Courtyard House: Starting with a 28-inch motorcycle

He took care of the old lady just like He Yuzhu, and now that he has two more children, his excuses are more numerous than vines.

An older woman laughed and replied, "Alright, Fangfang's dowry will be listed separately, and the rest will be left to Jiye. I recently took on a job pasting matchboxes; I drop the children off at the old lady's place, and my hands are constantly busy, and I'm making money without missing out."

An old man frowned: "You're not in good health, don't push yourself. Just stay home and take care of the children."

The middle-aged woman laughed loudly: "Before, I had no hope, and I was so anxious I couldn't sleep. But recently I saw a doctor, who said there's nothing wrong with me, and I feel energetic all over, I can't stay idle!"

After saying that, she picked up a small bag of pastries and walked briskly toward the old lady's house.

Qin Huairu carried the meat wrapped in oil paper home, with half a bag of sorghum rice, a bundle of dried chili peppers, and two bundles of noodles at her feet.

Madam Jia's eyes were practically glued to the perfectly marbled pork belly. Her throat tightened, but she swallowed the words back down. She had been slapped hard last time, and her left ear had been ringing for three days. Now, when she saw Qin Huairu raise her eyelids, she even held her breath.

Now she is focused solely on raising Banggeng to adulthood, and all other thoughts have long been discarded. She no longer dares to fuss, nitpick, or rummage through drawers and cabinets in the middle of the night for food.

Banggeng sniffed and darted over: "Mom! The stew smells delicious!"

Little Dang stood on tiptoe and tugged at her arm: "Meat! I want to gnaw on a bone!"

Qin Huairu slammed the cleaver onto the cutting board, and hearing the crisp sound, she felt as at ease as if she had stepped into solid earth.

If Jia Zhangshi starts acting sarcastic and unfriendly again, she wouldn't mind letting her experience what it means to be "slapped so hard it's smoking."

Sister Wang advised her: Your mother-in-law is not an ancestor. Don't smile when you should be cold, and don't hesitate to take action when you should. You can serve her food, but you can't ask her to do things for you, and you can't let her talk nonsense.

She remembered these words, but she didn't follow them verbatim—in life, one must carefully consider which words are golden advice and which are just empty promises; which move, if made correctly, can turn things around, and which misstep will lead to bitter consequences.

In the current situation, the two are in perfect sync, one pretending to be deaf and dumb, and the other turning a blind eye, and life is actually going much more smoothly than before.

In the past, Madam Jia would have pinched her nose and complained, "This meat smells so fishy, ​​it must have died of disease." Now, all Qin Huairu has to do is slam the rolling pin on the stove, and Madam Jia will immediately shrink into the inner room, not even daring to cough loudly.

……

Just after noon, He Yuzhu pushed open the back door of the canteen and was dusting flour off his apron when Director Yang was already leaning against the door frame waiting for him.

"Xiao He, come with me." Factory Director Yang gestured with his chin. "I've already spoken to Director Zhang."

He Yuzhu nodded, didn't ask any more questions, and simply stuffed the enamel mug into his pocket.

The two headed straight for the compound gate, where a dark green sedan was quietly parked under the shade of a sycamore tree. The driver, Old Li, jumped out and deftly opened the back door. The car passed through three checkpoints before turning deep into the government compound.

The leader's wife was already waiting at the courtyard gate, her apron still on, and she greeted them with a smile: "Little Yang, Little He, you're here? Come in, come in!"

Factory Director Yang quickly waved his hand: "Aunt Li, please rest. We'll just sit for a bit and then leave."

Without waiting for a reply, the lady took He Yuzhu's arm and said, "Come on, let's go into the kitchen with Aunt Li. I've made your favorite braised pork knuckle today."

He Yuzhu followed her through the brick corridor. Steam filled the kitchen, and the clay pots bubbled and steamed. Director Yang came in, whispered a few words to the old leader, and then hurriedly took his leave.

He Yuzhu cooked two vegetarian dishes and blanched a plate of cabbage hearts, then sat quietly on a small bamboo stool waiting. Only when he heard the soft clatter of bowls and chopsticks coming from the living room did Aunt Li lift the curtain and come in, smiling as she patted his shoulder: "Come on, have something hot with Uncle Liu, it's just the three of us today."

The old leader was picking up a piece of braised pork knuckle when he saw him come in. He put his chopsticks down on the table and said, "Sit down! I heard from Xiao Yang that you're studying at night school?"

"Yes, Uncle Liu."

"Call me Uncle Liu, call me Aunt Li—what's with the formality?" The old leader chuckled, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. "Want to play a couple of rounds of video games with me after dinner?"

"I can play, but I'm a terrible player."

After the meal, Aunt Li quickly packed up half a pork knuckle, a dish of pickled vegetables, and two steamed buns, specifically instructing, "Keep these for your sister; the child is growing."

The old leader led him into the study, where the charcoal fire in the bronze stove glowed faintly red. He reached into the sandalwood chess box, grabbed a handful of white chess pieces, and waved them at He Yuzhu.

He Yuzhu lowered his head and carefully placed the two black stones, straight and even.

After counting the odd and even numbers, the old leader took the black pieces and moved first.

After a few rounds, He Yuzhu had a good idea of ​​what was going on: the old leader played chess for fun, didn't do deep calculations, was slow to make moves, and didn't care about winning or losing.

As he answered the call, he subtly scanned the room: an old-fashioned gramophone covered with a blue cloth, its casing peeling and worn; bookshelves piled with "The Barefoot Doctor's Manual" and "Introduction to Tractor Repair"; an old rattan sofa in the corner; and half a copy of "People's Daily" spread out on the coffee table.

Before leaving, the former leader asked his driver to take him back to his courtyard house.

Before the shadow of the locust tree at the alley entrance had moved, He Yuzhu had already stepped into his own courtyard—no one saw him return in his car, and even the rhythm of water dripping from the clothesline remained unchanged.

That very day, he hired a skilled carpenter and gestured that he wanted three things made: a floor-to-ceiling pine wardrobe with smooth drawers and sturdy hanging rods; a low kang table with thick legs and a flat surface so that food wouldn't spill; and a narrow dressing table with a securely set mirror and drawers with hidden latches.

The carpenter squatted down to measure the dimensions. He handed over a four-yuan deposit, with the remaining nine yuan to be paid upon delivery.

Pointing to the door, he asked, "This wooden frame is flimsy; it wobbles in the wind. Next time you come, could you please nail on a few diagonal braces for me?"

The carpenter nodded in agreement, and casually scratched the crack in the door with his fingernail: "It's drafty; I'll add a layer of felt for you later."

He Yuzhu turned around and tore open the old newspapers, pasting them three layers tightly to seal the windows, preventing even a trace of cold air from getting in. When spring arrives and the weather warms up, they can be peeled off and used to line the stove.

Then he squatted down in front of the stove and carefully felt all the seams of the exhaust pipe. He found two minor leaks, so he immediately tore up newspapers, twisted them into strips, and stuffed them tightly. He also pulled down an old cotton quilt covered with patches from the head of the bed and hung it behind the door so that no cold air could get in when the door was opened or closed.

After everything was tidied up, he lifted the pot lid and steamed three cornbreads and three steamed buns, then sliced ​​the braised pork hock he had brought back and reheated it thoroughly.

He Yushui should be back soon.

Lately, Qin Huairu had become increasingly unpredictable in Jia Zhangshi's eyes: she would come home right on time after get off work, put down her bag, and then rush out again, only to be gone for two or three hours at a time. Jia Zhangshi kept quiet and dared not ask, but as she chopped pig feed by the stove, she would grit her teeth and curse her in her heart as a "slut" and "shameless."

Qin Huairu, however, forced her to dig a cellar under the west wall—she dug while others went to work, and stopped when others finished get off work. Now the pit is almost five feet deep and wide enough for a person to lie down in. No one knows where she got the food from. Every day she would come home with a sack under her arm and a cloth bag on her shoulder, and she would quietly pour it into the pit: corn kernels, dried sweet potatoes, half a bag of millet, and even two small jars of pickled vegetables.

Jia Zhangshi secretly plotted: if she dug a little deeper, she could find an old door panel, nail together a low bed, and then sleep on the top of the cellar, where it would be warm in winter and cool in summer, and she wouldn't have to worry about Qin Huairu's attitude.

In fact, Qin Huairu often visited Widow Wang's house during the day: sometimes Yu Wenyan would come quietly on his old bicycle, and the two would talk in the inner room; sometimes they would ride together to the black market—they had heard that the grain station there was secretly releasing grain, so they would buy it under the cover of darkness and hide it in the cellar. In case word got out, at least they wouldn't starve to death, and they could get through the difficult times on their wages.

Widow Wang was shrewd and efficient: she had long since "invited" her mother-in-law back to her hometown, and the money she sent her with grain coupons was a fixed amount every month, leaving her only enough to buy soap, kerosene, and needles and thread.

Such shrewdness and competence—she's no ordinary widow. She's clearly someone who's walked the edge of a knife and been tempered by storms.

Widow Wang put her arm around Qin Huairu's shoulder and said in a low but steady voice, "Huairu, remember, if Yu Wenyan ever looks away or avoids talking, you should back off immediately—persistent pestering is the most hurtful and troublesome thing to do."

Qin Huairu smiled wryly: "Sister Wang is more perceptive than me; he's probably already fallen for her."

Widow Wang smiled and shook her head: "Sister, I've got my eye on someone else—a level six fitter. He's steady-handed, earns a good salary, and all I need to do is hand him a cup of hot water or a piece of candy, and he'll be as soft as a noodle."

The two exchanged a knowing smile: they would meet less, call less, and write less.

……

Just as He Yuzhu put the braised pork knuckle into the bowl, the courtyard gate creaked open—He Yushui rushed in, grabbed two steamed buns, stuffed them into her pocket, and turned to run towards Uncle Yi's house.

He Yuzhu carried a few packets of candy and two boxes of pastries to an old lady's house.

Constantly eating at someone else's kitchen without ever giving anything back will eventually create distance between even the closest neighbors. Reciprocity is the foundation of good relationships.

Before anyone even stepped into the courtyard, a string of silvery laughter drifted out of the house.

An older woman rushed to open the door upon hearing the noise, her apron still stained with flour.

"Silly Zhu! Just come, why bring anything?" she complained, but her hand had already taken the bag from him.

"These are for my younger siblings to chew on." He Yuzhu smiled as he placed the snacks on the octagonal table, the edges of the paper wrapping still slightly damp.

On the kang (a heated brick bed), He Yushui was rolling around with her two children, her face flushed, giggling incessantly, clutching half a piece of candy in her hand, the wrapper almost crumpled up.

He chatted with an older woman for a while, saying little but always offering practical advice.

As I got up to leave, an older woman grabbed my sleeve: "It's lunchtime, eat before you go!"

He made several excuses, saying that there was soup simmering on the stove at home and that there was urgent work at the factory that afternoon, before he finally managed to get away.

Upon entering, He Yuzhu went straight to the space—wanting to see how happily the fish were swimming and how many new leaves the ginseng had sprouted.

Sure enough, the seven ginseng plants had already unfurled six palmate compound leaves, and were half an inch shorter than the Cymbidium goeringii on the windowsill; the Polygonum multiflorum vines next to them were gnarled and twisted, looking just like a bunch of black hemp rope that had exploded; and the Panax notoginseng had grown very tall, with stems reaching waist height and leaves that were glossy and thick.

Fortunately, the space has quietly expanded in recent years; otherwise, given its rampant growth, even corn would probably have to be reclaimed.