He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The summer heat was like an impenetrable net, completely enveloping the alley. The night watchman's clapper had just struck, and even the noisiest cicadas fell silent. Only the dew on the leaves of the iron tree on the He family's windowsill occasionally rolled down and hit the bluestone slab with a soft "tap".

He Yuyang sat cross-legged on the kang (a heated brick bed), his fingertips forming the hand seals of an internal energy cultivation technique. A warm sensation flowed slowly through his meridians from his dantian. Since practicing the "Basic Breathing Techniques" book in his spatial dimension, his hearing had become exceptionally acute—the snoring of Grandpa Wang at the alley entrance, the rustling of Aunt Li turning over in the west wing, even the distant barking of stray dogs seemed to ring right next to him. But tonight, a sound stood out starkly.

"Da...da...da..."

The footsteps were very light, like someone tiptoeing on the blue brick ground, shuffling from the alley entrance all the way to the outside of the He family's courtyard wall, where they stopped.

He Yuyang suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils reflecting the moonlight outside the window, dazzlingly bright. He held his breath, the magic seal at his fingertips dissipated, and his ears were almost pressed against the window paper. The footsteps stopped outside the courtyard gate, and there was no more movement, but he could clearly hear the rustling of fabric, and... the sharp sound of fingernails scraping against the wooden door.

"Who?" he muttered to himself, the hairs on his body standing on end. This voice was definitely not from the neighborhood—Zhang the carpenter's wooden-soled shoes made a dull thud as they walked, Liu the butcher's footsteps made a crisp sound as his iron hooks clattered, but this voice, with its soft soles and unsteady steps, was clearly deliberately kept quiet.

"Click...click..."

A faint prying sound reached his ears, like someone fiddling with the latch with a metal sheet. He Yuyang moved silently to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), his bare feet touching the cold floor. He reached under the bed and pulled out the modified wood-chopping knife. He had forged the knife according to the blueprints he received as a reward from his spatial storage. It looked like an ordinary wood-chopping knife, the wooden handle polished to a shine, but the blade had been repeatedly sanded, gleaming coldly in the moonlight, sharp enough to easily slice through a burlap sack.

He didn't speak immediately, but pressed his ear against the door to listen. The prying sound continued for a moment, then suddenly stopped, followed by rapid breathing, and then footsteps began again, this time heading deeper into the alley, getting farther and farther away, until finally mingling with the distant sound of the night watchman's clapper and disappearing without a trace.

He Yuyang loosened his grip on the knife, his palms sweating. He walked to the courtyard gate and peered out through the crack. The moonlight bathed the alley in a pale light; it was deserted, with only the wild grass at the base of the wall swaying gently in the wind.

"Father." He turned and went back into the house, nudging He Daqing, who was fast asleep by the kang (heated brick bed). He Daqing, who worked from dawn till dusk year-round, slept soundly, and only opened his eyes groggily after being nudged several times: "What's wrong?"

"Someone's trying to pry open the gate," He Yuyang said in a low voice. "Go and take a look."

He Daqing instantly snapped awake, sat bolt upright, grabbed a carrying pole from the corner of the wall, and rushed outside. "Which son of a bitch!" he roared, almost shouting aloud, but He Yuyang grabbed him. "Don't shout, he's already gone."

The father and son carried the lantern to the courtyard gate. In the lantern's light, several fresh scratches were visible on the wooden door latch; the wood was chipped and warped, and there was a shallow dent on the hinge—clearly it had been pried open with a hard object. He Daqing trembled with rage, raising his carrying pole to smash the door: "They've come to bully us on our own doorstep! We'll report them to the authorities first thing tomorrow morning!"

"Report to the authorities?" He Yuyang pressed his hand down, the lantern light shining on his face, revealing a much more composed look than his peers. "Father, have you forgotten that Zhang the blacksmith's house was robbed last month? After reporting to the authorities, the yamen runners came and only asked two questions, without even taking a statement? These days, the officials are too busy taking care of themselves to bother with the affairs of ordinary people like us."

He Daqing's anger subsided considerably, and he squatted on the ground, sighing, "What can we do? We can't just stand by and watch someone steal things, can we?"

"We'll take care of it ourselves." He Yuyang leaned his machete against the door, the blade gleaming in the lamplight. "I've sharpened this knife. I'll keep watch tonight, you can go to sleep. Tomorrow we'll reinforce the gate and sprinkle some lime along the base of the wall; it'll leave a mark if someone walks on it."

He Daqing looked at the knife in his son's hand, then at his calm face, and suddenly felt that the child seemed to have grown up overnight. "Dad will guard with you." He stood up, placing the carrying pole behind the door, "These old bones of mine can still fight a few more rounds."

He Yuyang didn't try to persuade him. He knew his father's temper; he seemed honest, but he was stubborn to the core. The father and son sat on the bench behind the door, a lantern hanging on the wall. In the light, their shadows were stretched long, one tall and one short. Neither of them spoke; only the sound of their breathing and the occasional gust of wind passing by outside the window could be heard.

He Yuyang's ears were constantly alert. He listened to the distant footsteps of the night watchman changing shifts, the noises from the neighbor's chicken coop, and could even distinguish the soft rustling of spiders spinning their webs under the eaves. He thought about the changes in his family over the past six months—from eating thin porridge every meal to having white flour steamed buns, from clothes patched upon patched to being able to get a new jacket, from Liu Yan's frequent dizziness to He Yuzhu being able to jump and play... As life got better, naturally, more people became envious.

He touched the money pouch in his pocket, which contained the silver dollars he had saved from selling vegetables and doing odd jobs recently; it was heavy. When he was poor, he didn't even need to lock his door and no one would bother with him. Now, just as things were starting to look up, someone had already set their sights on him.

"Father," he suddenly said, "after the summer harvest, let's raise the east wall by half a foot and stick some broken glass on top."

"Yes," He Daqing replied, "make another wooden box for your mother and lock up all the valuables."

"And Zhu Zi's new clothes, don't hang them out to dry in the yard anymore, bring them inside."

"Sharpen that knife of yours again tomorrow. I think the blade can be even sharper."

The father and son chatted idly as the oil in the kerosene lamp gradually ran out, and the light dimmed. As dawn broke, He Yuyang suddenly heard the distant shouts of a scissor sharpener. He looked up at the window and saw the morning light slowly creeping over the wild grass at the base of the wall, making the dewdrops look like shattered silver.

"They probably won't be coming back." He Daqing yawned, stood up, and rubbed his back. "I'm going to chop some firewood. You go and get some sleep."

He Yuyang shook his head and gripped the wood-chopping knife tightly. He knew this was just the beginning. No one knew how many eyes were watching their family from the quiet alleyway. But he wasn't afraid. He had a knife, family, and plenty of food in his storage space; that gave him confidence.

He walked to the courtyard gate, pushed it open a crack, and glanced at the alley entrance. In the morning light, a figure carrying a vegetable basket walked by; it was Granny Wang from next door going to the morning market. Everything seemed normal, as if the footsteps from last night were just a dream.

But the scratches on the latch didn't lie. He Yuyang touched the curled edges of the wood, and as he turned to go back into the house, he moved the machete closer to the back of the door.

This summer is unlikely to be peaceful. But he's already prepared.