He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The sweltering heat of late summer in 1942 was like an oil-soaked cotton quilt, making it hard to breathe.

He Yuyang was awakened by a loud, jarring argument.

It wasn't the roaring sound of the electric drill from his 20-square-meter rented room at 5 a.m. sharp as always, nor was it the endless bickering of the young couple downstairs over their daily chores—this sound was rough, hoarse from the smell of smoke and fumes, like sandpaper scraping against a rusty iron pipe, making his temples throb.

"Jia Zhangshi, stop your tantrum! Did my Zhuzi take a rag from you? He picked it up from the wall himself. Do you think everyone's like you, always eyeing other people's things!"

A woman's voice, urgent and fast, with a trembling, aggrieved tone at the end, revealed that she was holding her breath, yet dared not truly unleash her anger.

He Yuyang struggled to open her eyes, and the first thing she saw was the ceiling covered with newspaper. The newspaper was yellowed and brittle, with curled edges, and the words "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" printed on it had been scribbled over with ink, a black blob that was unsettling to look at.

This is not his rented room.

He sat up abruptly, his head hitting the wall with a thud, making him hiss in pain. Looking down, he saw a hard earthen bed covered with a coarse cloth mattress, which ached in his lower back. The quilt covering him was patched upon patched, with cotton lint peeking out from the tears and sticking to his neck.

"Hiss..." He gasped, not because of the pain, but because of the sight before him—opposite the earthen bed was a wooden cabinet with peeling paint, and the small mirror on the cabinet door was cracked, reflecting his unfamiliar face.

It was a child's face, thin with a pointed chin, and skin that was a sallow yellow from years of hunger. Only his eyes, as black as deep pools, were wide open, reflecting the image of the "8-year-old child" in the mirror, filled with fear and confusion.

"I..." He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry it felt like it had been sanded, and the voice that came out was that of a child, crisp and clear, with a hint of childishness, completely out of sync with his thirty-year-old soul.

At this moment, the arguing outside became even more intense.

"Liu Yan, stop playing dumb with me! My Dongxu's new cloth strip was hanging out to dry in the yard, and it was gone in the blink of an eye. If it wasn't your Zhuzi who took it, who was? He's the only one in the whole courtyard who's so restless, always trying to touch everything!" Another woman's voice, sharp and shrill, was slurred and pointed, "I think you're just like your husband, the cook, always eyeing what others have!"

"You're talking nonsense! My husband, Lao He, isn't that kind of person! Neither is Zhu Zi!" The previously aggrieved voice rose slightly, trembling with tears. "If you keep saying that, I... I'll fight you!"

"Fight? Try touching me!"

He Yuyang's mind was in complete turmoil.

Liu Yan? Zhu Zi? Lao He? The cook?

These names, and this "courtyard house" scene, why do they sound so familiar?

He stumbled and scrambled off the kang (a heated brick bed), his feet barely touching the ground before he tripped over a brick and nearly fell. After regaining his balance, he rushed to the cracked mirror and stared intently at the child reflected in it.

This face was both strange and familiar. He remembered—wasn't this the brother of He Yuzhu, the cowardly man who lived his whole life, from the TV series "Full House of Love" that he had stayed up all night watching a few days ago? He was also called He Yuyang, and he died a long time ago without ever having his face shown.

And he, a corporate slave in 2023, was still worrying about the client's proposal that had been revised to the thirtieth version yesterday. He drank too much beer that night and cursed "What a shitty world" while watching the scene on the computer screen where Sha Zhu was bullied by Jia Zhangshi. When he opened his eyes again... he became "He Yuyang" in the courtyard in 1942.

"God, are you kidding me?" He raised his hand and touched his face. The touch was real; the baby fat hadn't completely disappeared, and his palm was warm. This wasn't a dream.

The noise outside grew closer, and it seemed someone had broken down the door. He Yuyang instinctively hid behind the cabinet, and saw a woman in a gray cloth jacket rush in. Her hair was a little disheveled, and her eyes were red. It was his mother, Liu Yan.

"Mom!" A little boy's voice rang out, stumbling behind Liu Yan, clutching something in his hand. Liu Yan pulled him behind her protectively. The boy, with his chubby face, was none other than He Yuzhu when he was a child, looking about six or seven years old.

"Liu Yan, why are you running? Hand over my Dongxu's strip of cloth!" A fat woman stood with her hands on her hips blocking the doorway, her face jiggling as she spoke. Who else could it be but Jia Zhangshi? Behind her was a tall, thin boy, about twelve or thirteen years old, with his head down. It was Jia Dongxu.

Liu Yan hugged He Yuzhu even tighter, her voice trembling, "Jia Zhangshi, don't push your luck! I've already said Zhuzi didn't take it, why won't you believe me?"

"Didn't take it? I remember what that strip of cloth looked like, blue with white flowers. Tell him to let go of my hand so I can see!" Madam Jia took a step forward, her spittle almost spraying onto Liu Yan's face.

He Yuzhu shrank into Liu Yan's arms in fright, but his grip tightened even more. Liu Yan was on the verge of tears: "All he had was a tattered rag, which he picked up from the wall this morning..."

"Found it? I think it's stolen!" Madam Jia reached out to pry He Yuzhu's hand off. "If you don't hand it over today, I'm going to the restaurant to find He Daqing and show him that his son is a thief!"

These words stung Liu Yan like a needle. Her face paled, her lips trembled, and she couldn't utter a word—He Daqing was a chef at the restaurant, which was their family's only respectability, and she was most afraid of people bringing it up.

He Yuzhu was also frightened by the words "finding her father" and burst into tears. Her hand loosened, and a strip of blue cloth with white flowers fell to the ground.

Madam Jia's eyes lit up, and she immediately picked it up: "Look, look! What is this? You still say you didn't take it? Liu Yan, let me tell you, this isn't over!"

Liu Yan's face instantly turned pale. She knelt down and hugged the wailing He Yuzhu, tears finally streaming down her face: "Zhuzi, how could you... how could you take this..."

He Yuzhu cried even harder: "I...I thought it looked pretty, and I wanted to make a sachet for my mother..."

Upon hearing this, Jia Zhangshi scoffed, "Making purses? I bet you just want to steal them to wipe your cook father's pots!"

"Shut up!"

A crisp, yet fierce voice suddenly rang out.

Everyone was stunned, including He Yuyang himself, who was hiding behind the cabinet—he hadn't expected to suddenly rush out.

He stood between Liu Yan and Jia Zhangshi, his small body ramrod straight, head tilted back, staring intently at Jia Zhangshi. The bewildered child in the mirror was gone; now, his eyes were filled with the anger and coldness of a thirty-year-old soul.

"It was wrong of my brother to take your things. He's young and doesn't know any better. I apologize on his behalf." He Yuyang's voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear. "But you can't talk about my father! My father earns his money at the restaurant honestly and cleanly. It's none of your business to criticize him!"

Jia Zhangshi was taken aback by the retort of an eight-year-old child, then angrily retorted, "What do you know, you little brat? How dare you lecture me?"

"Whether I understand or not is unimportant," He Yuyang stared at her and said, word by word, "What's important is that if you dare to insult my father again, I'll go to the restaurant and have a word with your manager—I heard Uncle Jia is thinking of supplying vegetables to the restaurant recently? My father knows a lot of people there. If the manager finds out that his wife is making a scene and cursing people outside, and dragging my father into it, do you think this business... will still go through?"

These words stunned not only Jia Zhangshi, but even Liu Yan. She had never seen her eldest son like this before; his eyes were frighteningly bright, and he spoke with perfect clarity—he didn't seem like an eight-year-old at all.

Jia Zhangshi's face turned pale and then red. Her husband was indeed discussing food delivery with the restaurant where He Daqing worked. If something went wrong at this critical moment... She glared at He Yuyang, then looked at the strip of cloth on the ground, and gritted her teeth, saying, "You guys are ruthless!" After saying that, she grabbed Jia Dongxu and left, not forgetting to kick the door hard as she went out.

The door slammed shut, and the room finally fell silent.

Liu Yan then realized what had happened, grabbed He Yuyang, looked him up and down, and burst into tears even more: "Yangyang, who...who did you learn that from? You scared your mother to death..."

He Yuzhu stopped crying, opened her eyes wide and looked at her brother with admiration.

Looking at his frail mother and timid younger brother, He Yuyang felt a lump in his throat. He had acted rashly in his anger, those words were a completely subconscious reaction—his "argumentative" instinct, honed by dealing with clients and bosses in modern times, had come in handy at this moment.

But he knew this was just the beginning.

In 1942, a time of chaos. He remembered clearly the filth in the courtyard house, the hardships of survival, and his mother Liu Yan's tragic childbirth that led to her premature death.

He Yuyang took a deep breath, raised his hand to wipe away Liu Yan's tears, and softened his voice, but with a firmness that didn't belong to a child: "Mom, don't be afraid. I'm here for you."

He looked out at the gray sky and silently chanted: He Daqing, Liu Yan, He Yuzhu... Now that I've become He Yuyang in this life, I will never let you walk the same path again. Those who bully and scheme against others, just wait—I'm coming.