Courtyard House: I'm an engineer, and a fairy godmother transferred me to a different position.

"Thank you for your help, Master Liao," Liu Guangqi replied with a smile. "Please bring a little of everything. My elderly relatives are coming over today, so I need to prepare more."

"Okay!"

With a flick of his wrist, Chef Liao loaded a heavy spoonful of braised pork into the plate, the pieces of meat piled high. He then poured two more spoonfuls of rich sauce over it. The ribs were served with only the meatiest parts, the bones almost invisible.

Beside her, Zhao Mengyun counted out the canteen tickets and handed them over—vegetable tickets, meat tickets, and grain tickets, a neat stack.

This action caught the attention of Liu Haizhong and the second aunt behind them, and the two of them paused for a moment, exchanging a silent glance.

I'd heard that the food in government compound was exceptional, but seeing it in person still took my breath away. This level of service is probably comparable to that of state-run restaurants outside.

"My dear," the second aunt said in a low voice, her eyes still fixed on the mountain of meat, "how many meat coupons will this meal use?"

Liu Haizhong's Adam's apple bobbed, and he mumbled, "You're asking me? Who am I supposed to ask... Anyway, my son is capable!"

Despite saying that, the old couple's eyes held a mixture of pride and a hidden heartache—a deep-seated appreciation for resources.

*

The family chose a table by the window and sat down.

The chefs in the government canteen are all certified professionals. Their braised pork is rich and flavorful, with the fatty parts tender and not greasy, and the lean parts soft and juicy. The aroma of the rich, dark sauce almost fills the entire table.

Even Aunt Erda and Liu Haizhong, who were used to home-cooked meals, had to admit that the meat was just as good as the one cooked by the cook in the yard named Shazhu.

Under the table, the second aunt gently tugged at her daughter-in-law's sleeve:

"Xiaoyun, this must have cost a lot of money, right? We're not short of food at home; we still have brown sugar cakes... Isn't this too extravagant?"

Zhao Mengyun turned her face, smiled, and patted her mother-in-law's hand:

"Mom, don't worry. Guangqi just received his salary from the department today, and he also brought back several certificates and awards."

She had originally planned to tell Liu Guangqi this, and now she took the opportunity to say it.

Liu Haizhong had just put a piece of meat in his mouth when he heard the words "certificate of merit" and immediately looked up:

"Several certificates? Guangqi just got back and missed the year-end awards ceremony, where did he get these certificates?"

He had worked in the steel rolling mill for most of his life and knew all too well how things worked there—these days, awards weren't just given out casually; each one had to have a real reason behind it.

Seeing her father-in-law's expression, Zhao Mengyun couldn't help but smile:

"Dad, you guessed right. Guang Qi's certificates have little to do with the department's year-end commendation."

"Although one of them is an award for advanced collective, that is a collective honor that he receives every year, so whether he attends the meeting or not doesn't matter."

"Mainly, there's a National Model Worker certificate and a Technological Achievement Award certificate."

"A national model worker?!"

Liu Haizhong's chopsticks clattered onto the table.

The whole table suddenly fell silent.

He also received the title of model worker at the steel rolling mill, but that was awarded by the factory.

National Model Worker – that’s a completely different matter.

As dusk settled, the lights in the canteen gradually dimmed. Those veteran workers who had dedicated their lives to their posts probably hadn't even touched the edge of their certificates. Yet his son had brought home that medal, a symbol of the highest honor. Liu Haizhong paused for a moment, then felt relieved—considering that Guangqi had almost missed the New Year last year, this title of "National Model Worker" wasn't entirely unexpected. "It's his due," he murmured to himself, as if his earlier hesitation had never existed.

"Let's eat," Liu Guangqi said with a slight smile. He knew perfectly well that these two weighty honors were largely due to the two major events of last year—the birth of the four-roll mill and the implementation of the second-generation transistor computer. Thinking of this, he felt no excitement, but rather a sense of peace. He turned and picked up a piece of tenderly stewed pork rib, gently placing it in his wife's bowl: "Meng Yun, you've had a hard time these past few days."

"Daddy's a role model! Daddy, eat!" Ruixue held up a white steamed bun with crescent-shaped bite marks, her childish voice filled with admiration. Fengnian also shakily grabbed a piece of saliva-covered pork rib from his bowl and tried to hold it to his father's mouth: "Mine is for Daddy too!" The little guy is almost three years old and has spent several months in the nursery, so his speech has become somewhat coherent.

Liu Guangqi smiled and took a bite of the steamed bun from his daughter's hand, but turned his head away to avoid the ribs his son offered—the glistening drool on them was truly unappetizing. The group around the table laughed heartily, the warmth almost overflowing from the small corner of the room.

The canteen was gradually emptying out. As the officials finished their meals passed this table, their steps became lighter. Acquaintances nodded and smiled from afar, while those of higher rank even raised their teacups in a gesture of respect, their eyes filled with admiration. Everyone understood that this young Director Liu was on the rise. Many wanted to approach and exchange pleasantries, but seeing the family gathered around, laughing and talking, they ultimately swallowed their words—this tacit understanding of not disturbing them was itself a form of dignified respect.

After the meal, Mr. and Mrs. Liu Haizhong got up to leave. They had come to inquire about their son's return date, but unexpectedly, he was already sitting there. Now that they were face to face, their worries subsided. "Guangqi, your mother and I will go back first." Liu Haizhong looked around the bright, clean, and impressive ministry compound, clicked his tongue, and said, "We... don't feel comfortable here." His second aunt nodded repeatedly beside him. This was, after all, a cadre's residence; it couldn't compare to the warm, welcoming atmosphere of a traditional courtyard house.

Liu Guangqi didn't linger, only nodding. Zhao Mengyun, however, gently stopped him, saying, "Wait, how can we go back empty-handed?" With that, she turned and went into the inner room, returning shortly with a considerable amount of items—half a pig, several packets of dried goods, and two buckets of grain and oil. These holiday allowances were difficult to store, and since they would be brought back to the compound for the New Year anyway, it was better to have the two elders take some back now, saving them the trouble of preparing for the New Year at the end of the year.

That half-pig was particularly eye-catching. Liu Haizhong recalled how he used to show off the two pounds of meat he received at the factory, and couldn't help but sigh to his wife, "My meager allowance as a workshop director is nothing compared to Guangqi's; it's like a beggar begging for it." His second aunt glanced at him, but this time she didn't refuse and carefully put the things away.

After seeing the two elders off, the house finally quieted down. Ruixue and Fengnian clung to their father's arms like two koalas, softly begging to hear the unfinished story from last night.

The children were so sleepy they could barely keep their eyes open, yet they stubbornly clung to Liu Guangqi's fingers, as if if they let go, their father would vanish like the morning mist.

"Time to sleep."

"Dad, will you still be here tomorrow?"

"exist."

"You have to keep your word."

"Okay, pinky promise."

Finally, after lulling the two children to sleep and carefully tucking them in, Liu Guangqi bent down and gently kissed each child's forehead before quietly retreating to her own room.

Zhao Mengyun sat by the bed.

The shrewd and capable air she exuded during the day had faded away; now she simply gazed quietly at her returning husband. No words were spoken, yet her eyes conveyed a thousand unspoken messages.

Liu Guangqi's gaze also fell on his wife, whose cheeks were flushed with a soft blush under the lamplight.

The room was so quiet that you could hear the rhythmic beating of each other's chests.

The warmth of a long-awaited reunion slowly fermented in the air.

Liu Guangqi walked over and closed the door, temporarily shutting out all the past separations and worries. He reached out and gently embraced his wife.

The familiar scent of hair lingered around his nose, a fragrance that brought him peace of mind.

The two figures gradually drew closer.

On the wall, the silhouettes of the figures slowly merged, then gently separated, and then overlapped even more closely.

A rhythmic, subtle sound emanated from the bed, like the chanting of an ancient ballad.

It was the comfort of reunion after separation, and the long-suppressed longing finally found its home.

The next morning.

Liu Guangqi did not rush to return to the courtyard house with his wife and children, but instead carried the prepared gifts out of Building No. 5.

Since returning from the Northwest, the ministry has already begun its Spring Festival holiday, and the entire compound is immersed in the pre-holiday tranquility. But it is precisely at times like this that social interactions cannot be neglected.

On a normal workday, he only needs to go to the ministry to show his face to the leaders and report on his work.

But now that the government offices are on holiday, he still needs to visit Director Lin in person.

This was both a routine work report and a way to maintain this hard-won friendship—Liu Guangqi was perfectly aware of the appropriate boundaries.

The mornings in the ministry compound are exceptionally quiet.

Only the rhythmic, clear sound of an old man sweeping snow across the ground with a bamboo broom carried a unique, wintery clarity. Building No. 5, where Liu Guangqi lived, was a residential building for the families of mid-level cadres; all the apartments were two-bedroom units with regular layouts and nothing particularly special.

Building No. 6, not far away, presents a completely different picture.

The red brick walls were built exceptionally neatly, and each floor had a small balcony. Several wintersweet bushes were planted in front of the building, their tender yellow buds topped with unmelted snowflakes, creating a touch of elegant vitality in the gray and bleak winter.

That was the residence of ministerial and bureau-level leaders.

It's worth mentioning that in those days, being married was just a basic requirement for housing allocation. The real difference lay in administrative rank: section-level cadres received about 50 to 70 square meters, division-level cadres about 80 to 90 square meters, and bureau-level cadres between 105 and 120 square meters.

As for higher-ranking ministerial-level officials, the standards are different, and some do not even live in the ministry compound—the specific circumstances vary from ministry to ministry.

This is why the entire ministry compound's residential area resembles a close-knit community. Every Spring Festival, many ministry leaders visit each household in the compound to extend New Year's greetings, creating a unique scene of superiors visiting subordinates.

This might be hard to imagine in later generations, but in that era, it was a common sight.

Director Lin's house is 120 square meters by standard, nearly 30 square meters more spacious than Liu Guangqi's house. This extra area is not just space, but also a clearly visible boundary—crossing it, one enters another world.

Fortunately, Liu Guangqi has now joined the ranks of senior cadres, which means he has one foot in the door.

As Liu Guangqi passed by Building No. 6, he happened to see Director Lin's wife sweeping the courtyard. She was wearing a navy blue cotton-padded coat and waved to him with a smile, saying, "Guangqi's back? Old Lin was just mentioning you. Come on in!"

Liu Guangqi smiled and handed over the gifts: "I just got back yesterday. I came here to report to the director while the ministry was on holiday." He then handed over two packs of cigarettes and several cans of fruit.

Director Lin's wife accepted the gift with a warm smile: "It's good that you came, no need to bring anything. Come in, it's cold outside."

Stepping inside, the living room was indeed much more spacious than Liu Guangqi's home, with a wide view and bright light. The most eye-catching feature was the large, dark brown bookshelf against the east wall, neatly filled with all kinds of books.

The gold-embossed certificates on the bookshelf gleamed solemnly in the morning light. Advanced Worker, National Industrial Construction Contribution Award... In this era that reveres honor, these pages symbolizing achievements were carefully displayed, silently telling the story of their owner's past.

Director Lin rose from his rattan chair, closed the book he was annotating, and greeted the visitor with a smile: "So you finally decided to come back? The sandstorms of the Northwest didn't blow your scholarly frame away, did they?" His teasing tone revealed an undisguised warmth. The circle within the ministry compound wasn't exactly wide, and Director Lin naturally appreciated Liu Guangqi's visit the day after his return to Beijing.

"Director, you're joking. I'm not that delicate," Liu Guangqi said with a smile, shaking his head. "I just went there to help complete a phase of the mission, and I'll be back once it's over."

"A phased mission?" Director Lin raised an eyebrow, turned, and retrieved a wax-sealed document from deep within the bookshelf, gently pushing it towards the other person. "You call this a 'phased mission'?" His fingertip tapped the paper. "A commendation notice directly issued by the higher-level academic committee—the second-generation computer you brought has advanced the progress of theoretical research in Northwest China by a full six months." His tone gradually rose, filled with barely suppressed excitement. "What does six months mean? Don't you understand the significance of that? In your mouth, it's become a lighthearted 'cooperation'?"

After the lighthearted conversation, Director Lin personally poured freshly brewed tea. Steam rose from the white porcelain cup, and the aroma of the tea slowly dispelled the chill brought in from outside.