He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The winter snow of 1973 came earlier than usual, with the first snowfall reaching half a foot in depth, completely covering the blue brick road of the military family compound. When He Yuyang returned from the training ground, his boots were covered with a thin layer of ice, and the snow on his hat brim melted into water, running down his cheeks and freezing into tiny ice crystals on his chin. He had just finished a three-day field training exercise, and the intelligence he brought back indicated that espionage activities on the southwestern border had become more frequent. He also had a coded telegram in his pocket that he hadn't finished reading, the handwriting somewhat blurred by sweat.

"Dad! You're finally back!" He Shouye stood guard at the gate of the courtyard, holding a hot water bottle. His cotton-padded coat was covered with snow, making him look like a round snowball. "Mom made mutton soup to warm you up." He was also clutching a crumpled grain coupon in his hand, which he had gotten from buying salt at the supply and marketing cooperative the day before yesterday. It was a two-jin ration coupon, and the edges were worn round.

He Yuyang unbuttoned his military overcoat, letting in a blast of cold air. The warmth in the room instantly frosted over his brow. "Shouye, take this coded telegram to the operations room and have Staff Officer Li translate it immediately." He handed over the folded telegram, his fingertips stiff from holding a gun for so long—last night he had spent four hours lying in wait in the snow, catching a spy trying to throw a signal flare into the military warehouse, and his knuckles were still aching from the cold.

Xu Xiuli came out of the kitchen carrying a clay pot, white steam billowing and enveloping her face. Strands of hair at her temples were damp with moisture, making them look as if veiled in mist. "Have a bowl of soup to warm up first," she said, placing the clay pot on the coal stove to keep it warm. She lifted the lid, and the aroma of mutton mixed with the sweet scent of radish wafted out. "Today I went to the supply and marketing cooperative and saw a lot of people arguing. They said Old Zhang from the logistics department was arrested."

"Old Zhang?" He Yuyang paused as he took off his military boots. He remembered the logistics officer who always squinted and did small calculations. Last autumn, because He Yuyang's family received two more pounds of winter coal than others, he went to the political commissar and made a scene for a long time. In the end, it was found that the quartermaster had made a mistake in the count, and he gave up in a sorry state.

"It wasn't him," Xu Xiuli said, ladling soup into a bowl, the spoon clinking against the rim. "I heard from Staff Officer Wang's wife that he was caught red-handed by the police for reselling grain coupons. They found a stack of national grain coupons and half a bolt of corduroy from the black market in his house." She scooped up a spoonful of soup, blew on it to cool it, and held it to Xiaoxuan's lips. The little girl, wearing a newly made Dacron cotton-padded jacket, was happily gnawing on a lamb bone, oil splattered all over her face.

He Yuyang took a sip of mutton soup, the warmth flowing down his throat, but it didn't dispel the heaviness in his heart. He knew that food coupons were precious these days; urban residents were rationed 27 jin per person per month, and whether that was enough depended entirely on the size of the family. He himself was a military officer, so his ration was higher, 45 jin per month, but his three boys ate a lot, and Xu Xiuli always saved her own rations for the children, so the amount on their food ration book was getting tight every month.

"Dad, I just went to deliver a secret telegram and overheard the disciplinary team saying they're going to check the food ration books of everyone in the family compound." He Shouye returned with a hot water bottle in his hand, his nose red from the cold. "Officer Zhao followed behind and said, 'Some people are living too comfortably; we need to check if there's anything wrong with them.'"

He Yuyang's brows furrowed sharply. Officer Zhao always liked to find fault with others. Last year, because He Shouye's military map was too realistic, he said that the boy had "ideological problems." This matter was brought up to He Yuyang, but he was rebuffed by Zhao with the statement that "it is normal for children of soldiers to know some military common sense."

"Never mind him," Xu Xiuli added a piece of mutton to He Yuyang's bowl. "We use legitimate grain coupons at home. We save up by being frugal, so there's no need to feel guilty." She spoke with a firm tone, but her hand unconsciously touched the wooden box by the kang (a heated brick bed)—it contained fine grains that He Yuyang had taken out from his spatial storage, wrapped in three layers of moisture-proof paper, for Xiaoxuan to make baby food.

Sure enough, the next morning, the inspection team entered the family compound with ration booklets. The team leader was a dark-skinned captain with a booming voice like a megaphone: "According to regulations, we are checking the ration coupon usage records. Anyone with extra ration coupons or cloth coupons must explain where they came from!" Behind him were two soldiers carrying abacuses and registers. Officer Zhao followed at the back, his hands behind his back, his eyes scanning the gates of each house, as if looking for some loophole.

"We've arrived at Deputy Commander He's house." Officer Zhao suddenly stopped, looking at the captain with a forced smile. "Deputy Commander He is a leader, so he should take the lead in accepting inspections, right?"

He Yuyang was cleaning his pistol inside when he heard the noise and opened the door, his military boots crunching on the snow. "Go ahead and check," he said, stepping aside to let them in. His gaze fell on Officer Zhao's face. "My family's ration book is in the drawer. I just made a cotton-padded jacket for Xiaoxuan last month with the cloth coupons, and the rest are all here." He poured out a few cloth coupons from the pen holder, the largest being a foot long and the smallest only three inches, all with neat edges.

While the captain was looking through the ration book, Officer Zhao's eyes darted around the room. He saw a tin can of malted milk powder on the windowsill, a rare item at the time; he saw four steaming white flour buns in the kitchen steamer; and he saw He Yuanchao doing his homework at the kang table, a piece of fruit candy beside him, its wrapper gleaming in the sunlight.

"The He family is living a very comfortable life," Officer Zhao said slowly, tapping the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) with his finger. "These days, even flour requires ration coupons. Your family not only has steamed buns but also malted milk powder. Isn't that a bit unusual?" His voice was soft, but it was like a needle, making the air in the room freeze.

Xu Xiuli was adding firewood to the stove when she heard this and the firewood in her hand fell to the ground with a "thud." "What do you mean by that, Officer Zhao?" She patted the ash off her hands, her voice unconsciously rising, "My husband, Lao He, is a deputy commander, his rations are higher than others, and the children are sensible. How is it unreasonable for him to be frugal?"

"I didn't say it was illogical," Officer Zhao said with a forced smile. "I just felt that during this special period, everyone should tighten their belts. Being too 'special' might have a bad influence." His gaze swept over the grain jar in the corner, its mouth covered with a red cloth, looking heavy.

He Yuyang's hand paused on the holster, the cold air from the gun seeping through his fingertips. "If Officer Zhao has nothing else, please leave." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable authority. "I have a combat meeting this afternoon to discuss the spy capture plan. I don't have time to waste with you."

Sensing the tense atmosphere, the captain quickly closed the ration book: "The ration coupon records for Deputy Commander He's family are fine; they were all issued according to regulations." He tugged at Officer Zhao's arm, "Let's go to the next one."

As Zhao was being pulled out the door, he glanced back at the grain jar, his lips twitching as he muttered something under his breath.

Even after closing the door, Xu Xiuli's face was still pale. "This Zhao clerk, he's clearly here to cause trouble." She placed a steamed bun on the kang table, her hands still trembling. "Our family's food..."

"Don't panic." He Yuyang unholstered his gun, put the gleaming pistol back in the drawer, and said, "I'll take care of it right away." He walked to the grain jar, lifted the red cloth, and saw that the millet inside was piled high—this was new millet harvested from the spiritual spring space, with grains larger than ordinary millet and a faint fragrance. He closed his eyes and used his mind to activate the space. The millet in the jar decreased at a visible rate until only a shallow layer remained, just enough for three days.

"What about the rest?" Xu Xiuli stared blankly at the grain jar, which was mostly empty.

"I've stored it deep in the cellar," He Yuyang said, picking up a pickaxe from the corner of the wall. "We'll weigh it down with stone slabs and pile cabbages on top, so no one will find it." He knew that things were tense lately, and Old Zhang's reselling of grain coupons had reached the military region. The higher-ups were cracking down on "special privileges," and his position as deputy commander made him an easy target. If someone discovered the grain in his storage space, the consequences would be unimaginable.

The cellar was dark and damp, the cured meat hanging there glistening in the torchlight—it was cured from pork he raised in his spatial dimension, most of which he sent to the army mess hall every year, keeping only a small amount for his family. He Yuyang swung his pickaxe, digging through the soil at the corner of the wall, revealing a loose stone slab. Lifting it, he found a hidden compartment about ten feet square, enough to hold ten bags of grain. He used his mind to move batches of rice, flour, and millet from his spatial dimension into the compartment, his movements as fast as the wind. Sweat quickly beaded on his forehead, condensing into white mist in the damp air.

"Dad, Uncle Li is here," He Shouye shouted at the cellar entrance, his voice echoing.

He Yuyang covered the stone slab, piled a few cabbages on it, and patted the mud off his hands: "I know." When he climbed out of the cellar, Li Jianguo was sitting on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) drinking tea. His military overcoat was draped over the back of the chair, and the pen clipped to his collar gleamed—he had just returned from a meeting in the military region, and the star insignia on his shoulder shone brightly under the oil lamp.

"Yu Yang, sit down." Li Jianguo pushed a cup of hot tea in front of him. The tea leaves unfurled in the water. It was Longjing tea grown in the spiritual spring space. He Yu Yang had just given him half a jin last month. "Old Zhang's matter has caused quite a stir. It has implicated seven people from the family compound, all of whom had bought his grain coupons."

He Yuyang picked up his teacup but didn't drink it, just watched the steam rise in front of him: "Officer Zhao came to my house today and implied that my family's abundance of supplies was 'unusual'."

"I know," Li Jianguo tapped his fingers on the kang table. "He mentioned it briefly at the military region's standing committee meeting, but I covered it up. But you have to understand, right now, how many eyes are watching us?" He leaned closer, his voice low. "Keep your 'special' things well hidden, don't give anyone a handle to use against you. We're soldiers, protecting our country is our duty, but if we fall first, who will protect this place, and the people behind us?"

He Yuyang's fingers clenched the teacup tightly, the heat of the cup making his palms numb. He recalled the years since he transmigrated; aside from improving his family's life, the remaining supplies in his space had been anonymously handed over to the government—from the first batch of penicillin sent in 1950, to the relief grain in 1960, and to the blueprints for the new radar last year—weren't they all treasures that could change the course of the war? But these things couldn't be spoken of; they had to remain buried in his heart.

"I understand," he said softly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I've hidden all the food in the cellar. I'll just tell everyone it's from saving every penny I can."

Li Jianguo nodded, his gaze falling on the certificates of merit on the wall. Jianguo's third-class merit certificate was surrounded by red silk, making it particularly eye-catching. "Jianguo has performed well on the border. Last time, during the ambush of spies, he killed three of them by himself. The commanders all praised him, saying he had a bit of you back then." He changed the subject, "But you also have to take care of the family. The children are still young, and it's not easy for Xiuli to manage everything on her own."

He Yuyang didn't speak, but simply refilled Li Jianguo's cup with water. The snow outside the window was still falling, pattering down as if trying to cover up some secret. He knew Li Jianguo was doing it for his own good; over the years, if it weren't for Li Jianguo's constant protection, his "unconventional" supplies would have been discovered long ago.

After Li Jianguo left, He Yuyang sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), watching Xu Xiuli sew cotton-padded clothes for the children. Her fingers moved nimbly across the fabric, the stitches as dense as fish scales, sewn with silk thread from her spatial dimension, strong enough to withstand the children rolling around in the snow. Xiaoxuan lay on her lap, clutching a piece of fruit candy in her hand, made from sugarcane collected from her spatial dimension, so sweet it could stick to her teeth.

"I'm going to the supply and marketing cooperative tomorrow," Xu Xiuli suddenly said, "to exchange the cloth coupons I've saved for some coarse cloth, so people won't say we only wear nice fabrics." She was referring to Xiaoxuan's Dacron cotton-padded jacket, which was indeed eye-catching among the gray, blue and black winter clothes.

He Yuyang hummed in agreement, his gaze drifting through the window to the peach tree by the courtyard gate. Time flowed five thousand times faster inside the spiritual spring space than outside; the tree was probably already laden with ripe, pink fruit, like Xiaoxuan's cheeks. But he knew that some things, no matter how precious, had to be hidden away, like the fire in the hearth amidst the swirling snow—it had to be carefully protected to prevent it from being blown out.

At night, He Yuyang lay in bed, listening to the wind and snow outside the window. His fingers unconsciously traced the coded message under his pillow—the translated content indicated that spies were eyeing the new equipment at the tractor factory, and a patrol team needed to be sent to strengthen security the next day. He closed his eyes, his thoughts sinking into his spatial dimension: the new alarm system in the warehouse needed to be sent out. He had to find a way to let the operations department "accidentally" discover the blueprints, just like the previous times, without anyone noticing.

The small villa in the space was lit up, and the spiritual spring water shimmered silver under the moonlight. On the vast fields, the winter wheat was growing well, lush and green, like a carpet spread out. Looking at this world, He Yuyang suddenly felt more at ease. As long as this space still existed, as long as he could keep the secret, he could protect his family and the country behind him, even if it meant hiding his light in the wind and snow.

The snow was still falling, landing on military boots, on the eaves, and on the top of the cellar that held the secret, like a gentle blanket covering these chaotic years of war.