling our lives. Families are scrimping and saving on rice, so where would we find any extra grain to spare? On the black market, grain is more sought after than candy.

In less than half an hour, the two hundred catties of grain had changed hands, and he was holding eighteen crumpled bills in his hand.

Cloth coupons? No rush.

The stalls at the far end of the black market were exclusively for exchanging tickets—whoever had cloth coupons, oil coupons, or industrial coupons would openly display them, waiting for discerning customers.

He had just walked halfway when he caught a glimpse of a man squatting in the shadows, a bamboo basket on his lap containing a grimy little piglet.

"How much for this piglet?" He Yuzhu asked in a low voice.

"Twenty pounds, exactly twenty yuan, not a penny to spare," the man replied in a hoarse voice.

"Eighteen, take it or leave it."

The man guarded the gate of the pig farm, while the old woman coughed so badly her lungs were breaking out, and her medicine pot was being boiled more frequently than the rice cooker. Finally, having exhausted all other options, she groped her way out in the dark and brought out a sickly little piglet.

Every day, piglets die in the pig farm: some are crushed by the sow, some are wilted before weaning, and some are dehydrated due to diarrhea.

The person counting only looks at the total number. If one or two are missing, they turn a blind eye. But if three or four are missing in a row, the whole place will be turned upside down to investigate thoroughly.

He spent the entire day in the black market, but not a single person even asked about the price.

Everyone is afraid of getting into trouble, so who would dare to touch this hot potato?

Does anyone actually buy a roast suckling pig? That's not eating meat, that's burning money.

Upon hearing "eighteen yuan," the man didn't even lift his eyelids, and simply pushed the basket forward.

He Yuzhu was so happy that the corners of his mouth kept turning upwards. He took off his coat, covered the basket with it, and walked away.

Cloth coupons aren't urgent.

These two lively piglets are our hope for a year of oil production.

He moved with lightning speed, heading straight for the hidden car. He lifted the seat cushion, stuffed the basket into the space, and strode off.

They were afraid that the man was playing the long game.

In the black market, everyone wears hats, scarves, and changes their clothes, but he takes the easy way out—he always carries a hood made from a urea bag, with tight stitches, leaving only his eyes and nose exposed, so no one can recognize his face.

We hurried along until we reached the old auditorium where the night school was located.

The benches weren't full yet; people were scattered in twos and threes, some eating sunflower seeds, others taking out cigarettes.

A little while later, Teacher Wu arrived.

He was in his early fifties, not very tall, with a few sparse strands of white hair on his head, and he always shook his head when he spoke, like an old hen pecking at rice.

"Class, take that piece of paper from the table, one for each of you." He cleared his throat. "My surname is Wu, you can call me Teacher Wu from now on."

He Yuzhu stepped forward, took the form, and sat back down to look at it—it was the first few paragraphs of the Thousand Character Classic, the ink still wet.

"Today we'll learn a few characters first. Follow me and read them aloud—" Teacher Wu said, drawing out each word as she read them aloud.

The people below chanted in unison, their voices rising and falling like waves crashing on the shore.

The blackboard was completely blank, without a single word, let alone any step-by-step explanation.

After repeating it three or four times, he dusted off his sleeves and left without even touching the chalk.

A few minutes later, Teacher Gao came in as the bell rang.

She was around forty years old, petite, with neatly cut hair, spoke crisply, and had eyes so bright they could reflect a person's image.

"My surname is Gao, and I teach math." She glanced around. "We'll skip the basics of addition and subtraction—we'll start learning two-digit addition now."

While writing on the blackboard, he broke down the problem word by word. When he came to an addition equation, he explained it three or four times, breaking it down into its simplest form, even using his fingers to demonstrate.

After all, it was the first time they were teaching, and they were afraid we'd be completely lost and wouldn't understand a single word.

The old man selling candied hawthorns on the roadside can do the mental math of adding single digits; but when it comes to two digits, everyone freezes, their eyes darting around.

Teacher Gao closed her lesson plan and glanced around: "Before get out of class ends, who still has something they don't understand? Ask them now."

After confirming that no one raised their hand or whispered among themselves, he breathed a sigh of relief and said, "Go back tonight and go over today's questions again."

As soon as the school bell rang and people had barely stepped out of the classroom, He Yuzhu caught a glimpse of several classmates clutching copies of the "Thousand Character Classic" and heading straight for the math office—they looked like they were going to ask for a lifeline.

Teacher Gao smiled and waved her hand: "Tomorrow, after math class, we'll set aside twenty minutes to teach new words. Today we're short on time, so please drive carefully on your way home, and don't fall or take the wrong path."

I have to have a drink with Uncle San tonight!

When I got home, I put the leftover braised meat in a pot to heat it up, and then fried a small dish of peanuts, their aroma filling my nostrils.

He squeezed into the space and immediately spotted the new piglets huddled in a corner, whimpering, their tails curled up tightly—they were probably starving. He deftly opened the pigpen door and poured in a ladle of feed mixed with bran. The two pigs immediately rushed over to eat, their grunting so loud it made his eardrums itch.

This one was just brought home, and it's skinny and smaller than the one I raised for ten days—one weighs a little over twenty pounds, while the other is estimated to weigh around thirty-two or thirty-three pounds.

He exited the space, took a step and walked towards the gate of the Third Uncle's courtyard, knocking three times on the door.

"Who is it?" came a muffled voice from inside the house.

"Uncle! Sha Zhu's here!"