He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

Autumn arrived brightly in 1978. The September winds turned the sky into a freshly washed blue cloth. The first golden leaf fell from the poplar tree in the military family compound, swirling and drifting into He Yuyang's yard, landing right at the base of the peach tree. The peach tree still bore the last batch of autumn peaches, a deep purplish-red, their heavy weight bending the branches. A thin layer of brittle peach leaves lay on the bluestone slabs beneath the tree, making a soft "rustling" sound underfoot, as if telling of the joy of a bountiful harvest.

The morning sunlight slanted through the peach tree branches, casting dappled shadows on the ground. He Yuanchao, wearing a faded blue apron, was squatting at the courtyard gate, sharpening a kitchen knife. The blade scraped against the whetstone, making a "whoosh" sound, and sparks flew onto the calluses on his hands—marks from six months of learning cooking from Grandpa Li. He tucked the gleaming knife to his waist, turned, and ran towards Sister Li's noodle shop, his army-green canvas shoes crunching on the fallen leaves, his steps as light as a gust of wind.

"Yuanchao, chop up this basket of radishes!" Grandpa Li was standing in front of the stove, tossing the wok with a "sizzle" as golden oil splattered out, the aroma mingling with the rising steam wafting out of the shed, attracting passersby to turn their heads frequently. The radishes piled up beside the stove were harvested from Xu Xiuli's experimental field, watered with spiritual spring water from her space, so crisp they could be eaten like fruit, and when sliced, you could see glistening juice dripping down the blade.

He Yuanchao picked up the cleaver, and with a flick of his wrist, the radish turned into even, fine shreds on the cutting board, their length and thickness as if measured with a ruler. "Uncle Li, shall we try a new recipe today?" His eyes gleamed as he added a piece of firewood to the stove, and the flames leaped up with a "whoosh," making his cheeks glow red.

Grandpa Li scooped the stir-fried radish shreds into a rough porcelain plate, then sprinkled some brownish powder on top—a spice blend Xu Xiuli had taught him to make, ground from star anise, cinnamon, and bay leaves from his spatial storage, with a richer, more indescribable flavor than the "Thirteen Spices" sold in stores. "We'll talk about it when your parents get back," he said, wiping his hands and slipping a freshly steamed meat bun into He Yuanchao's hand. "This dough was made with the yeast your mother gave you. Try it and see if you notice any difference."

The bun's skin was as soft and fluffy as a cloud, and when you bit into it, you could see the glistening meat filling inside—it was made with black pork from the space, with a perfect balance of lean and fat, and also mixed with some dried bamboo shoots pickled by Xu Xiuli, so fresh it made your tongue tingle. He Yuanchao swallowed the bun in a few bites, wiped his mouth, and said, "Even fresher than yesterday's! Mother said she added some 'scallop powder,' which was ground from seafood sent by her family."

The "scallop powder" he mentioned was actually made by Xu Xiuli using dried scallops from her spatial storage. A while ago, Grandpa Li mentioned wanting him to open a small restaurant called "He's Restaurant," specializing in home-style dishes. Xu Xiuli then took out the dried goods she had collected from her spatial storage and taught him how to blend her unique spices: add a pinch of cardamom from her spatial storage when stewing meat to remove the fishy smell and enhance the flavor; sprinkle some perilla seeds on cold dishes for a refreshing and non-greasy taste; and the most amazing thing was the bottle of "secret soy sauce," which was made by sun-drying soybeans from her spatial storage for a hundred days and then brewing it with spiritual spring water. It had a bright red color and could make half a street smell good when poured into dishes.

"Yuanchao's recipe is truly miraculous!" Aunt Zhang came over from the sewing group carrying a piece of fabric, a few threads still stuck to her nose. "My husband ate your braised pork yesterday and said it was even more authentic than the ones he used to eat in Shanghai restaurants!" She placed the fabric on the stone table; it was printed with a newly arrived floral pattern, meant for Xiaoxuan's new cotton-padded jacket. "By the way, Old He said he's taking his annual leave today and is going to take your mother to Beijing?"

Xu Xiuli was squatting in the experimental field harvesting the last batch of tomatoes when she heard this. She straightened up, her apron covered in dirt and tomato juice, looking like a lively painting. "Yes, they said Uncle Zhou's project has started production, and they want us to go and take a look." She picked a bright red tomato, wiped it with her sleeve, and popped it into her mouth. The sweet and sour juice dripped down her chin. "Yuanchao, save us two bowls of noodles for lunch, and add extra of your meat sauce."

He Yuanchao nodded vigorously, his hand wielding the cleaver even more vigorously. The scallions, ginger, and garlic on the cutting board were quickly reduced to neat, fine pieces, the aroma mingling with the fragrance of spices wafting over the courtyard wall, attracting several regular customers to peek out from outside the shed: "Old Li, what new dishes are you making today? It smells even better than usual!"

Grandpa Li sprinkled a handful of goji berries from his spatial storage into the clay pot on the stove, laughing and calling out, "Freshly brewed pork rib soup, with 'nourishing ingredients' added. Come late and it'll be gone!" Watching He Yuanchao's busy back, he was calculating in his mind—this kid was not only quick and efficient, but also had the honesty of a military family. Once "He's Little Restaurant" opened, it would surely be more popular than his own noodle shop.

The afternoon sun was shining brightly. He Yuyang, dressed in a Zhongshan suit, was helping Xu Xiuli strap her luggage to the back of her bicycle. The canvas bag contained two changes of clothes and a tin box with a gift for Zhou Mingyuan: slices of wild ginseng from his spatial storage, tightly wrapped in moisture-proof paper, a remedy for the elderly's seasonal coughs. "Don't bring too much; it's only for three days," he said, tightening the straps. His military boots clattered on the ground.

Xu Xiuli stuffed a bag of dried peaches into her bag—they were dried from autumn peaches and mixed with honey from her spatial dimension; they were sweet, sour, and soft, perfect as a snack on the road. "Take some for Shouye too. Autumn in Beijing is dry, and that kid always complains of an itchy throat." She looked up and saw He Yuanchao returning from outside with a bamboo basket on his back, filled with freshly bought pork ribs, glistening with oil. "Yuanchao, we're leaving now. Keep an eye on the restaurant."

He Yuanchao put the bamboo basket down by the stove and scratched his head: "Mom, I wrote down the recipe you taught me in my notebook. I even remember how much spices to put in when stewing the meat, so it won't go wrong!" He stuffed an oil paper package into He Yuyang's hand: "These are freshly baked sesame flatbreads from this morning. Have some on the way."

The sesame seed cake was made with space flour, its layers as distinct as book pages, the sesame seeds roasted to a golden brown, and crumbling with every bite. He Yuyang took the cake and patted him on the shoulder: "Remember what your mother said, cooking is like being a person, you have to be honest, you can't cut corners."

The train rattled towards Beijing, the fields outside the window shimmering with golden waves, corn stalks rustling in the wind. Xu Xiuli leaned against the window, looking at the newspaper in He Yuyang's hand—it carried news of Zhou Mingyuan's project going into production. The precision machine tools in the photos gleamed with a cold, hard metallic sheen, and the old academician standing beside him smiled, his eyes crinkling with wrinkles, his white hair at his temples particularly striking under the flash of the camera.

"Old Zhou said this machine tool can improve the precision of car parts by 30%," He Yuyang folded the newspaper and stuffed a piece of dried peach into Xu Xiuli's hand. "Yesterday he called and insisted that I talk about the 'technical ideas' at the acceptance meeting. I couldn't refuse, so I prepared a few sentences." He was actually afraid of giving himself away—the core parameters of those drawings marked "overseas translations" were all traced from space equipment, and it would be easy to reveal flaws if he went into too much detail.

Xu Xiuli put a dried peach in her mouth, the sweet aroma mingling with the coal smoke from the train filling the air: "Just say it's all thanks to Old Zhou and the researchers, we only helped organize some data." She looked out the window, where smoke rose from the distant village, and golden corn was drying on the rooftops, like a richly colored autumn harvest painting. "When Shouye gets a holiday, I'll take him to see these machine tools, so he can see that what's on the blueprints can really become a big machine."

Red silk hung in front of the research institute's gate, and a banner reading "Precision Machine Tool Production Launch Ceremony" fluttered in the autumn wind. Zhou Mingyuan, dressed in a brand-new Zhongshan suit and leaning on his cane, waited at the entrance. Upon seeing He Yuyang, he slipped a red velvet flower into his hand: "Old He, you've finally arrived! You're the hero today!" He led the two of them to the venue, where machine tool parts samples were displayed in the corridor's windows. The metal surfaces were so smooth they reflected images, and each was marked "Error ≤ 0.005 mm".

As the applause at the acceptance meeting subsided, Zhou Mingyuan pulled He Yuyang onto the stage, pointing to the machine tool model behind them and saying, "This equipment was able to go into production three months ahead of schedule, thanks to the crucial technical support provided by Deputy Commander He!" He held up a blue notebook in his hand, the words "Translation of Overseas Technical Documents" on the cover particularly eye-catching under the lights. "These improvement ideas regarding the lubrication system and the feed mechanism saved us at least six months of detours!"

The flashbulbs of the cameras clicked as He Yuyang took the microphone, his voice as steady as the stars on his shoulders: "I only did some data organization; the real credit belongs to the researchers working on the front lines." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the young people in the audience who were diligently taking notes. "I hope this equipment can be put into production as soon as possible, so that people can live a more stable life."

After the meeting, Zhou Mingyuan and He Yuyang posed for a photo in front of the machine tool. The machine tool hummed steadily as it ran, the conveyor belt carrying gleaming parts moving slowly like a flowing river of metal. "That miniature mold that Shouye designed, we've produced a hundred sets on it, with a 100% pass rate," Zhou Mingyuan said, patting He Yuyang on the shoulder, his eyes shining brighter than the machine tool's indicator lights. "This kid's got potential. Come work for me after graduation!"

As He Yuyang watched the gears of the machine tool mesh precisely, he suddenly recalled the phrase "learning by doing" from Shouye's letter. Those lines drawn on paper, those nights spent in the laboratory, had ultimately become a force that could drive the times, just like the peach tree in the yard, which started as a seed and slowly grew into a tree that could shelter from the wind and rain.

The autumn nights in Beijing were crisp and cool. Xu Xiuli sat by the window of the guesthouse, knitting a sweater for Xiaoxuan. The yarn was made from wool from her spatial dimension, as soft as a cloud. She had specially knitted a peach-shaped pattern, the stitches so fine that the seams were invisible. "I'll buy Xiaoxuan a box of paints tomorrow," she said, slipping an apple—a Fuji apple from her spatial dimension, so crisp it reflected her image—into He Yuyang's hand. "Her teacher said she's going to participate in a painting competition, painting our peach tree."

He Yuyang took a bite of the apple, the juice bursting on her tongue, sweet with a refreshing aroma. "Last time she called, she said she wanted to draw the whole family eating under the peach tree," he recalled his daughter drawing on the table, her little brows furrowed, her pencil scribbling on the paper like a little adult. "She also said she wanted to draw the restaurant from the Korean War, saying the one with smoke coming out would look best."

The day they returned to Baoding, it happened to be market day in town. He Yuanchao's "He Family Restaurant" had already set up a new stall at the street corner, with the restaurant's name embroidered on a blue banner by Xu Xiuli, the calligraphy exuding a rustic charm. The stall was packed with diners, and He Yuanchao was bustling around the stove, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead into the pot, splattering tiny droplets of oil, yet he smiled more broadly than anyone else: "Mom! Dad! Try my newly made braised pork knuckle!"

The braised pork knuckle was marinated with spices from her spatial storage, a glistening red, lying precariously on the plate, its juices glistening when poked with chopsticks. Xu Xiuli took a bite; it was so tender it melted in her mouth, the rich aroma of spices mingling with the meat's fragrance, a subtle refinement even more pronounced than Grandpa Li's signature dish. "This recipe is a success," she said, slipping a handkerchief into He Yuanchao's hand. "Make it this way from now on; it's sure to keep the guests coming back."

The restaurant's business grew like a snowball. People even traveled from the city specifically to eat He Yuanchao's "secret-recipe braised pork," saying the aroma was so enticing it could lure them for miles. Director Wang from the supply and marketing cooperative would come every day to buy two portions of cold dishes, saying they were much better than the canteen's communal meals for the leaders attending meetings. When He Yuanchao handed his first earnings to Xu Xiuli, his fingers were still trembling slightly: "Mom, this is what I earned!"

Xu Xiuli exchanged the money for cloth and grain, and sent half of it to Grandpa Li's house. "It's all thanks to the help of the neighbors that we have what we have today," she said, looking at He Yuanchao's busy figure in front of the stove, feeling warm inside. "This child didn't join the army, but he found his place in the pots and pans, which is a good thing."

The day Xiaoxuan won the painting competition, the family compound was as lively as during the New Year. Holding a bright red certificate, she skipped and hopped into the yard, a small red paper flower pinned to her pigtails. "Dad! Mom! I won first prize!" She unfolded the painting and laid it on the stone table under the peach tree. The scent of paint mixed with the fragrance of peach blossoms filled the air, like a gentle song.

The painting depicts the He family's courtyard, with peach tree branches reaching towards the sky, their pink and white petals carpeting the ground. Beneath the tree sits a wooden table; He Yuyang, dressed in military uniform, sits at the head of the table, while Xu Xiuli is placing food in his bowl. He Yuanchao, wearing an apron and carrying a plate, runs out of the house, while Xiaoxuan herself holds up an autumn peach, her smile revealing two rows of white teeth. Most charmingly, at the courtyard gate, wisps of smoke rise from Grandpa Li's noodle shop, a blue banner fluttering gently in the wind, as if beckoning customers.

"The judges said this painting is full of life," Xiaoxuan said, pointing to the peach tree in the painting, her little face full of pride. "I said this is my family's peach tree, which can bear lots and lots of sweet peaches and can also provide shade from the sun!" Suddenly remembering something, she ran into the house and quickly brought out a tin cookie box containing the thank-you gift she had prepared for the judges—peach shortbread baked with space flour, shaped like little peaches and so crumbly they crumbled.

The evening glow bathed the courtyard in a golden-red hue. He Yuyang displayed his award certificate in the most prominent spot in the main room, next to Shouye's university admission notice, and below that, Jian Guo's commendation for meritorious service. The three pieces of paper gleamed softly under the lamplight, like three stars nestled close together. Xu Xiuli carried dishes to the table, the aroma of stewed meat mingling with the fragrance of freshly steamed rice. He Yuanchao returned from the restaurant, carrying two skewers of freshly grilled meat—a reward for Xiaoxuan, sprinkled with cumin powder from his spatial storage, making one's mouth water with its fragrance.

"The restaurant that helped aid Korea has been a success," He Yuyang said, placing a piece of peach into everyone's bowl. The sweetness of the autumn peach mixed with the aroma of the food spread in their mouths. "Old Zhou's machine tool has gone into production, and Xiaoxuan's painting has won an award. This autumn is truly a good time for a successful experiment."

Xu Xiuli looked out the window at the peach trees, the last batch of autumn peaches shimmering softly in the twilight. She suddenly remembered the seeds sown in spring, the sweat shed in summer, Shouye's words about "making machines benefit people," the tomatoes Jian Guo grew on the border, the oil stains on He Yuanchao's apron, and the colors on Xiaoxuan's paintbrush. These were like beads scattered throughout the days, strung together by this luminous autumn, becoming a heavy necklace, hanging around the neck of time, gleaming with a grounded and warm light.

At night, the autumn wind rustled through the peach leaves, creating a soft "shush" sound, like a harvest song. He Yuyang sat under the lamp replying to Shouye's letter. Beside the letter lay Xiaoxuan's drawing. In the letter, he wrote: "Your brother's restaurant has opened, your sister's painting won an award, and the peach tree at home is still laden with autumn peaches. Life is like an experiment; if you put your heart into it, it will always bear sweet fruit..."

Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the letter and casting a silvery glow on the words "with heart." In the distance, the lights of "He Family Restaurant" were still on, and He Yuanchao was clearing away the dishes. The clanging of the iron pots mingled with the distant factory whistles, composing a hopeful melody on the autumn night of 1978.