He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The August wind of 1945 carried the last trace of summer's heat, yet it made the hearts of everyone in the trenches burn. He Yuyang lay prone in the damp mud, his ear pressed to the ground, listening to the faint sounds of gunfire in the distance—this was their final tug-of-war with the Japanese, which had lasted for three whole days.

"Yu Yang, do you think we can hold out until dark?" Zhao Dayong, standing beside him, licked his chapped lips, the barrel of his rifle burning hot in the sun. "I only have three bullets left."

He Yuyang didn't turn around; his eyes remained fixed on the barbed wire in front of him. He could clearly hear the movements inside the Japanese positions and even distinguish which direction the footsteps were more concentrated—this was the benefit of cultivating internal strength to a certain level, becoming a life-saving skill on the battlefield.

"We can hold on." His voice was low. "Wait two more hours, and it'll be easier once it gets dark."

His spiritual spring space was actually filled with ammunition and compressed biscuits, but he couldn't just take them out casually. Last time, he secretly slipped Zhao Dayong a piece of chocolate, and the simple-minded boy kept asking for three days, "Where did this rare item come from?" In the end, he could only make up an excuse that it was "a gift from a fellow villager" to get away with it. On this front line where food and clothing were scarce, any inappropriate "abundance" could attract unnecessary trouble.

The sun slowly set in the west, painting the sky a deep orange-red. Just then, an unusual commotion suddenly arose in the distance—not the sound of gunfire, but shouts of men and neighing of horses, like… cheers?

He Yuyang frowned, and was about to let Zhao Dayong listen carefully when he saw the communications soldier tumble and crawl across the trench, waving a piece of paper in his hand and shouting at the top of his lungs: "Victory! We've won! The Japanese have surrendered!"

"What?!" Zhao Dayong jumped up abruptly, nearly hitting his head on the overhead cover. "What did you say? The Japanese surrendered?"

The messenger slammed the paper on the ground; it was an extra edition printed with ink, and the large headline was shocking—"Japan Announces Unconditional Surrender."

A deathly silence fell over the trenches for a few seconds, then erupted in deafening cheers. Some threw down their rifles and embraced each other, some tossed their helmets into the air, and others squatted on the ground, sobbing—it was the release of eight years' worth of pent-up grievances, anger, and ecstasy.

He Yuyang also stood up, the sunlight so bright he could barely open his eyes. He subconsciously touched his chest, where the jade pendant with the character "An" was hidden, warm from his body heat. He remembered the look in Grandpa Wang's eyes before he died, the ruins of the alley that had been bombed, and his comrades who would never see this day. His nose tingled, and tears welled up in his eyes.

"Uncle Wang, did you see that? The Japanese have surrendered." He bowed three times respectfully in the direction of his hometown. "We have fulfilled your wish."

Zhao Dayong leaned over, wiped his face with his sleeve, and grinned, "Yu Yang, why are you crying? You should be happy! Come on, let's go ask the company commander for a drink!"

The troops' rest and reorganization came sooner than expected. The news of the Japanese surrender spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of the country. The previously tense front lines suddenly relaxed. Villagers brought eggs and steamed buns to the barracks, and children sang newly composed songs around the soldiers. A long-lost peace filled the air.

He Yuyang finally had a chance to catch his breath. He found a secluded cave and slipped into the spiritual spring space.

The space remained vibrant with life: endless fields of fertile land, golden rice ears bending low, and ginseng and angelica growing lushly in the herb gardens along the field edges. A spring flowed gently in front of the villa, and several chickens and ducks he had raised years ago strolled leisurely on the grass—time flowed five thousand times faster here than outside, enough to harvest several seasons' worth of grain in just a few days.

He walked to the warehouse and looked at the mountain of supplies inside: boxes of canned goods and medicine, neatly stacked rifles and bullets, and herbs he had specially cultivated with spiritual spring water, dried thoroughly and emitting a bitter fragrance. These were all things he had accumulated little by little over the past two years, originally prepared for a protracted war, but unexpectedly they had come in handy.

"These things should be sent out," he muttered to himself.

Although the army had won the victory, logistics remained strained. Many wounded soldiers lay in makeshift shacks due to a lack of medical care and medicine, their brothers eating nothing but cornbread mixed with sand for every meal, without even a decent change of clothes. He couldn't bear to watch them suffer.

He took out twenty bags of flour, ten boxes of canned goods, and several large bundles of herbs from his spatial storage, piled them outside the cave, and then went to find the company commander: "Reporting, company commander, I found an abandoned warehouse in the nearby mountains, it looks like a place where the Japanese used to hide things, what do you think..."

The company commander followed him to the cave with some skepticism, and when he saw the supplies piled up like a small mountain, his eyes widened in disbelief: "My God, is this real? Yu Yang, you've done a great service!"

He Yuyang scratched his head, feigning ignorance: "I just happened to find it; the Japanese probably didn't have time to take it away."

The company commander patted him on the shoulder and laughed heartily, "No matter what, this is a gift from God! Quick, get some men to move the stuff!"

The supplies were quickly distributed. When the soldiers held the snow-white steamed buns and watched the medics bring out brand-new bandages, the entire camp erupted in cheers. Some said it was "a gift of victory," others said, "it's our fallen comrades protecting us." He Yuyang listened, feeling a warmth in his heart.

That evening, the messenger suddenly called out to him, "He Yuyang, there's a letter for you! Master Zhou asked someone to forward it!"

He Yuyang's heart tightened, and she quickly took the letter. The envelope was made of kraft paper, with slightly rough edges, and it bore Zhou Zhengguo's familiar handwriting.

He found an old locust tree and carefully unwrapped the letter. The letter paper was made of rough paper, but the handwriting was very neat:

"To my beloved Yu Yang: It is as if I am seeing you in person. The news of the Japanese surrender has spread throughout the city, and the people are celebrating along the streets as if it were a lifetime ago. Your parents are all well, and Liu Yan is in good health. She grows vegetables and spins thread every day, and in her spare time she teaches Yu Shui to read—that girl is very clever, she can count to ten at only two years old."

Zhu Zi has grown into a young man, the most promising disciple in the martial arts school. Not long ago, he even chased away two stragglers who were robbing grain with his kung fu skills. The neighbors all praised him, saying he was just like you were back then. He keeps talking about wanting to go find you, but I stopped him, saying we should wait until he's grown up for another two years and can stand on his own.

The Yan family runs a general store in the county town, and business is pretty good. Old Yan is an excellent accountant, and he's become a local celebrity. Whenever someone has a problem with their business, they go to him for advice. Jia Dongxu is an apprentice at a factory in the county, and it's said he's about to become a key technical worker. Jia Zhangshi has also toned down her temper and occasionally brings your mother some needlework.

The courtyard house hasn't been rebuilt yet, but everyone is looking forward to going back soon. Yi Zhonghai became a clerk in the district, Liu Haizhong is working with a construction team building roads, and Xu Damao has become obsessed with opera, doing odd jobs in the opera troupe every day... In short, everyone is doing well.

Be careful on the front lines, don't worry about things at home. When peace returns, I'll have wine ready at our usual spot, waiting for your return to drink together.

Teacher Zhou Zheng Guozi

He Yuyang read the letter over and over again, feeling even the creases on the edges clearly. He could almost see his mother busy in the vegetable garden, his younger brother waving his fists and fighting with someone, and his younger sister walking unsteadily... His eyes welled up with tears again.

"Hey bro, what are you looking at? You're grinning like you've just stolen a chicken." Zhao Dayong came over, holding an apple he'd just gotten from a fellow villager. "Here, have a taste!"

He Yuyang took the apple, took a big bite, and the sweet juice flowed down his throat. He carefully folded the letter and tucked it close to his body: "A letter came from home, everything is fine."

"That's good, that's good." Zhao Dayong chuckled. "After the war, I'll go home with you to see your family! To see your amazing younger brother and your little sister who can count to ten!"

"Okay." He Yuyang nodded with a smile, but felt a little uneasy inside.

He had experienced too many wars and knew that peace was never a permanent solution. Although the Japanese had surrendered, there was still too much uncertainty on this land. He looked at the distant, rolling mountains and touched the jade pendant on his chest—Grandpa Wang's wish had been fulfilled, but his journey was not yet over.

A few days later, the troops received new orders: reorganize on the spot and await further instructions.

While sorting through his supplies, He Yuyang made sure to pack extra grains and cloth. He found the fellow villager who had helped him deliver the message before and handed him the items: "Grandpa, could you please make another trip and take these home? Tell my mother not to worry about me, and to wait for me to come home."

The fellow villager patted his chest and assured him, "Don't worry, young man, I guarantee it will be delivered!"

Watching his fellow villager's departing figure, He Yuyang took a deep breath. He knew that peaceful days probably wouldn't last much longer. But he wasn't afraid. With his martial arts skills, the spiritual spring space, the brothers who had risked their lives for him, and his family waiting for him in the distance, he could overcome any storms ahead.

As the sun set, songs echoed through the barracks—soldiers singing "On the Songhua River," their voices filled with longing for their hometown and anticipation for the future. He Yuyang stood on the hillside, watching the national flag flutter in the evening breeze, and gripped his rifle tightly.

The bugle call of victory has sounded, but the battle to safeguard this victory has only just begun. He will carry on, bearing Grandpa Wang's medals, his family's expectations, and his comrades' trust, until true peace and prosperity arrive.