Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

When it was dawn, He Yuzhu was still lying on the kang (a heated brick bed).

The birds outside chirped a few times and then stopped. Qin Huairu was already up, and the sound of a spatula hitting a wok echoed from the kitchen. He Nianhua rolled over, her little hand sliding down his face, muttering something before falling asleep again. He Yuzhu opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The crack was still there, stretching from the light fixture to the corner of the wall; he had watched it for so many years, and it hadn't gotten any bigger.

When he got up, Qin Huairu had already served the porridge. The millet porridge was thick, and the grains of rice had all split open. He Nianhua rubbed his eyes, climbed onto the stool, picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece of pickled vegetable, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing it with a crunching sound.

"Dad, are you taking me home today?"

He Yuzhu sat down next to him. "This is for you."

He Nianhua was delighted. He picked up the bowl and slurped down the porridge, getting it all over his mouth. Qin Huairu wiped his mouth with a towel, but he dodged away, giggling. He Yuzhu watched them without saying a word.

After dropping off his child, He Yuzhu walked towards the research institute. A group of people were talking in the alley; when they saw him, their voices lowered, their gazes drifting over before looking away. He walked past, and the sounds resumed, a rustling, whispering sound like stepping on ice in winter. He didn't turn around.

A crowd gathered at the entrance of the research institute.

He Yuzhu saw it from afar. There were quite a few people; some were standing on tiptoe, some were craning their necks, and some were squeezed at the front, being pushed forward by those behind them. There were things pasted on the wall, black ink on white paper, standing out starkly against the dusty gray wall.

As he walked over, the crowd automatically parted to make way. Eyes fell on him, some quickly, some slowly, some glanced and then looked away, some followed him. He stood in front of the paper. It contained his name, written in crooked, illegible calligraphy: "Worshiping Foreign Things and Fawning on Foreigners," "Technology First," "Take the Capitalist Road," line after line, some characters blurred and smudged.

He stood there, reading it from beginning to end. A gust of wind blew, causing a corner of the paper to flutter, but it didn't lift up and fell back down. He didn't move.

Ma Yuejin squeezed through the crowd and stood beside him, his face flushed red and his fists clenched tightly. "Dean, I'll go tear it apart." He took a step forward, but He Yuzhu grabbed his arm.

"Don't tear it."

Ma Yuejin turned around, his eyes reddening. "They're slandering us! All those things you did—tanks, satellites, rockets…" He couldn't finish his sentence; his throat felt like it was blocked by something. He lowered his head, staring at the ground, his shoulders heaving violently. He Yuzhu released his grip, stood there, and looked at the paper.

Someone whispered something, but it was unclear what they said. Then someone else spoke, their voice very low. The sounds blended together, buzzing like mosquitoes on a summer evening. He Yuzhu turned around and walked into the courtyard. Ma Yuejin followed behind, taking a few steps before turning back to look at the paper again.

Big-character posters were appearing everywhere. They were posted at the canteen entrance, at the workshop entrance, and even under the dormitory building. Some were named after He Yuzhu, some after Lin Jianguo, some after Ma Yuejin, and some even mentioned the archives room, claiming it contained "black goods of feudalism, capitalism, and revisionism." Yang Xiaobing would tear them down every morning, only to put them up again the next day. He would throw a stack of torn-off papers on the table, the edges rolled up, some torn to reveal the layer underneath.

"Captain, we can't tear this all up."

He Yuzhu flipped through the papers and set them aside. "Don't tear them up."

Yang Xiaobing looked at him. "So we'll just let them stick it on like that?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, people were standing in front of the big-character posters, looking at them and leaving, only for new ones to arrive. Yang Xiaobing stood at the door, clutching the stack of papers, the edges of which were crumpled. He stood there for a while, then turned and left, his heavy footsteps stirring up dust in the corridor.

That evening, He Yuzhu returned home. A wooden board had been nailed to the window frame, blocking half the light. The room was much darker, the light from the lamp on casting a dim, yellowish glow. Qin Huairu was busy at the stove, the spatula clanging against the iron pot.

"What's wrong with the window?"

Qin Huairu didn't turn around. "Someone threw a brick during the day. It didn't hit anyone."

He Yuzhu walked over and stood in front of the window. The wooden planks were newly nailed, and the splinters were still sharp. He touched them, then pulled his hand back.

He Nianhua was doing his homework, his pencil scratching on the paper. He wrote slowly, stroke by stroke, and halfway through, he looked up at He Yuzhu.

"Dad, someone put up a big-character poster at the school today."

He Yuzhu sat down next to him. "What's that posted?"

He Nianhua thought for a moment. "Say that Dad is a bad person."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He Nianhua looked at him, waited a while, then lowered her head and continued writing. The pencil stub scratched on the paper, faster than before. Qin Huairu brought the dishes over: a plate of scrambled eggs, a plate of stewed cabbage, and a bowl of soup. She sat down next to He Yuzhu and picked up a piece of food for him.

"Let's eat."

He Yuzhu picked up his chopsticks, took a mouthful of rice, chewed it twice, but couldn't swallow. He put down his chopsticks, picked up his bowl, and drank a sip of soup. The soup was hot, scalding his mouth until it went numb.

After finishing his meal, He Nianhua washed his face and feet, climbed onto the kang (heated brick bed), and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He blinked at He Yuzhu. "Dad, are you asleep?"

He Yuzhu went over and tucked the blanket into his head. "Go to sleep."

He Nianhua closed her eyes, then opened them again after a while. "Dad, you're not a bad person."

He Yuzhu patted his head. "Mmm."

He Nianhua felt relieved, closed her eyes, and turned over. Qin Huairu collected the bowls, washed them, and put them back in the cupboard. She sat down next to He Yuzhu, and the two of them sat there in silence. The lamp wick flickered, then stabilized.

He Yuzhu was awakened by a crisp sound at night.

He sat up. Qin Huairu also woke up, her hand on the blanket, not moving. Another sound came from outside, more muffled than before, like a thud against the wall. He Yuzhu put on his clothes and went to the door. He Nianhua turned over, muttering something, but didn't wake up.

He pushed open the door. Broken glass was scattered all over the courtyard, gleaming coldly in the moonlight. Several bricks lay at the base of the wall, bluish-gray, the same color as the bricks on the wall. Yang Xiaobing ran in from the gate, barefoot, his trousers rolled up to his knees, clutching the dagger in his hand.

"Commander, throw bricks into the yard. They ran away, we couldn't catch them."

He Yuzhu squatted down and picked up a piece of broken glass. The edge was sharp and would cut his hand. He placed the shard against the wall, stood up, and looked at the broken window. The curtains were blown by the wind, fluttered briefly, and then fell back down.

"What does a person look like?"

Yang Xiaobing shook his head. "It was pitch black, I couldn't see anything. He ran pretty fast, like a young man."

He Yuzhu picked up the bricks one by one and stacked them against the wall. After stacking four, he picked up another, weighed it in his hand, and placed it on top. Qin Huairu stood at the door, wearing a coat, holding He Nianhua. The child was still asleep, his little head resting on her shoulder, his mouth moving slightly.

"Let's go inside, it's chilly outside," He Yuzhu said.

Qin Huairu turned and went inside. He Yuzhu stood in the courtyard, looking at the shattered window. The wind blew, causing the curtains to flutter. Yang Xiaobing stood beside him, clutching a dagger, for a long time.

"Commander, should we send more men?"

He Yuzhu shook his head. "No need."

He turned and went inside. Qin Huairu had already put He Nianhua back on the kang (a heated brick bed) and tucked her in. She sat on the edge of the kang, watching him.

"Go to sleep."

The light went out. He Yuzhu lay on the kang (a heated brick bed), listening to the wind outside. He Nianhua turned over, her small hand resting on his face, warm and soft. He closed his eyes, his mind filled with the big-character poster, the stack of broken glass, and the few gray bricks. He turned over again and gently placed He Nianhua's small hand back under the covers.