He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

On the morning of the tenth day of the twelfth lunar month, the snow in the alley hadn't completely melted when it was trampled into a pulp by hurried footsteps. He Yuyang had just filled the water vat when he heard the booming voice of the village head, Uncle Li, from the alley entrance, carrying an undeniable air of authority: "Everyone come out! All able-bodied men, assemble at the courtyard gate! There's an order from above—we're conscripting soldiers!"

The sound was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, instantly disrupting the tranquility of the entire alley. Doors creaked open, and terrified faces peeked out. Men bowed their heads, and women clutched their children, their eyes filled with fear—everyone knew that being conscripted at this time meant almost certain death.

He Yuyang's heart sank. He had heard about the conscription before, but he didn't expect it to come so soon. He subconsciously looked in his father's direction. He Daqing was standing at the courtyard gate, his face pale, his hands tightly gripping the hem of his cotton-padded coat.

"Dad, don't worry," He Yuyang walked over and said in a low voice, "You're the manager of the restaurant, so you're considered a back-office worker. According to the rules, you don't need to go there." He deliberately used this word that he had heard from Old Wang, hoping to put his father at ease.

He Daqing nodded, but his lips were still trembling: "I know... but in this chaos of war, rules are no match for guns."

As they were talking, Chief Li approached with two men in gray military uniforms, each carrying a roster. The two men carried rifles, the gleam of their bolts flashing painfully in the snow.

"Line up!" Chief Li cleared his throat, flipped open the roster, and said, "All men aged eighteen to thirty-five, step forward! If I call your name, step forward!"

He called out names one by one, and the men whose names were called walked out listlessly, heads bowed, not daring to speak. Their families followed behind, some wiping away tears, some sobbing softly, but no one dared to cry out loud—everyone was afraid of angering these armed men.

"Zhang the butcher's son, Zhang Dazhuang!" Li Baozhang paused when he read the name.

Zhang the butcher, from the east end of the alley, staggered out, still clutching a boning knife in his hand, not to show off, but because he was so nervous he didn't know where to put it. "Uncle Li... Uncle Li," his voice trembled, "my Dazhuang is only nineteen, still a child... Can... can he not go?"

Zhang Dazhuang was the only son of Zhang the butcher. He had only been married for less than six months, and it was rumored that his wife was already pregnant. Being conscripted at this time would be tantamount to cutting off the Zhang family line.

"Enough with the nonsense!" A gray-clad soldier kicked Zhang the butcher. "You dare disobey orders from above? Do you want to die?"

Zhang the butcher was kicked and lay face down in the snow, unable to get up for a long time. Zhang Dazhuang's wife burst into tears, her slightly protruding belly protruding as she threw herself into Zhang Dazhuang's arms: "Husband, I'll go with you! I'll do your laundry and cook for you!"

"Nonsense!" Chief Li scolded. "Soldiers are men's business, what are women getting involved in? Go home right now!"

Zhang Dazhuang gritted his teeth and pushed his wife away: "You go back to take care of Dad and the children, I...I'll go." His voice choked, but he tried to straighten his back. "I'm leaving. You all live well."

Butcher Zhang scrambled to his feet from the snow, embraced his son tightly, and wept uncontrollably: "My son... I'm so sorry..."

The scene was chilling. He Yuyang clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his flesh. He had seen Zhang Dazhuang before; he was an honest, unassuming young man who always had a smile on his face. Just yesterday, he had even helped Grandpa Wang next door chop firewood. But now, he was about to be pushed onto the battlefield, to become cannon fodder under the guns of the Japanese.

"He Daqing!" Li Baozhang called out his father's name.

He Daqing trembled and took half a step forward.

"You don't need to go." Li Baozhang glanced at him, circled a name on the roster, and said, "You'll be the manager at the restaurant, an essential support staff member. Stay here to ensure logistical support."

He Daqing let out a long sigh of relief, his legs almost giving way and he collapsed to the ground. Liu Yan quickly ran over to support him, her face filled with lingering fear.

He Yuyang, however, did not relax. He noticed that the two gray-clad soldiers looked at his father with a hint of displeasure, as if they were regretting the loss of a able-bodied man. He stepped forward without making a sound, blocking his father's way—his "Basic External Kung Fu" had already reached the third level, and if a fight broke out, he might not be without a fighting chance.

The conscription procession swept through the alley like a cold wind, taking away five young men. Zhang Dazhuang was carried away by two soldiers, his wife chasing after him, crying. Zhang the butcher, holding a boning knife, tried to rush forward, but was held back tightly by Li, the village head: "Old Zhang, don't be foolish! You're getting your son into trouble!"

Zhang the butcher's cries echoed through the alley like those of a wounded wild beast, bringing a pang of sorrow to the heart. He Yuyang watched their departing figures until they disappeared around the street corner before slowly turning around, her eyes almost freezing cold.

"What kind of mess is this..." He Daqing sighed, his voice full of helplessness, "A perfectly healthy child, just taken away like that."

"Father, this is the chaotic world." He Yuyang's voice was deep. "Either you get bullied, or..." He didn't finish his sentence, but the light in his eyes said it all.

That afternoon, the alley was eerily quiet. Zhang the butcher's door remained closed, never to be opened again. He Yuyang went to deliver cornbread, knocking for a long time, but all he heard was the suppressed sobbing of Zhang Dazhuang's wife. He placed the cornbread at the door and silently left.

At night, He Yuyang lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Zhang Dazhuang's face, Zhang the butcher's cries, the gray-clad soldiers' gun barrels... flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern. He knew that simply guarding his own meager food supply and protecting his own family wasn't enough. As long as this chaotic world existed, as long as those wolves remained, there would be no true peace.

He quietly got up and crept into the cellar. In the deepest compartment of the cellar, besides the grain, there were two heavy wooden crates. These were the "improved rifles" he had received as a sign-in reward last month. The rifles had been specially treated, giving them a 30% longer range than ordinary rifles, while reducing recoil by half. He hadn't thought he would need them, so he had disassembled them into parts, wrapped them in straw, and disguised them as "ironware" to hide them away.

But now, he feels these things should come in handy.

He Yuyang opened the box and, using the dim light filtering in from the cellar entrance, carefully examined the parts. The barrel, bolt, magazine… every component gleamed with a cold, hard metallic luster. He took out two pieces of coarse cloth and carefully wrapped the parts according to their categories. Then he found a piece of paper and wrote a few words in charcoal: “Hope for our compatriots.”

Having done all this, he blew out the oil lamp and, like a shadow, scaled the courtyard wall. The night wind blew against his face, carrying a biting chill, but it couldn't dispel the fire in his heart. He walked swiftly, his steps as light as if he were walking on cotton—his mastery of the "Basic Lightness Skill" was such that he could leave shallow footprints in the snow.

The dilapidated temple remained unchanged; half of the Buddha statue had collapsed, and a thin layer of ice had formed on the moss on the stone lions. He Yuyang whistled, three long and two short whistles—this was the secret signal he and Old Wang had agreed upon, more discreet than the previous three short and one long whistles.

"You're here?" Old Wang's voice came from behind the Buddha statue, a little hoarse. He seemed to have lost even more weight, his eyes were sunken deeper, but he also seemed more wary. "So late, is something urgent?"

He Yuyang handed over the cloth bag: "Open it and take a look."

Old Wang took the cloth bag, feeling its weight, and immediately knew what it was. He unwrapped it by the moonlight, and his eyes lit up when he saw the gleaming parts—he'd handled guns his whole life, and he recognized it as a valuable item at a glance.

"This is..." His voice trembled as he looked up at He Yuyang, "Where did you get this?"

"Don't worry about where it comes from," He Yuyang said. "Can it be assembled? Can it be used?"

"Amazing! Absolutely amazing!" Old Wang rubbed his hands together excitedly. "This thing is ten times better than what we're using now! With this, the brothers can kill a lot more Japanese chickens!"

He Yuyang handed him the note: "This is from me. I know you're short of supplies, these... might be of some help."

"You rascal..." Old Wang's eyes reddened as he looked at the words "Protect our compatriots" on the note. "I thank you on behalf of those brothers who are going to the battlefield!" He paused, then added, "Don't worry, these guns will never fall into the hands of bad guys. Every bullet will be fired at the Japanese!"

"I believe you." He Yuyang nodded. "Recruiting is intensified lately, so you all need to be careful."

"Yes, we're prepared." Old Wang rewrapped the parts and tucked them into his pocket. "I'll go back and assemble them now, and they'll be useful tomorrow. Oh, right," he seemed to remember something and pulled a small cloth bag from his pocket, "this is for your mother. The pregnancy-preserving medicine you mentioned last time, I've gathered some more, and it's better than last time."

He Yuyang took the cloth bag; it was warm to the touch. Inside were dried Scutellaria baicalensis and Atractylodes macrocephala, both top-quality medicinal herbs for preventing miscarriage. He felt a warmth in his heart: "Thank you, Uncle Wang."

"What are you thanking me for?" Old Wang patted him on the shoulder. "You protect us, so we have to protect your family. In this world, you have to help each other to survive."

Without another word, Old Wang shouldered his cloth bag and quickly disappeared into the night. His steps were much lighter than before, as if the burden on his shoulders had lessened.

Standing in the dilapidated temple, watching the direction he had gone, He Yuyang's anger gradually subsided, replaced by a heavy sense of strength. He knew that these two guns might not save Zhang Dazhuang, nor the young people who had already been conscripted, but at least they would give Lao Wang and the others more confidence to protect a few more compatriots like Zhang Dazhuang.

On his way back, he passed Zhang the butcher's house and heard suppressed sobs coming from inside, intermittent and like knives cutting into his heart. He stopped and took out two pounds of brown sugar and a bag of millet from his storage space, gently placing them at the door—this was the only small comfort he could offer.

When he got home, it was almost dawn. He Yuyang placed the medicinal herbs next to his mother's medicine pot, and then filled the empty compartment left by the gun parts with straw. He lay back down on the kang (a heated brick bed), while He Daqing turned over, muttering, "Don't fight... don't fight..."

He Yuyang closed his eyes, but his lips were pressed into a straight line. No war? That was impossible. But he had a choice: to stand and be bullied, or to take up arms and fight back.

Moonlight streamed through the paper window, casting dappled shadows on the kang (a heated brick bed). He Yuyang recalled Old Wang's excited eyes, Butcher Zhang's cries, and his father's pale face. He knew he had done the right thing.

These weapons hidden in the shadows, this silent support, may be the glimmer of light piercing through this darkness. As long as that glimmer remains, dawn will eventually break.

The next morning, news spread through the alley that a small patrol of Japanese soldiers had been attacked on the outskirts of the city the previous night. Three were killed, and the rest fled in disarray. No one knew who was responsible, but the neighbors' faces subtly brightened, as if a weight had been lifted from their hearts.

When He Yuyang heard the news, he was brewing medicine to help his mother maintain her pregnancy. The fragrant aroma of the medicine mingled with the snow outside the window, creating a strange sense of peace. He looked at the bubbling liquid in the pot, and a faint smile slowly appeared on his lips.

Those two guns finally came in handy.