Courtyard House: I fish in the heavens, a professional bird abuser.

The summer of 1966 was unusually hot.

A restless atmosphere permeated the air, like a pressure cooker about to boil over, its lid humming and hissing, foreshadowing some kind of out-of-control upheaval.

The loudspeakers on the streets no longer play those soothing old songs; instead, they broadcast powerful quotations and editorials.

The headlines in the newspapers grew larger each day, the gunpowder in the words so intense it seemed to leap off the page and burn the eyes. The radio repeatedly broadcast impassioned yet unsettling slogans, the sound penetrating the thin walls and seeping into everyone's ears, stirring up a sense of unease.

The atmosphere at the steel rolling mill, a place that once only cared about production targets and the torrent of steel, has quietly undergone a dramatic change.

Overnight, countless posters written in ink and paint spread like wildfire across the factory's bulletin boards, walls, and even the iron gates and machine tools of the workshops.

The content ranges from theoretical critiques of "feudal, capitalist, and revisionist" ideologies to specific exposés of "lifestyle problems" by certain leading cadres, and is diverse and shocking.

Next to one big-character poster, another rebuttal or one in support will soon be posted. The ink is still wet, and the words are like swords flashing on a battlefield, engaging in a silent and brutal battle.

The way people look at each other has also changed.

The friendly, neighborly greetings of the past, the uninhibited jokes among colleagues in the workshop—all seemed to have evaporated in the sweltering heat, vanishing without a trace. In their place lay a cautious probing and silent observation. A casual remark could be over-interpreted; a thoughtless glance could be interpreted as a matter of principle. Everyone seemed to be wearing a thick mask, beneath which lay vigilance, suspicion, and a hint of unspeakable fear.

A massive storm descended with unstoppable force.

However, on the third floor of the steel rolling mill's staff quarters, He Yuanchao's home seemed to be a strange haven in the midst of this storm, temporarily isolated from the noise and frenzy of the outside world.

He still went to get off work and came home on time every day, riding his bicycle through the factory roads plastered with big-character posters, his face showing no emotion. Back home, he immediately shed his composure from the outside world and lived his ordinary life with Lou Xiao'e. The two would read together, listen to the radio, and then turn off the radio to discuss unsettling current events in hushed tones.

He Yuanchao's calm demeanor was Lou Xiao'e's greatest reassurance. With the foresight of a time traveler, he had already made ample, almost foolproof, preparations for the coming storm that would sweep everything.

Months before the storm hit, he began his quiet preparations. With an air of absolute authority, he instructed his father-in-law, Lou Zhenhua, and mother-in-law to discreetly dispose of all valuable items in their home that bore a distinctly "bourgeois" slant—precious antique paintings and calligraphy, huanghuali furniture, and even the gold and silver jewelry that Lou Xiao'e's mother had treasured. Some were sold to discerning collectors through his connections, fetching negligible amounts of cash; the rest, which he couldn't dispose of, were personally overseen by him, wrapped in layers of oilcloth and waxed paper, and hidden in secret places no one would suspect.

Lou Zhenhua was initially reluctant to part with them, as they represented half a lifetime of hard work.

"In support of Korea, isn't this...isn't this making a mountain out of a molehill? We weathered the storm of public-private partnerships, what major trouble could possibly come from now?"

He Yuanchao simply looked at him calmly, but his tone was extremely serious: "Dad, believe me. This storm is much bigger than you imagine. Keeping these things isn't wealth, it's a death warrant. People's safety is more important than anything else."

His unwavering gaze ultimately convinced Lou Zhenhua and his wife to place their complete trust in him.

After doing all this, He Yuanchao used his relationship with Professor Shen Molin to obtain some crucial protective documents for Lou Zhenhua through special channels that are now tightened. These included official records and commendation letters documenting Lou Zhenhua's active cooperation and asset donations during the public-private partnership; and several stubs of letters he commissioned Professor Shen to have written in Lou Zhenhua's voice, expressing his "support" and "alignment" with the organization. The dates on these letters were cleverly chosen to coincide with several important time points.

He Yuanchao knew that these things, in the face of a real storm, might just be a fragile fence, unable to completely guarantee their safety. But at least, in critical moments, they could play a vital role in buffering their needs, buying him precious time for his subsequent operations.

"Welcome to Korea, things outside...it seems like things are getting more and more chaotic outside."

That evening, after dinner, the night outside the window was deep, but in the distance, the faint sounds of shouting slogans, mixed with sporadic arguments and cries, drifted into the room on the wind, sounding particularly jarring. Lou Xiao'e leaned against He Yuanchao, holding a book in her hands, but unable to read a single word; her beautiful face betrayed her worry and fear.

"Don't be afraid, I'm here."

He Yuanchao pulled her soft body into his arms, gently patting her back. His voice was steady and powerful, carrying a calming force. He lowered his head, inhaling the fragrance of his wife's hair, but his heart remained coldly clear.

He knew this was just the beginning. The real chaos was yet to come. And he had to protect his family.

Sure enough, a few days later, the first huge wave crashed fiercely into the courtyard house where they had lived for many years.

As an "old man" who once held supreme authority in the institute, and also a "representative of old workers" with a relatively complex background who was easily targeted, Yi Zhonghai became one of the first targets to be attacked.

That afternoon, a group of young workers wearing bright red armbands, shouting slogans, surged into the courtyard like a tide. Most of them were young apprentices in the factory, their faces radiating a kind of fanaticism ignited by ideals, but their eyes also carried a hint of awkwardness and arrogance in exercising "power" for the first time.

They rushed straight to Yi Zhonghai's home in the Intermediate People's Court and kicked open the tightly closed door.

"Ma'am, you..."

Qin Huairu had just come out of the kitchen when she saw this scene. She turned pale with fright and almost dropped the bowl in her hand.

An elderly woman was feeding Yi Zhonghai, who was "recuperating," his medicine when she was so startled by this sudden turn of events that the medicine bowl shattered on the ground with a crash.

"What...what are you trying to do?!" She spread her arms wide, like a mother hen protecting her chicks, blocking the way in front of the bed.

"Get out of my way, old woman!" A young man in the lead shoved her roughly. "We're going to expose and persecute that stubborn old man, Yi Zhonghai!"

Yi Zhonghai, still bedridden, hadn't even had time to put on a decent coat before two young men roughly dragged him out of bed. His face was ashen, his lips trembled, and he tried to say something, but was drowned out by deafening slogans.

They placed a tall hat on his head, hastily made of newspaper and glue, with the words "old stubborn" and "royalist" scrawled crookedly in black ink, full of humiliation.

In the courtyard, someone brought in a few tables and temporarily set up a makeshift platform. Yi Zhonghai was then escorted onto it, treated like a prisoner, and made to be "exposed" by everyone in the courtyard.

A "criticism meeting" against Yi Zhonghai was thus hastily but grandly convened.

The person presiding over this conference was someone He Yuanchao neither expected nor found entirely reasonable—Xu Damao!

He reappeared from the countryside, slinking out of nowhere, and transformed himself into the leader of the "revolutionary youngsters" at the steel mill. He wore a brand-new, crisp green military uniform, his leather shoes gleaming, and a red armband on his arm. His face bore the morbid elation of a petty man who had gained power. In those eyes, usually so accustomed to flattery and calculation, now burned the flames of revenge and power.

"Comrades! Fellow revolutionary soldiers!"

Xu Damao stood on the platform, like a clumsy actor, imitating the gestures of leaders on the radio, waving his arms vigorously, spittle flying with his shouts, "Today, we are going to root out the scum within our ranks of workers! We are going to respond to the call and overthrow all monsters and demons! Look at Yi Zhonghai!"

He pointed at Yi Zhonghai, who was trembling beside him, and his voice suddenly rose.

"For a long time, he has held absolute power in our courtyard, running the household under his own rule. Those who obey him prosper, and those who oppose him perish! He forms cliques and uses his status as an elder to suppress us revolutionary masses! He is a typical lackey of the capitalist roaders! He is a stumbling block to the rolling progress of our revolutionary cause! We say, what should we do with such a person?!"

"Down with Yi Zhong-hai! Down with Yi Zhong-hai!"

Below the stage, several young people, either pre-arranged by him or stirred up by the atmosphere, waved their fists and shouted wildly. The sound echoed in the courtyard, startling the sparrows under the eaves into scattering.

The neighbors in the courtyard remained silent, trembling with fear. They hid behind their doorways or windows, watching from afar this scene that had overturned their daily understanding, their expressions extremely complex.

There was fear, confusion, reluctance, sympathy, and of course, a hint of... schadenfreude.

Especially Uncle Liu Haizhong, who was pregnant and standing at his own door, looked at Yi Zhonghai, who used to be superior to him in every way, in his current miserable state, and a morbid pleasure welled up in his heart, which almost made him groan out loud.

"Serves you right for always putting on airs! Serves you right for always lecturing me! Now you're getting your comeuppance! You deserve it!" Liu Haizhong thought viciously, a cruel smile unconsciously creeping onto his lips. He even started fantasizing that once Yi Zhonghai fell, wouldn't it be his turn, Liu Haizhong, to call the shots in this courtyard?

Meanwhile, Uncle Yan Bugui adjusted his reading glasses, quickly calculating in his mind whether the storm would affect him, while pondering whether he should act more proactively and draw a clear line.

Yi Zhonghai's arms were tightly bound behind his back by two young men. His head was bowed, and his usually dignified face was now a deep purplish-red. Humiliation, anger, and fear mingled together, causing his body to tremble uncontrollably. He simply couldn't understand how he, who had lived a life of diligence and kindness, had become a "monster and demon." How could he be trampled underfoot by Xu Damao, a despicable man he had always looked down upon, and reduced to such a state!

"And there's more!" Xu Damao clearly had no intention of stopping there. His gaze, like that of a venomous snake, swept coldly across the crowd, finally settling menacingly on Sha Zhu and Qin Huairu in the corner.

Sha Zhu wanted to rush forward, but Qin Huairu held him back tightly.

"We must not only denounce our political enemies, but also root out those whose lifestyles are corrupt and decadent!" Xu Damao's voice became sharp. "Take this Sha Zhu, for example! A cook who doesn't serve the people properly, spends his days doing nothing but illicit affairs with the widows in the courtyard! Engaging in those shady relationships typical of feudal society! This is typical hooliganism at work! It's a manifestation of the decadent lifestyle of the bourgeoisie! It must be profoundly criticized and thoroughly reformed!"

Upon hearing this, Sha Zhu's face flushed crimson, and the veins on his neck bulged. Qin Huairu, standing beside him, instantly lost all color, her face turning deathly pale. She instinctively released Sha Zhu's hand and took a step back, as if trying to sever ties with him, but immediately realized the consequences and froze, at a loss for what to do.

The gazes of everyone in the courtyard immediately shifted from Yi Zhonghai to the two of them, their eyes filled with curiosity, disdain, and the excitement of watching a spectacle.

Xu Damao is going to... wipe them all out in one fell swoop! He wants to take advantage of this opportunity to crush all his enemies into the mud!

He Yuanchao stood on the balcony of his apartment building, holding a military binoculars, clearly observing everything that was happening in the courtyard. His expression was cold and stern, his eyes showing no surprise, only a bottomless chill.

Lou Xiao'e stood behind him, gripping his arm tightly, her body trembling slightly. "Yuan Chao, he... he's completely insane!"

"He's not crazy, he's just found a stage where he can do whatever he wants." He Yuanchao put down his binoculars, his voice eerily calm. "Don't worry, let him jump. The higher he jumps, the harder he'll fall."

He knew that Xu Damao's fire would not only reach Yi Zhonghai and Sha Zhu. He had endured for so long, accumulating so much jealousy and resentment, and his ultimate target would definitely be himself, the person who had caused him the greatest humiliation.

Sure enough, after thoroughly criticizing Yi Zhonghai and relentlessly humiliating Sha Zhu and Qin Huairu by constantly bringing up their "moral issues," Xu Damao finally revealed his true intentions, turning his attention directly to the cadre building that symbolized "privilege" and targeting He Yuanchao.

He took a deep breath, composed himself, and then revealed an even more fervent and righteous expression.

"Comrades! There's an even bigger cancer lurking in our compound! An enemy even more adept at disguise!"

Xu Damao's voice, sharp and shrill from extreme excitement, sounded like fingernails scraping against glass. "That's He Yuanchao, who lives in that building!"

He suddenly raised his hand and pointed in the direction of He Yuanchao's house.

All eyes turned to that direction.

"Think about it, everyone. How did he, an ordinary worker, manage to live in the cadre dormitory? How did he manage to marry Lou Xiao'e, the daughter of our steel mill's deputy director? Isn't there something we should be thinking about?" Xu Damao went to great lengths to incite them. "I'm telling you, there must be some shady dealings behind this! He climbed up the ranks step by step by scheming, flattering, and sucking up to the leaders! He talks a good game, but he lives the life of a bourgeois playboy! He's a typical revisionist seedling! A time bomb hidden among our revolutionary ranks!"

He paused, and seeing that he had stirred up the emotions of the crowd below the stage, his smugness deepened.

"We must find him! Make him confess his crimes! Make him honestly return all the property he illegally seized from the people!"

Incendiary words are like lit torches thrown into a pile of dry wood.

"Down with He Yuan-chao!"

"Expose this major cancer!"

"Make him give back the people's property!"

The atmosphere in the audience was completely ignited.