He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

On the afternoon of the 21st day of the first lunar month, the sun finally broke free from the clouds and lazily shone into the alley. The ground, still muddy from the melting snow, was so slippery that one could sink halfway into it. He Yuyang had just brought back two jin of coarse rice for his father from the grain shop when he saw his second senior brother from the martial arts school standing at the gate, rubbing his frostbitten hands: "Yuyang, Master wants you to go over there. He says it's urgent."

"Okay, I'll go right away." He Yuyang handed the brown rice to Liu Yan, who came out to greet him, and then instructed He Yuzhu, "Keep an eye on the yard and don't let the stray cats and dogs come in and cause trouble."

"Don't worry, brother!" He Yuzhu was gesturing with a wooden stick in the yard when he heard this, and immediately stood up straight, like a little wolf cub guarding the yard.

Inside the martial arts school, Zhou Zhengguo was staring intently at a pile of wooden stakes, his pipe making a "plop" sound, with a long trail of ash accumulated. The disciples in the courtyard had all been sent to fetch water, and even the usually boisterous third junior brother was nowhere to be seen, clearly having something important to say.

"Master." He Yuyang stepped forward, took the pipe from his hand, and tapped the ash off his shoes.

Zhou Zhengguo sighed and pointed to the stone bench beside him: "Sit." He then squatted down, drawing circles in the mud with his finger. "Have you heard about the grain shop incident?"

"A grain store?" He Yuyang's heart skipped a beat. "My dad was fine when he went to work this morning. He didn't say anything was wrong."

"He doesn't know." Zhou Zhengguo looked up at him, his eyes serious. "That shopkeeper Huang is dishonest. I just heard from a friend that he's been secretly supplying feed to the Japanese, calling it 'military procurement,' but actually he's reselling it at high prices—replacing the fine grains that should be supplied to the neighborhood with moldy old rice, pocketing all the difference."

He Yuyang's hands clenched tightly. Zhou Zhengguo had used his connections to get his father a job at the grain shop, and Manager Huang had initially assured him that he "would never do anything out of line," but unexpectedly, he turned around and started doing this kind of shady business. What was even more alarming was that his father worked at the grain shop every day, and if he were implicated, the consequences would be unimaginable.

"Master, my father doesn't know anything about this."

"I know your father is honest." Zhou Zhengguo waved his hand, "but Manager Huang's move is risky. Those Japanese chickens can turn on you faster than flipping through a book. Once they find out he's withholding grain payments, the first ones to suffer will be the people in the shop. Tell your father to be more careful these few days and not get involved in any 'special orders.' If all else fails, he should quit his job and come back."

"Quit my job?" He Yuyang hesitated. He knew better than anyone how difficult it was to find work these days. His father's salary was half a month's living expenses for the family. If it was gone, relying solely on the resources in his spatial storage to "conjure" more money would inevitably arouse suspicion sooner or later.

As he was pondering this, Zhou Zhengguo added, "There's something else, even more troublesome. I heard that Japan is requisitioning a batch of grain, supposedly to 'supplement supplies' for the front lines. They specifically need fine grains, and the quantity is quite large—three hundred catties of wheat flour and fifty catties of rice, due the day after tomorrow. Manager Huang doesn't have that much stock on hand and is planning to use the last batch of new grain he has left in the shop."

He Yuyang remembered that batch of new grain. It had just arrived a few days ago, the grains were plump and had the fresh aroma of new rice. Manager Huang had kept it locked in the innermost granary, saying it was reserved for "relatives with connections." He never expected that it would be taken away by the Japanese.

"If this batch of grain is taken away, the neighbors will only be able to eat stale rice for next month's rations." Zhou Zhengguo tapped the ground. "My friend said that Manager Huang has already received the deposit from the Japanese chicken shop and plans to move the grain to a warehouse outside the city tonight to avoid being discovered."

He Yuyang's heart suddenly raced. Three hundred catties of wheat flour and fifty catties of rice—this was exactly what the Xishan stronghold was desperately short of. Old Wang had sent word a few days ago that the wounded were only drinking thin porridge, and even the rice for boiling medicine was almost gone. If only they could intercept this batch of grain…

But he quickly calmed down. Since Manager Huang dared to do such a thing, he must be heavily guarded, and robbing by force would not work. Moreover, the grain shop was less than half a mile from the Japanese outpost, and any movement would attract soldiers. In that case, not only would he lose the grain, but he would also lose himself.

"Master, you mean...?"

"I didn't mean anything by it." Zhou Zhengguo looked at him, his eyes filled with expectation and worry. "I know you have connections, but this is too risky. Do what you can. If things get really bad, your life is the most important thing." He paused, then took out a brass key from his pocket. "This is the key to the small side door in the back wall of the grain shop. He gave it to me when I was helping Manager Huang repair the warehouse, saying, 'Just in case you forget to bring a spare key.' You... weigh the pros and cons yourself."

The key was polished to a shine, clearly from frequent handling. Holding the cold metal, He Yuyang suddenly understood—his master wasn't asking him to "quit," but rather to find a way to intercept this batch of grain.

"Master, I..."

"Stop talking." Zhou Zhengguo stood up and patted his shoulder. "I'm just giving you a heads-up. Whether you do it or not, and how you do it, is up to you. Remember, don't get yourself involved, and don't drag your father down with you."

Emerging from the martial arts school, He Yuyang's mind was ablaze with anxiety and urgency. He walked slowly along the alley, his shoes crunching through the muddy snow. Intercepting the grain was extremely risky; not intercepting it meant the grain would become ammunition for the Japanese, turning against their own people. More importantly, the comrades at the stronghold were still waiting for the grain to save their lives.

As he passed the grain shop, he deliberately went around to the back wall. The small side door, just as Zhou Zhengguo had said, was indeed hidden behind two old locust trees. The door knocker was rusty, indicating it hadn't been opened in a long time. But upon closer inspection, one could see that the mud around the hinges had been rubbed, clearly indicating that someone had recently disturbed it.

He had an idea in mind.

That evening, when He Daqing returned home, his face was unusually grim. He slammed his hat on the table as soon as he entered the door: "Manager Huang is acting strange today. He made me move all the grain from the back warehouse to the front yard, and said he would 'take inventory' tonight, telling me to stay until midnight. I saw him acting suspiciously, so I asked him a couple of questions, but he glared at me and I didn't answer."

"Dad, don't ask." He Yuyang handed him a cup of hot water. "Just do whatever he tells you to do, and don't say anything. Tonight... try to come back early with an excuse, just say that Mom isn't feeling well."

He Daqing was stunned for a moment. Looking at his son's determined eyes, he didn't ask any more questions and just nodded: "I understand." Although he was honest, he wasn't stupid. The ups and downs of these days had made him realize that his son always had his reasons.

At night, He Yuyang lay in bed, his eyes fixed on the roof beams. He was waiting, waiting for an opportunity. According to Zhou Zhengguo's information, Manager Huang would move the grain after midnight, by which time all the grain shop's employees would have left, leaving only two or three trusted confidants.

The third watch gong had just struck when he quietly got up, took out the key Zhou Zhengguo had given him, and darted out of the yard like a cat. The alley was so quiet that only the barking of dogs could be heard. The light was still on in the Japanese sentry post, and the sentry's shadow flickered on the wall.

He went around to the back wall of the grain shop, gently inserted the key into the lock, and with a soft "click," the door opened. A faint musty smell mixed with the fresh aroma of grain wafted out, clearly the smell of old and new grain mixed together.

A kerosene lamp shone dimly in the warehouse, casting a yellowish light as four workers packed grain into sacks. Manager Huang stood to the side, keeping accounts, muttering under his breath, "Hurry up! If you dawdle like this, when the Imperial Army comes, we'll see if you're still holding your heads!"

He Yuyang held his breath and moved in close to the wall. The warehouse beams and pillars were thick enough to block his view. His gaze swept over the sacks—flour was packed in fine cloth bags, while rice was packed in coarse sacks, stacked in the corner, about half a person's height.

Right now.

With a thought, the scene in the space immediately appeared in his mind: empty shelves like soldiers lined up, waiting to be filled. He focused his mind on the food, imagining what it would look like to "disappear".

The first sack moved. It wasn't moved by someone, but rather as if lifted up by an invisible hand, its edges trembled slightly, and then it completely disappeared from the spot, leaving not even the few grains of rice that had leaked out of the sack.

Manager Huang was engrossed in calculating accounts and didn't notice anything amiss. But one of the clerks packing grain suddenly exclaimed "Huh?" and scratched his head: "Where's that bag of flour? I clearly put it here..."

"What are you yelling about!" Manager Huang glared at him. "Did you move this to the wrong place? Hurry up and pack it up, don't delay things!"

The worker grumbled as he continued packing, unaware that the second sack was also quietly disappearing. Cold sweat beaded on He Yuyang's forehead. Packing so much stuff into the space at once was much more tiring than transporting medicine last time. His temples throbbed as if needles were pricking them.

He dared not be greedy and first "collected" all three hundred catties of flour, then collected thirty catties of rice—he had to leave some of the remaining twenty catties, lest Manager Huang immediately discover something was wrong.

Just as the last sack disappeared, Manager Huang suddenly looked up, his gaze sweeping across the corner of the wall: "Something's not right, it feels like something's missing..."

He Yuyang's heart leaped into his throat. He turned and dashed out, his movements as swift as the wind. He rushed out of the side gate, locked it behind him, and had just slipped into the alley when he heard Manager Huang's terrified cry from inside the warehouse: "Where's the grain? Where's my grain!"

He didn't dare look back, running wildly until he reached his own yard, where he leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Inside, He Yuzhu was still awake, standing at the doorway holding a wooden stick. Seeing him return, he whispered, "Brother, you're finally back! I heard noises outside, I was terrified!"

"It's alright." He Yuyang patted his head, his palms were sweaty. "Go to sleep, you have to get up early tomorrow."

Back inside, he immediately focused his mind on the space. Three hundred catties of flour were neatly piled on the shelf, and thirty catties of rice were packed in a new burlap sack, with even the marks made by Manager Huang clearly visible. He breathed a sigh of relief and slumped onto the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed)—this trip had been a bit risky, but it was worth it.

The next morning, He Yuyang used the excuse of delivering medicine to Zhou Zhengguo (the ointment left over from the last conflict at the martial arts school) and detoured to the liaison point outside the city. Xiao Li was already waiting there, and his eyes lit up when he saw He Yuyang carrying a bulging bundle on his back.

"Brother He, this is...?"

"Open it and take a look." He Yuyang handed over the bundle. Inside was not medicine, but twenty catties of white flour and ten catties of rice that he had "taken" from his space. It was wrapped in coarse cloth and looked like old grain that he had "bought" from a grain shop.

Xiao Li untied the bundle, his hands trembling: "This...this is..."

"Don't ask where it came from," He Yuyang said in a low voice. "Tell Brother Wang that I will find a way to send the remaining grain over in batches. Let the comrades have a good meal first, especially the wounded."

"Okay! Okay!" Xiao Li nodded excitedly. "I'll go report it right away! Don't worry, nothing will go wrong!"

Watching Xiao Li's hurried departure, He Yuyang felt a weight lifted from his heart. On his way back, he passed the grain shop and saw Manager Huang pointing at his employees and cursing them, his face pale. He even yelled at the passersby. Clearly, he hadn't figured out how the grain had "disappeared" and was taking his anger out on others.

The father stood behind the counter, head down, fiddling with the abacus, his face pale, but he didn't dare ask any questions. He Yuyang gave him a wink, indicating "it's alright," and the father quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

In the afternoon, He Yuyang went to the martial arts school to report back. Zhou Zhengguo was teaching his students horse stance. Seeing He Yuyang enter, he winked discreetly. After they reached the backyard, Zhou Zhengguo asked, "Did you finish?"

"It's done." He Yuyang nodded. "We got the flour and rice without alerting anyone."

Zhou Zhengguo let out a long sigh of relief, then pulled out an oil paper package from his pocket containing two steaming hot meat buns: "Here, have some to tide you over. You're bolder than I thought."

He Yuyang took the steamed bun, took a big bite, and the aroma of meat mixed with the fragrance of scallions filled his mouth. This was the first proper meal he had eaten in the past two days.

"Has Manager Huang not suspected anything?"

"Not yet," He Yuyang said. "He thinks it's one of his own people stealing, and he's investigating. But this method can't be used often; we'll have to find a different approach next time."

"I understand." Zhou Zhengguo looked at him. "I've already spoken to your father. I told him that things aren't going well at the grain shop lately, so he can go home and rest for a few days. I'll still pay him his wages."

"Thank you, Master."

"Don't be so polite with me." Zhou Zhengguo patted him on the shoulder. "You did the right thing. In this chaotic world, it's not enough to just protect your own little family; you have to have some backbone. But... you have to be even more careful from now on. Manager Huang lost so much grain; they'll definitely investigate thoroughly, and the Japanese won't let it go either."

He Yuyang nodded. He knew this was just the beginning. Cutting off the feed for the Japanese chickens was like stirring up a hornet's nest; the days to come would only get harder. But he didn't regret it—those comrades starving in the mountains, those who risked their lives for their country, were worth the risk.

As the sun set, He Yuyang walked home. In the alley, Jia Zhangshi was gossiping with some neighbors, saying that the grain shop had been robbed and that "they must have offended someone," her eyes occasionally glancing in the direction of He's house. Yan Bugui, on the other hand, was squatting at his door, rapidly calculating with his abacus, seemingly doing some kind of accounting.

This courtyard house remains that small world filled with calculations. But He Yuyang's state of mind has changed. He is no longer fighting solely to protect his family; he understands now that he carries a heavy responsibility on his shoulders—in those unseen battles, many more people need support.

He looked up at the darkening sky; the clouds were piling up again, as if it were about to rain. But his steps were steady; each step in the mud felt like stepping on solid ground.

As long as the light in your heart doesn't go out, you can walk through the darkest night until dawn.