He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

Spring in 1978 was vibrant with life. The March winds, carrying the damp scent of earth, softened the frozen ground of the military compound. Shepherd's purse sprouted serrated green shoots at the base of the walls, and the moss in the cracks of the bricks, soaked with moisture, was so green it seemed you could squeeze water out of it. The peach tree in He Yuyang's yard had already shed its last snowflakes, its branches adorned with crimson buds. The thickest main branch had already grown taller than the eaves, its tip reaching over the courtyard wall like a curious hand, touching the world beyond.

As the postman rode his bicycle into the yard in the early morning, the ringing of his bell startled the sparrows on the branches. Xu Xiuli was building trellises for the tomatoes in the experimental field when she heard the bell. She quickly straightened up, her apron still covered in dirt—it was black soil from the space mixed with wood ash, which had been improved and was very fertile. You could smell the fresh scent of decaying leaves when you held it in your hand.

"A letter from He Yuyang's family! From Beijing!" The postman handed over the letter, which was stamped with the postmark of the Military Engineering University and had ink stains on the corners, indicating that it was written in a hurry.

Xu Xiuli wiped her hands, dusted the letter on her apron, and ran into the house. He Yuyang had just returned from his morning exercise, his military green training uniform damp with a thin layer of sweat. He was standing by the well drawing water, the rope in his hand wound evenly, and the well water gushed up with a "whoosh," carrying a refreshing coolness—it was spiritual spring water that had seeped through the space, perfect for cutting through the greasiness of early spring.

"A letter from Shouye!" Xu Xiuli held the envelope high, her voice filled with excitement. The letter slid out of the envelope; it was Shouye's usual grid paper. The handwriting was a bit messier than when he left home, but it still exuded a powerful and unrestrained spirit. There were also a few simple gears drawn on the edge of the paper, their teeth tightly interlocked.

"...In class, the teacher mentioned 'market economy,' saying that in the future, technology should revolve around demand. I found some foreign machinery magazines in the library, and their machine tools are as precise as one-tenth the thickness of a human hair, while our factories are still relying on master craftsmen to polish by feel..." He Yuyang read the letter, his brows gradually relaxing, his fingertip lightly tapping the words "market economy." "This kid said that after graduation, he wants to do research and development on civilian machinery, to make farmers' plows and harrows less strenuous, and to make factory lathes more precise. He also said... he wants to start his own research institute."

Xu Xiuli leaned closer to look. Several words were circled in red pen on the letter: "independent research and development," "market demand," and "technology transfer"—terms she didn't quite understand, yet she could see the light in her son's eyes between the lines. "Isn't this a bit too ambitious?" she worried, adding a piece of firewood to the stove. The flames crackled and popped, making her cheeks flush. "Haven't we always wanted to be engineers?"

"If you want to be an engineer, you can build your own roads." He Yuyang folded the letter and put it in the tin box in the drawer where he kept his family letters. The box already contained quite a few letters; the top one was from He Jianguo at the border, saying that the shift change would take place in the spring, and that during patrols he could see flocks of sheep grazing on the grassy slopes. His words were filled with a deep appreciation for the peaceful life he had been living. "I'll reply to him this afternoon."

He poured some water into the inkstone, his movements steady and powerful as he ground the ink. The ink was pine soot ink from his spatial dimension; the resulting liquid was jet black and glossy, and it didn't bleed or spread on the Xuan paper. "Be bold in your thinking, but also pragmatic," He Yuyang wrote down these eight characters, pausing the brush tip on the paper before adding, "Your Uncle Zhou's project is short-handed. When you come back during summer vacation, consult him more, turn the things on the blueprints into tangible parts in your hands first, and then talk about more distant things."

The peach blossom buds outside the window trembled gently in the wind, as if listening to this advice that traveled a thousand miles. Xu Xiuli sprinkled a handful of millet from her spatial storage into the clay pot on the stove. The grains were plump like pearls, making a soft "bubbling" sound when they met the water, and soon a thick layer of rice oil appeared. "When Shouye comes back for summer vacation, I'll let him taste the newly harvested millet, and I'll also have him bring some goji berries from his spatial storage for Uncle Zhou. The old man always says his eyes are dry."

Just then, the sound of a cane tapping on the ground came from the courtyard gate. Zhou Mingyuan, dressed in a dark blue Zhongshan suit with the collar buttoned tightly, held a kraft paper folder in his hand, his face beaming with barely suppressed joy. "Old He! Good news!" He pushed open the half-closed courtyard gate, his cane tapping rapidly on the bluestone slabs. "Our precision machine tool project has been approved! The higher-ups have allocated special funds, saying it's to be made into a model project!"

The folder contained the project approval documents, the red stamp standing out prominently. Zhou Mingyuan spread the documents on the table, pointing to one line: "Look here, the requirement is to produce a prototype within six months, with precision reaching international advanced levels. But what we lack is processing equipment—the boring machines available on the market have too much error, and foreign countries have imposed an embargo on them. Isn't this forcing us to cook without ingredients?"

As the old man spoke, his brows furrowed again. He picked up the enamel mug on the table and gulped down a mouthful of tea—freshly brewed by Xu Xiuli, pre-rain Longjing tea from his spatial dimension, its leaves unfurling a tender green in the water, its aroma as clear as mountain spring water. "My old buddies and I stayed up for three nights straight, drawing up parts diagrams that simply can't be produced on our current equipment. An error margin of half a millimeter is simply scrap on a precision machine tool!"

Looking at the dense lines on the blueprints, He Yuyang suddenly remembered the metal cabinet in the space warehouse—it contained a stack of yellowed blueprints, design drawings for the latest foreign machining centers. He had translated some of them in his spare time and even marked the key parameters in neat handwriting. "I have some documents here that might come in handy." He got up and walked towards the side room, where some old books "borrowed" from the army were piled up, which served as a convenient cover.

Soon, he returned with several blue notebooks, the covers of which read "Translation of Overseas Technical Documents," the handwriting mimicking the stiff tone of a foreign language translator. Inside, however, the drawings were extremely detailed, even clearly marking the tooth flank clearances of meshing gears. "These were brought back from abroad by an old comrade-in-arms. He knows a bit of Russian and translated some key parts. I think they're somewhat related to your project."

Zhou Mingyuan put on his reading glasses, his fingers gripping the edge of the blueprint. The more he looked, the brighter his eyes became, and his breathing quickened: "This...this is a godsend! Look at this automatic feed mechanism, it saves 30% more energy than our design; and this guide rail lubrication system solves the jamming problem at low temperatures! Old He, who is this comrade of yours? I really have to thank him!"

"He passed away a long time ago," He Yuyang said calmly as he closed his notebook. "These materials were entrusted to me by him before he died. He said that if there was anything I could use, I should take them out and contribute to the country." He looked at Zhou Mingyuan's excited, flushed face and added, "You can borrow the materials for reference, but you still have to master the core technology yourself. You can't always rely on others."

"Of course!" Zhou Mingyuan carefully placed the notes into the folder, as if holding a rare treasure. "I'll go back and gather people to revise the blueprints according to this idea! Old He, you're truly my lucky star!" He walked out, leaning on his cane, his steps much lighter than when he came. Reaching the courtyard gate, he turned back, pointing to the peach tree branches reaching over the wall and laughing, "Your tree has grown all the way over the wall, it's practically a spirit!"

The peach tree did indeed grow wildly. In just a few years, its trunk had become so thick that it took two people to encircle it, and its most lush side branch leaned diagonally over the courtyard wall, perfectly covering the path outside. When the spring breeze blew, the buds on the branches burst open with a "plop, plop," and pink and white petals fell along the path, like a layer of fragrant snow. The neighbors who passed by all loved to walk under the tree, saying that the tree not only blocked the sun but also provided fragrance, a blessing from the He family.

"Beautiful girl, your tree is amazing!" When Aunt Zhang came to deliver the freshly sewn shirt, she saw Xu Xiuli standing on a ladder pruning the branches. With a "snip," the scissors cut off an overly dense side branch, on which hung a few unripe peaches. "The peaches that fell in my yard last year were so sweet they could stick to your teeth. My grandson has been talking about them all year."

Xu Xiuli smiled and handed her the cut peach branch: "This branch can last for half a month in a vase, and it smells wonderful. When the peaches are ripe, I'll pick some and bring them to you." She looked over the wall and saw several children, just out of school, standing on tiptoe to reach the petals on the branches. The red scarves on their schoolbags stood out against the pink and white sea of ​​flowers. "Look, there are small peaches on the branches outside the wall. Come and pick them when they're ripe!"

The children cheered in agreement, and one little girl with pigtails looked up and asked, "Auntie He, did this tree drink some magic water? It's taller than my house!"

Xu Xiuli recalled the bucket of spiritual spring water she poured on the tree roots every morning. The water seeped into the soil, and she could hear the roots making a soft "sizzling" sound as they absorbed the water, as if they were greedily storing up the power to grow. She smiled and waved her hand, "There's no such thing as magical water. It's just that the soil in this yard is good, and the wind is good too, which makes it grow vigorously."

As they spoke, the sound of a bicycle bell came from outside the wall. Sister Li rode back from the noodle shop on a 28-inch bicycle, with a bamboo basket tied to the back seat. The basket contained freshly bought flour—actually, it was secretly brought out by Xu Xiuli from her spatial dimension. It was ground finer than the flour available in the market, so that it could be pulled into translucent silver threads when making noodles. "Xiuli, come and try my newly made peach blossom pastries!" She took out an oil paper package from the basket. The pastries inside were imprinted with peach blossom shapes and were made with petals that had fallen outside the wall. They had a delicate fragrance.

"Your business is booming." Xu Xiuli took the pastry, took a bite, and the flaky crust crumbled into pieces, its sweet aroma mixed with floral notes. "I heard from Staff Officer Wang's wife the other day that your noodle shop has started supplying goods to the supply and marketing cooperative?"

"Of course!" Sister Li smiled, her wrinkles deepening, and the flour bag in her bicycle basket swayed. "Thanks to the good flour you gave me, Director Zhang from the supply and marketing cooperative tried it and said it was even more authentic than the state-run restaurants. He ordered us to deliver twenty catties of noodles to him every day. By the way, has Shouye written yet? My husband keeps saying that when he comes back, he'll make him a bowl of 'Scholar's Noodles' with two poached eggs!"

When the topic turned to maintaining the family business, Xu Xiuli's smile widened: "I just received a letter saying that I've learned something new at school and want to do mechanical research and development after graduation. My father replied that he should be bold in his thinking but also be practical and not be overly ambitious." She looked at the experimental field, where tomato vines had already climbed all over the trellis, with tiny yellow flowers hidden among the leaves. These flowers were pollinated by bees from the space, and the fruit set rate was 50% higher than that of ordinary tomatoes.

As evening fell, He Yuyang returned from the army base and saw Xu Xiuli fertilizing the peach trees as soon as she entered the courtyard. She was carrying a ceramic jar filled with a mixture of sheep manure and wood ash from her spatial storage, which she had scattered around the base of the trees, where it was quickly absorbed by the damp soil. "Any news from Old Zhou?"

"They just sent someone to say that they've revised the part design according to the drawings you provided, and the precision of the prototype has improved by two levels!" Xu Xiuli straightened up, dusted off her hands, and said, "The old man said he wants to invite you to the research institute for dinner to thank you in person."

He Yuyang walked to the peach tree, reaching out to touch the branches that stretched over the wall. Three small, green peaches hung there, their fuzz still covered in pollen. "No need for a meal; let him focus his energy on the project." He glanced at the path outside the wall, where several passersby were picking up petals under the tree, carefully tucking them into their books. "This tree is growing too vigorously; we need to prune those outstretched branches so they don't block people's way."

"I think it's great," Xu Xiuli said with a smile, shaking her head. "Only when the branches reach out can people outside smell the fragrance and taste the sweetness. Just like Shouye said about the market economy, good things are only useful if people know about them; they won't grow into big trees if they're kept hidden." She picked a newly unfolded tender leaf from the tree, crushed it, and held it to He Yuyang's nose. A crisp, grassy scent mixed with the smell of sunshine wafted out. "Smell it, even the wind has a fresh feel to it; it's different from before."

He Yuyang took a deep breath and indeed smelled different scents—the fragrance of peach blossoms, the earthy smell of soil, the sound of machinery from a distant factory, and even the faint shouts from Sister Li's noodle shop. These sounds mingled together like a chaotic yet vibrant song, singing of a spring that was awakening.

At night, Xu Xiuli sat under the lamp mending He Yuanchao's work pants. The boy had been learning cooking from Grandpa Li for half a year, and the pants were stained with a lot of oil, so the stitches had to be made tighter to make them more durable. He Yuyang was leaning on the table, replying to Shouye's letter. Next to the letter was a sample of parts sent by Zhou Mingyuan. The metal surface was so smooth that it reflected a person's image, and the error was indeed controlled within 0.02 millimeters.

"Old Zhou said that if these parts can be mass-produced, it can raise the precision of machine tools across the country by a level." He Yuyang paused, the ink spreading out a small dot on the paper. "He also said that he wanted Shouye to come back during the summer vacation to participate in the debugging. It would be more useful for the child to get in touch with actual production than to learn from books."

Xu Xiuli folded the sewn pants and placed a plate of freshly washed strawberries on the table—a new variety cultivated in the space, larger than ordinary strawberries, a deep purplish-red, with water droplets still clinging to the stems. "If Shouye knew, he'd be so happy he couldn't sleep." She picked up a strawberry and held it to He Yuyang's lips, "You should try some too, this is the first batch this year, very sweet."

The strawberry juice exploded on her tongue, sweet with a hint of tartness, much like the changing days—sweet with anticipation, and bitter with exploration. He Yuyang looked out the window; moonlight filtered through the peach tree branches, casting dappled shadows on the ground, falling on the stack of replies to Shouye, as if gilding the word "pragmatism" with a layer of silver light.

The south wind was still blowing, swirling petals across the rooftops, over the courtyard walls, and past the lights that were gradually coming on in the distance. He Yuyang suddenly felt that this peach tree peeking over the wall was like a metaphor—life always has to move outwards, towards wider horizons, requiring both firm roots in the soil and the courage to let its branches touch the new winds. Just like the market economy mentioned in the letter about maintaining the business, just like Old Zhou's research project, just like Sister Li's noodle shop that kept growing bigger and bigger, all of them, in this south wind, were holding their breath, determined to grow into their own unique shapes.

As dawn broke, Xu Xiuli pushed open the courtyard gate and saw that the path outside the wall was covered with fallen peach petals. Several early risers were tiptoeing, carefully reaching for the petals on the branches. She turned back into the courtyard, picked up the scissors, and instead of pruning the protruding branches, she thinned out the overly dense branches inside the courtyard to allow more sunlight to penetrate and to help the branches reaching out of the wall grow stronger.

The wind rustled through the branches, as if in response to something. In the distance, the factory whistles sounded for workers to start their shifts; smoke rose from Sister Li's noodle shop; and the lights were already on at Zhou Mingyuan's research institute. Spring of 1978, carried by the rising south wind, was slowly unfolding in a brand new direction.