He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The winter nights of 1970 came early. Just after seven o'clock, the streetlights in Nanluoguxiang were already on, their dim yellow glow filtering through the thin mist and casting a warm glow on the gray walls of the courtyard houses. When He Yuzhu returned home through the snow, the courtyard was quiet, except for the light still on in the east wing. A hunched figure was reflected in the paper window—his father, He Daqing, who had just retired.

"Dad, I'm back." He pushed open the half-closed door, and a faint smell of alcohol mixed with the aroma of meat wafted out. On the table was a small dish of braised pork knuckle, half a plate of fried peanuts, and two steaming white steamed buns. Next to it was a chipped enamel mug containing loose bottles of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor).

He Daqing was sitting on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), stroking an old wine cup in his hand. When he saw him come in, he raised his eyelids and said, "You're back? Perfect timing, have a couple of drinks with me."

He Yuzhu took off his oil-stained cotton-padded jacket, revealing a faded blue work uniform underneath. He leaned closer to the table and sniffed it. "Hey, what's the occasion today? You even made braised pork knuckle." He picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing with gusto. "Mmm, tastes just right. It's from 'Wang Ji Braised Pork' in Xidan, isn't it?"

"Your mother asked someone to bring this, saying your brother sent New Year's gifts from Baoding." He Daqing pushed an empty wine cup in front of him, poured himself half a cup of wine, took a sip, and his eyes wrinkled from the spiciness. "Your brother is so thoughtful, knowing I like this kind of thing."

He Yuzhu's heart stirred. He picked up the wine pot, poured himself a cup of wine, and clinked it against his father's cup: "Brother, you've always been a thoughtful man. You even sent a letter a while ago asking how you're doing after retirement, saying that if you're feeling bored, you can go to Baoding for a while. There's room in the military family compound."

"No, no," He Daqing waved his hand, took another sip of wine, and said, "I've lived in this courtyard most of my life, I know all the neighbors, I'd feel uncomfortable going to Baoding. Besides, your mother can't live without rainwater, who will help her if I leave?"

Mentioning Liu Yan, He Yuzhu's smile faded slightly. His mother's health hadn't been very good in recent years; she often coughed in the winter, and her younger sister, He Yushui, frequently came to take care of her, along with the medicine her brother would mail her regularly. He was the director of the steel mill's canteen, so busy he barely had time to breathe, and all he could do was prepare an extra hot meal for his mother every day.

"How's Mom doing today? Has your cough gotten worse?" He picked up a steamed bun, broke it in half and handed it to his father, while he ate the other half himself.

"This afternoon, Yushui came and stewed rock sugar pears for her, and she's much better now." He Daqing took the steamed bun but didn't eat it. His eyes fell on the braised pork knuckle on the table. "It reminds me of when you were little. You were overjoyed to be able to eat a piece of meat during the New Year. Back then, your brother always saved the meat for you and gnawed on the bones himself."

He Yuzhu laughed, a few crumbs of steamed bun stuck to the corner of his mouth: "That's right. Once during Chinese New Year, my brother hid the braised pork knuckle that the martial arts school gave us in the stove and secretly took it out for me to eat in the middle of the night. As a result, the headmaster found out and my brother took three hits with a pipe for me. His back was all bruised."

"Your brother has always protected you since you were little." He Daqing sighed, his cloudy eyes welling up with tears. "Back then, he told you to stop learning boxing and go learn to be a cook at the steel mill. You even argued with him, saying he didn't understand your ambition to 'strengthen your body through martial arts.' Now that I think about it, if he hadn't forced you into the canteen, with your meager martial arts skills, would your mother and Yushui have been able to eat their fill every day these past few years?"

These words struck a chord with He Yuzhu. Back in 1955, he was obsessed with martial arts, spending his days teaching apprentices at the martial arts school, and considered being a cook a "good-for-nothing job." It was He Yuyang who, holding his worn-out gloves from practicing boxing, said in a deep voice, "Zhuzi, boxing can protect you, but it can't fill your stomach. Look at Mom, she's always coughing, she needs to eat something good to nourish her body. If you learn to be a cook, at least you can keep the family from going hungry."

He didn't understand at the time, only feeling that his brother was siding with outsiders, and angrily threw down his gloves. It was He Yuyang who found an old acquaintance at the steel rolling mill and forced him to become an apprentice in the kitchen, and also gave him a handwritten "Home-Style Recipes", with the words "With skills in hand, my family will not go hungry" written on the title page.

"My brother has more foresight than I do," He Yuzhu scratched his head and smiled sheepishly. "At the factory's general meeting the other day, the Party Secretary even said that I 'ensured the workers' meals and am a vital cog in the machine.' If it weren't for this skill, how would I have gotten brown sugar and millet last winter when I gave birth during the rainy season?"

As he spoke, he filled his glass with wine, downed it in one gulp, and felt the spiciness burn from his throat to his stomach, yet he also felt a sense of relief. In recent years, the factory had been short of supplies, and with his excellent cooking skills, he had managed the canteen very well, earning the respect of all the workers. His family was also indispensable; his sister's postpartum meals, his nephews and nieces' snacks—everything was obtained through his efforts.

"Your brother may seem quiet, but he's incredibly insightful." He Daqing picked up his chopsticks, took a peanut, and chewed it slowly. "Back when the martial arts school disbanded, how many apprentices were left without a job? But your brother found a way out for you early on. He said, 'In peacetime, fists are less valuable than spatulas,' and now it seems that's absolutely true."

He Yuzhu didn't reply, but picked up the wine jug and refilled his father's cup. He recalled the martial arts school from his childhood, with a dozen wooden stakes standing in the courtyard paved with blue bricks. He Yuyang would always practice his punches in the morning light, his moves clean and crisp, sweat streaming down his face, leaving small watermarks on the ground. Back then, he thought his brother was the most powerful person in the world, capable of breaking a wooden stake as thick as a bowl with a single punch and kicking flying tiles into pieces.

Yet this "martial arts master" advised him "not to make a living with his fists." It wasn't until the severe drought of 1960, when he saw his neighbor's child faint from hunger on the street and his mother secretly giving the saved cornbread to the even hungrier neighbors, that he suddenly understood what his brother meant—what keeps people alive is not how many wooden stakes they can break, but how many hot meals they can serve.

"The other day I went to deliver vegetables to my mother and ran into Yan Bugui." He Yuzhu sifted through peanuts, his voice lowered. "His son, Yan Jiecheng, was working as a temporary worker at the grain station. He was caught secretly reselling grain coupons, and his auntie was crying her eyes out, begging me to put in a good word for him. But I don't have that kind of power. All I could do was slip her two pounds of cornmeal."

He Daqing frowned: "Yan Bugui was a shrewd strategist all his life, how could he raise such a good-for-nothing son? Your brother was right, 'One must walk the straight path to get far.'"

"That's right." He Yuzhu nodded. "Every time my brother sends me a letter, he reminds me, 'When you work in the canteen, be clean and don't take advantage of others.' I remember that. I take the benefits that are rightfully mine from the factory, and I don't touch a single grain of rice that isn't mine."

As he spoke, he recalled an incident from last winter. An apprentice had tried to steal flour from the canteen for his ailing mother, but he caught him. According to regulations, he should have reported it to the factory administration, but seeing the apprentice's chapped hands and red, tear-filled eyes, he softened and gave him two jin of flour from his own ration, simply saying, "Don't do it again." Later, the apprentice came to thank him, saying that his mother had felt much better after drinking the noodle soup.

"You did the right thing." He Daqing nodded approvingly. "We shouldn't take advantage of others, and we shouldn't be too serious about it. Everyone has their difficulties. Isn't your brother like that? Back then, he secretly delivered grain coupons to the courtyard and helped Jia Dongxu's family repair their roof. He did all of that behind everyone's back."

When Jia Dongxu was mentioned, both of them fell silent. Jia Zhangshi did not survive the winter of 1965 and was so thin that she was just skin and bones when she passed away; Jia Dongxu broke his leg at a construction site two years ago and now lives on the help of his neighbors. He always keeps his head down when he sees anyone and has lost all the fierceness he once had.

"A person's life is like the dishes your brother cooks," He Daqing said slowly. "If the heat isn't right, it's raw; if it's too high, it's burnt. You have to be like your brother, adding firewood when it's time to add firewood and removing the heat when it's time to cook it up properly."

He Yuzhu laughed, picked up a steamed bun, broke off a piece, and soaked it in the remaining wine: "Brother, you not only know how to cook, but you also know how to 'season' things. Look at the courtyard, Grandpa Yi broke his leg last winter, and I brought him soup every day; Liu Haizhong's grandson had a fever, and I asked someone to get him fever-reducing medicine; didn't my brother teach me all of this? He said, 'A close neighbor is worse than a distant relative, helping others is helping yourself.'"

The snow outside the window was falling heavily, pattering softly onto the windowsill like gentle tapping. He Daqing finished his drink, slammed the empty glass down on the table with a soft "clang." "Your brother's in Baoding, he's probably been keeping busy too. The other day, your mother went to the park to practice Tai Chi and heard about a 'mysterious seller' in Baoding who always sells cheap grain at night, like it's free. I immediately guessed it was your brother. Who else could do that?"

He Yuzhu felt a surge of warmth in his heart, and his eyes instantly reddened. He knew his brother's personality; he always "did things without saying a word." When their mother was seriously ill, it was his brother who had someone send imported medicine; when Yushui was admitted to university, it was his brother who secretly sent the tuition fees; even the east wing room where he now lived was bought by his brother in 1962 with his "bonus money," saying, "So that our family can have a safe place to live."

"My brother always says, 'We're family, so we don't need to talk like strangers.'" He Yuzhu sniffed, picked up the wine pot and filled his own cup, then added some to his father's cup. "When spring comes, I'll take Qin Huairu and Zhuzi to Baoding to see my brother and Xiaoxuan. Xiaoxuan is already two years old, and I, as her second uncle, haven't even held her yet."

"You should go, you should go." He Daqing nodded repeatedly, his eyes brightening. "Tell your brother for me not to worry about home all the time. He's doing well over there, that's better than anything. Also, tell him to take more pictures of Xiaoxuan. Your mother flips through the photo album every day and keeps saying that her granddaughter's eyes look like hers."

He Yuzhu smiled and agreed, but in her heart she was thinking about what to bring her brother. Baoding is cold, so she would knit a thick sweater for her sister-in-law, Xu Xiuli; Xiaoxuan loves sweets, so she would bring several bags of fruit candies; her brother loves strong tea, so she would bring the can of Longjing tea from home... As she thought about it, the corners of her mouth couldn't help but turn up.

The braised pork knuckle on the table was almost gone, the peanuts were nearly finished, and the two steamed buns were long gone. He Daqing let out a burp, got up, and moved a little further into the kang (heated brick bed): "I'm getting old, I get dizzy after a couple of drinks. You should rest early too, you have to go to the factory tomorrow."

He Yuzhu was clearing away the dishes when he saw his father reaching for the kang (a heated brick bed). He knew his father wanted the photo frame containing He Yuyang's picture. It was taken in 1968 when He Yuyang returned to Beijing, wearing a military uniform, holding his newborn daughter Xiaoxuan, with Xu Xiuli standing beside him, her eyes crinkling with laughter. Every night before bed, He Daqing would touch the frame, saying, "Looking at my son and granddaughter makes me sleep soundly."

"Dad, let me warm up the bed for you." He put the bowls and chopsticks aside, picked up the coarse cloth mattress from the side of the kang (a heated brick bed), and stuffed a hot water bottle inside. "It's cold at night, don't get cold."

He Daqing hummed in agreement, but his eyes were fixed on the calendar on the wall. He murmured, "Spring will be here in three months. Your brother loves to eat the locust blossoms from the old locust tree at the entrance of our courtyard. He says they can be used to make locust blossom pancakes. I'll send some to your brother when they bloom."

"Your arms and legs aren't strong enough to climb trees," He Yuzhu said with a smile. "When I'm off work, I'll go pick them, and I'll make sure they're clean and fresh so you can have a taste."

After settling his father in, He Yuzhu blew out the lamp and tiptoed out the door. Snow was still falling, pattering softly on his hat. The streetlights in the courtyard shone brightly on the snow, and he saw that the lights were still on at Grandpa Yi's house in the middle courtyard. The window paper reflected the silhouettes of two elderly people—Grandpa Yi was massaging his paralyzed wife's legs, his movements as slow as an old ox pulling a plow (he had divorced his first wife and remarried).

He remembered what He Yuyang had said: "Life is like climbing a hill, you move step by step, and you'll eventually reach the top." Yes, no matter how difficult these past years have been, haven't they been able to get through them? His mother's cough has lessened, his sister's job is stable, and he has a future to look forward to. Even someone like Jia Dongxu would say "Zhuzi, thanks" when he sees him.

When he got to his front door, he saw Qin Huairu standing under the eaves waiting for him, holding a thick cotton-padded coat in her hand: "Why are you so late? I heated up some porridge for you, come in and have some."

"I chatted with Dad for a while." He Yuzhu took the cotton-padded coat and put it on, feeling warm inside. "Dad said he'll go to Baoding to see my brother in the spring."

"Okay." Qin Huairu smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. "I made a pair of tiger-head shoes for Xiaoxuan, she can take them with her."

As He Yuzhu went inside and drank some hot porridge, listening to Qin Huairu recount the amusing things her son Jianye had done during the day, he felt all his fatigue dissipate. He recalled his brother's words in his letter: "Life is lived, not imagined. Pots and pans, firewood and rice, oil and salt—they may seem trivial, but they hold warmth within them."

Now he believed it. This warmth was the Erguotou in his father's glass, the rock sugar pear when his mother coughed, the "Don't worry, brother" in his sister's letter, the hot porridge in his wife's hands, and even more so, the braised pork knuckle sent by his brother from afar and the words "I'm here for you at home".

The snow was still falling outside the window, but the light inside was warm and cozy, reflecting the "Labor is the Most Glorious" certificate on the wall, Qin Huairu's gentle profile, and the porridge bubbling in the pot. He Yuzhu picked up the bowl, took a big gulp, and thought that this porridge was more delicious than any delicacy.

He knew that tomorrow morning, he would have to go to the cafeteria again, wield the spatula, and think about leaving his mother a soft steamed bun. But what did it matter? Just like his brother said, "If you can hold the spatula firmly, you can live a stable life."

Night deepened, and one by one the lights in the courtyard went out, leaving only the soft sound of falling snow, as gentle as a song. He Yuzhu lay in bed, listening to Qin Huairu's even breathing beside him, feeling very at ease. He thought that when he saw his brother in the spring, he would definitely clink glasses with him and tell him, "Brother, I've learned everything you taught me back then."

As for that yellowed "Home-Style Recipes", he had long ago passed it on to his son Jianye. The words "With skills in hand, the family will not go hungry" on the title page have been worn away by time, but they are engraved in his bones.