He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

Winter came early and suddenly in 1976. Just after October, Baoding saw its first snowfall. A thin layer of snow covered the earthen walls of the military family compound, like a white border around the yard. Only the peach tree in He Yuyang's family stood stubbornly, its bare branches stretching towards the gray sky. A small wooden sign hung among the branches—the two characters "Peace" written by He Shouye, painted in red, stood out against the white snow.

As the truck convoy entered the family compound, the wheels crunched through the snow. He Yuyang sat in the driver's cab, his military cap covered in frost, his stubble frosted with ice, and the bloodshot in his eyes even more pronounced than before he set off. He gazed at the familiar peach tree in the yard and suddenly felt a lump in his throat—three months away felt like a lifetime had passed.

"Dad!" Xiaoxuan rushed out first, her red cotton-padded jacket like a small fireball, kicking up a cloud of snowflakes as she threw herself into his arms. She looked up and saw a strange boy following behind her father, timidly hiding by the car door, clutching a gleaming tin cigarette case in his hand.

"This is Xiaohu," He Yuyang said, patting his daughter's head. His voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded. "She'll be living with us for a while from now on."

Xiao Hu was about twelve or thirteen years old, wearing an ill-fitting military overcoat with frayed cuffs that revealed his thin wrists. His hair was dry and yellow, and his face was covered in indelible grime. Only his eyes were as black as deep pools as he timidly looked around the yard. When he saw the wooden sign on the peach tree, his eyelashes trembled slightly.

Xu Xiuli came out carrying a basin of hot water. She was stunned when she saw Xiao Hu, then put the basin on the stone table. "Come in and warm up. I made some mutton soup." She handed Xiao Hu a towel and noticed that the child's hands were red from the cold, and his knuckles were swollen like small steamed buns. Her heart ached.

The stove inside was burning brightly, and the chimney was whirring. He Shouye and He Yuanchao surrounded Xiaohu, wanting to talk to him, but not knowing where to begin. Xiaohu huddled in the corner of the kang (a heated brick bed), his hands tucked into his sleeves, but his eyes were drawn to the textbook He Shouye had spread out on the table—it was a book called "Principles of Machinery," with a cross-sectional diagram of a lathe printed on the cover.

"You want to see it?" He Shouye noticed his gaze and pushed the textbook over. It was a gift from Engineer Zhou Mingyuan. After the old man recovered from his injuries, he was taken to Baoding to recuperate, and he always said, "Shouye is a good prospect."

Xiao Hu hesitated for a moment, then slowly extended his frozen fingers. The moment his fingertips touched the page, he recoiled as if burned. He Yuyang, seeing this, said to Shouye, "Show Xiao Hu the drawings you made."

He Shouye pulled a sketchbook from his bag, filled with sketches of various mechanical parts—gears, bearings, and even a machine tool he'd drawn based on the blueprints Zhou Mingyuan had given him. Xiao Hu's eyes lit up, and he finally looked up, whispering, "This is… a lathe?"

"You know him?" He Shouye was surprised.

Xiao Hu nodded, took out the tin cigarette case from his pocket, opened it, and inside were several pieces of broken copper, hammered into gear shapes. "My dad was a lathe operator," he said in a voice so low it was barely audible, "He taught me how to hammer them."

The room suddenly fell silent, with only the crackling of sparks from the stove. He Yuyang knew that Xiao Hu's parents had not come out of the ruins, and the copper piece in the child's arms was his only memory of his family.

"Shouye, teach Xiaohu more in the future." He Yuyang broke the silence and put a piece of mutton into Xiaohu's bowl. "It's warm in our yard, don't always keep your hands in your pockets."

Xiao Hu held the bowl, the steam blurring his vision, but he didn't speak, only sipping the soup slowly. Seeing him drink the soup, Xu Xiuli quietly added a spoonful of mutton fat from her spatial storage to his bowl; it was thick and could ward off the cold.

In the days that followed, Xiao Hu gradually lowered his guard. He didn't talk much, but he always followed He Shouye. When Shouye read, he would sit next to him and look at the copper plates; when Shouye went to the old academician's laboratory, he would squat at the gate and wait, holding a magnet he had picked up from the ruins and playing with the iron nails on the ground.

He Yuyang was busy processing the medicinal herbs he had brought back from his spatial dimension. The medicinal herb field in the spiritual spring space had yielded a warehouse full of herbs in the autumn: angelica, astragalus, saposhnikovia... The most precious of all was the patch of frostbite grass, which was grown with spiritual spring water and had ten times the medicinal effect of ordinary herbs. He categorized the herbs, giving some to the military logistics department, saying it was "herbs for disaster relief," so they could brew it into frostbite ointment and cold medicine to be sent to disaster areas and border defenses; the other part was packed into coarse cloth bags and secretly distributed to Aunt Zhang and the others.

"This ointment feels so good," Aunt Zhang said, taking a jar of frostbite ointment and applying some to her hands. "It's much more effective than the one I bought at the supply and marketing cooperative." She had been complaining of joint pain lately, so Xu Xiuli gave her a packet of mugwort from her spatial storage and told her to boil it in water and use it to steam her hands. She had indeed felt much better these past two days.

"It's a prescription that Lao He brought back from the disaster area," Xu Xiuli said, helping to fill the jar with ointment. "He said it's a folk remedy, so take as much as you can if it works." She specially saved the biggest jar for Xiao Hu, whose hands were always cracked from the cold and he couldn't sleep at night because of the itching.

On the winter solstice, He Yuyang was chopping firewood in the yard when he suddenly heard laughter coming from inside the house—it was Xiaohu's voice. He put down his axe and quietly walked to the window. He saw Xiaohu, Shouye, and Yuanchao surrounding Xiaoxuan. Xiaoxuan was holding up a piece of malt candy from her spatial storage, which made Xiaohu reach out to grab it. Xiaohu had a bit of boyish shyness on his face.

"This child has finally smiled." Xu Xiuli appeared behind him at some point, holding a newly sewn vest made of dark brown sheepskin, fluffy and soft. "The sheepskin that Jianguo sent, I made one for you and one for Xiaohu."

He Yuyang accepted the vest, feeling the soft wool and a warm glow in his heart. Jian Guo had written in his letter that the herders insisted on giving it to him, saying, "The PLA's cotton-padded coats are warm, and our sheepskin can also block the wind." This sheepskin, carrying the warmth of the border, had traveled thousands of miles and become the most tangible warmth for his family.

As he walked into the house with the vest, Xiao Hu was helping Xiao Xuan pick up the malt candy that had fallen on the ground. "Xiao Hu, try this," He Yuyang said, handing the vest to her.

Xiao Hu froze, his fingers clutching the hem of his clothes, too afraid to take it.

"Put it on," Xu Xiuli helped him put the vest on, and it fit him perfectly. "Look at this fur, it's so soft."

Xiao Hu looked down at the sheepskin vest he was wearing, then at the identical one He Yuyang was wearing. Suddenly, he wiped his face with his sleeve, turned around, and ran outside. He Shouye quickly followed and saw him squatting under the peach tree, his shoulders sobbing, but he didn't cry out. He was just touching the "Peace" wooden plaque on the tree trunk.

"My dad also made me a sheepskin coat," Xiao Hu said to Shouye, his voice trembling with tears, "and it was made of the same kind of wool."

"From now on, we're family," He Shouye patted him on the back. "My dad is your dad, and my mom is your mom."

Xiao Hu looked up and saw He Yuyang and Xu Xiuli standing at the door, smiling at him. He suddenly stood up, ran into the house, and knelt down in front of He Yuyang with a thud, kowtowing loudly: "Father... Mother..."

He Yuyang quickly helped him up, his eyes brimming with tears. He suddenly remembered that night in the disaster area, when Xiao Hu huddled in the corner of the tent, clutching that tin cigarette box tightly in his arms as if it were the whole world. And now, the boy was finally willing to let down his guard and make this place his home.

On New Year's Eve, the family compound was decorated with lanterns and colorful streamers. He Shouye's Spring Festival couplets were pasted on the door frame: the first line read "The snow melts and the earth gives birth to spring," and the second line read "The lanterns illuminate the courtyard and gather warmth." Zhou Mingyuan had taught him to write them. Xiaoxuan tied a red ribbon to a peach tree branch, and when the wind blew, it looked like a string of small red lanterns.

Xiao Hu was helping He Yuanchao tend the fire in the kitchen, his face covered in soot, but he was smiling happily. Xu Xiuli was steaming buns, using flour and pork from the space, and the aroma filled the entire courtyard. He Yuyang was whittling wood for Xiao Hu, planning to make a small lathe model, based on the drawings by Zhou Mingyuan, saying, "Let the child have something to look forward to."

That night, just as the dumplings were being cooked, there was a knock on the courtyard gate. He Yuyang opened the door and saw He Jianguo standing in the snow, his military overcoat covered in snow, a burlap sack slung over his shoulder. "Dad, Mom, I'm home!"

"Big brother!" Xiaoxuan screamed and rushed over. Xiaohu was stunned for a moment, then ran out to help drag the sack into the house. It was filled with hard, milky curds given by the herdsmen.

The family sat around the kang table, the dumplings steaming hot. Xiao Hu held a bowl and, for the first time, took the initiative to put a dumpling on He Yuyang's plate, saying, "Dad, eat."

He Yuyang took the dumpling, took a bite, and the scalding soup inside made him gasp, but his heart was filled with sweetness, like he had drunk honey. The snow was still falling outside the window, landing on the peach trees, like coating the branches with a layer of white sugar; the lights inside the house were bright, reflecting everyone's smiling faces, and even the air was filled with warmth.

He Yuyang looked at the children on the kang (a heated brick bed)—Shouye was explaining mechanical diagrams to Jianguo, Yuanchao was sharing milk curds with Xiaohu, and Xiaoxuan was pestering her older brother about the border. He suddenly felt that the lamplight in this cold night was warmer than any other light. Like that peach tree, even with bare branches, its roots still held the strength of spring; as long as the family stayed together, they could get through even the coldest winter.

Suddenly, Xiao Hu pointed out the window and whispered, "Look, the stars."

Everyone looked up and saw that the snow had stopped, and the night sky was like a piece of black velvet, studded with glittering stars. The brightest star was directly facing the peach tree in the yard, as if saying: Don't be afraid, spring is coming.