The Courtyard House: The Little Red Devil Returning from the Peninsula

Zhao Weiguo stopped at the entrance of the alley, his shoes pressing against a thin layer of ice.

The tall, thin apprentice tucked the cornbread into his sleeve, his eyes still fixed on the bulge in his cotton-padded jacket. His face, though only in his early twenties, already possessed the calculating nature of an adult, like beads on an abacus, ready to click at the slightest touch.

Zhao Weiguo recognized him.

Yi Zhonghai.

At this time, he was not yet a big shot in the courtyard, nor had he donned that "for your own good" facade. He was just a young apprentice in a blacksmith's shop near the front gate, with cracks on his knuckles and black ash under his fingernails.

"Scrap iron".

Zhao Weiguo patted the sack.

Why are you asking this?

Yi Zhonghai stood up, crumbs of cornbread stuck to his chin.

"I learned my trade at the shop, so I can tell the quality of iron. No one in your family does blacksmithing, so why are you buying this stuff? You didn't steal it, did you?"

The old man selling douzhi (fermented mung bean juice) immediately perked up his ears.

The chubby little boy, He Yuzhu, stopped making a fuss, hugged his bowl, and came over. His snot was frozen under his nostrils, making a shiny little line.

"Stealing iron? Zhao Weiguo, you've got some nerve."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him.

"He Yuzhu, you still owe money for two mouthfuls of soy milk in your bowl."

He Yuzhu's face turned red, and he stiffened his neck.

"My father is He Daqing!"

"Your father isn't a penny-pincher."

The children nearby burst into laughter.

He Yuzhu clutched the empty bowl, wanting to go forward, but then he saw Zhao Weiguo's eyes, shuffled his toes on the ground twice, and didn't take a step.

Yi Zhonghai coughed, as if trying to regain control of the situation.

"Weiguo, we're all from the same compound, I was just trying to be helpful. The city isn't safe right now, the military police and regular police are checking things very strictly. If someone sees you carrying so much iron, it'll be hard to explain."

"Then you explain yourself?"

Zhao Weiguo took a step forward.

Yi Zhonghai's lips twitched.

"I can take it back to the courtyard for you. Show this iron to my master later; maybe we can exchange it for a few copper coins. Kid, don't mess with it; you'll hurt your hands."

Zhao Weiguo slung the sack over his shoulder, the opening of the sack making a dull metallic clang.

"Need not."

Yi Zhonghai reached out to help hold the bag.

Zhao Weiguo dodged to the side, his movement as swift as a blade slicing through water. Yi Zhonghai's hand froze in mid-air, his face instantly losing its composure.

"You child, how can you be so ungrateful?"

Zhao Weiguo stared at his hand.

"Fortunately, I can tell the difference."

The wind in the alley carried the smell of coal smoke, causing the pot of soy milk on the stall to foam with grayish-white foam. In the distance, the sound of horses' hooves came, and two policemen in black cotton-padded coats passed by the street corner, their batons swaying at their waists.

Yi Zhonghai lowered his voice.

"Look, the police are here. If I were to yell, you'd be in big trouble."

He Yuzhu's eyes lit up, as if he saw a lively scene about to begin.

"Shout it out, Uncle Yi, give us a shout!"

The old man selling douzhi (fermented mung bean juice) tapped his spoon against the side of the pot.

"Don't cause trouble at my stall, or who's going to pay for the damage?"

Zhao Weiguo didn't turn around. He put his right hand into his pocket, his fingertips brushing against the cold receiver of the Mauser pistol, then released it and took out the half-eaten grain cake that Zhou Shichang had given him.

He broke off a small piece and threw it into He Yuzhu's bowl.

"Gag him/her."

He Yuzhu was stunned. He looked down at the pancake in the bowl, then looked up at him.

"Do you think I'm a dog?"

"A dog doesn't owe debts."

Another burst of laughter erupted from the side.

He Yuzhu gritted his teeth, grabbed the piece of cake, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed until his cheeks bulged, and couldn't say a word.

Yi Zhonghai's face turned pale and then flushed. He looked towards the patrol officers, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Zhao Weiguo took half a step closer to him and spoke in a voice that only the two of them could hear.

"Yi Zhonghai, don't use 'good intentions' as a noose to trap people. If you keep it on for too long, it will strangle them."

Yi Zhonghai's pupils contracted slightly.

"What nonsense are you talking about?"

"Just remember that."

Zhao Weiguo left the stall carrying a sack and walked deeper into Nanluoguxiang. The gate of No. 95 courtyard was crooked, the threshold was worn shiny from being walked on, and the sound of chopping wood and women arguing about trivial matters came from inside the courtyard.

As soon as he stepped through the hanging flower gate, the door of the Yan family's house in the front yard opened a crack.

A young man wearing a tattered felt hat peeked out, his eyes scanning the sack first, then Zhao Weiguo's shoes.

"Wei Guo, you've found something good?"

Zhao Weiguo stopped.

"Uncle Yan, your eyesight is so sharp it could be used as a scale."

Yan Bugui chuckled twice and squeezed half of his body out through the crack in the door.

"Hey, when it comes to making a living, everyone has to be careful. Your bag is heavy, can I help you carry it to the backyard? You're welcome, just give me two pieces of metal."

"I'll carry it myself."

"Don't mind."

Yan Bugui leaned forward, his fingers already touching the corner of the burlap sack.

"Your parents are gone, and the neighbors in the courtyard have to take care of you. You're just a child, how would you know how much this scrap metal is worth? You might get scammed without even knowing it."

Zhao Weiguo put the sack on the ground.

thump.

The sound of chopping wood in the courtyard stopped. Someone peeked out from the middle courtyard, and someone opened a window in the back courtyard. Several residents, their necks shivering from the cold, looked over, their eyes like strings of copper coins hanging in the shadows.

Zhao Weiguo bent down and untied the bag, revealing several pieces of rusted iron and a broken pot rim.

Yan Bugui's eyes lit up.

"Oh dear, this broken edge of the pot can be used to mend a basin."

"able."

Zhao Weiguo picked up the broken edge of the pot and weighed it in his hand.

"But this is mine."

Yan Bugui's smile froze.

"You can't say that, in the courtyard..."

"Whoever's things are in the yard, they belong to them."

Zhao Weiguo tied the bag closed again.

"If you're short of iron, just turn right when you go out; there are plenty of them on the street. If you're looking for cheap stuff, don't look here."

Yan Bugui moved his lips for a long time before finally managing to squeeze out a sentence.

"At such a young age, her mouth is as sharp as a knife."

"A knife can also be used for self-defense."

Over at the Intermediate Court, a sturdy woman stood at the door carrying a basket, her voice high-pitched.

"Hey, Zhao's kid's back? Always running around outside, aren't you afraid of starving to death out there?"

Zhao Weiguo looked up.

Jia Zhangshi.

He was younger than he was later, but his face had grown horizontally, his eyes were swollen, and he was holding a handful of sunflower seeds, spitting the shells out on the doorstep.

Her gaze fell on the sack, and she immediately changed her tone.

"You're an orphan, there's no use keeping all this junk. Give it to Dongxu to practice on, so he won't forget you when he becomes a factory worker in the future."

A thin little boy ran out of the house and hid behind Jia Zhangshi's legs, looking timidly at Zhao Weiguo.

Zhao Weiguo didn't look at the child, but only at the melon seeds in Jia Zhangshi's hand.

"The fact that you have sunflower seeds to eat means you're not hungry."

Jia Zhangshi's face darkened.

"Hey, you orphan, how dare you talk to your elders like that?"

The courtyard suddenly became quiet.

The wind swept across the courtyard, and the old trousers hanging on the clothesline slapped against the wall, making a slapping sound, like someone clapping in the dark.

Zhao Weiguo lifted the sack, his shoulders hunched under the weight, but he quickly straightened up again.

"Just because my parents aren't here doesn't mean anyone can be my elder."

Jia Zhangshi slammed the basket onto the threshold.

"You've gone too far! Today, I'll teach you a lesson on behalf of your parents!"

She rushed down the steps, raising her hand, which carried the smell of stale cooking oil and sunflower seed shells.

Zhao Weiguo did not back down.

His hands were already inside his cotton-padded coat.