He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The late autumn wind swirled withered leaves along the cobblestone streets of the small town. He Yuyang stood at the post office entrance, leading his warhorse. His military boots were still covered in mud from the journey, and the cuffs of his coarse military uniform were frayed. The troops had been traversing the mountains for half a month, and hadn't stopped since withdrawing from Eagle's Beak Cliff. Only today, when they passed through this small town called "Willow Creek," did they finally have half a day to rest.

"Brother, will it really arrive?" Zhao Dayong came over, holding a cloth bag, his nose red from the cold. "I heard that things were really chaotic in the county town a while ago, and the postmen didn't dare to go out."

He Yuyang looked up at the faded wooden sign of the post office. Most of the red paint on the four characters "People's Post and Telecommunications" had peeled off, revealing the mottled wood grain underneath. He touched his pocket; the letter he had written home was wrapped in three layers of oiled paper, and the edges were still wrinkled from being soaked in sweat.

"We have to try." His voice was a little hoarse. He had barely slept for the past two weeks, either traveling or on guard. His throat was parched. "If we really can't send it, we'll ask the villagers in town to help us carry it. We'll at least be able to get it home."

The cloth bag in Zhao Dayong's arms was heavy. Inside were things He Yuyang had taken out from his space: two bags of fine white flour, a bolt of blue floral coarse cloth, and a small box wrapped in oil paper. Inside was a peace lock that he had polished with jade from his spiritual spring space. The jade was warm and smooth, and he had specially woven a net with red rope. It was prepared for He Yushui.

"These things...are we really going to ask that fellow villager Wang to take them?" Zhao Dayong was still worried. "I heard from Old Li from the cookhouse yesterday that the area around this town isn't safe. There are often stray soldiers who steal things. What if..."

"Wang is a local. He's been a porter for thirty years and knows the way well," He Yuyang interrupted him, her eyes resolute. "I talked to him for half the night yesterday. His daughter is about the same age as Yushui, and she's also a crybaby. He said he'll definitely deliver the things."

Actually, he wasn't entirely sure himself, but it was the best option at the moment. The troops could be deployed at any time, and he couldn't possibly send them home himself; he could only entrust it to someone he trusted. Last night, he secretly slipped a silver dollar into his cloth bag and sewed it into the lining of a flour sack—it was a reward for his fellow villager, Wang, and also a way to put his mind at ease.

Just then, the wooden door of the post office creaked open, and an old man wearing reading glasses poked his head out, clutching an abacus in his hand, and slowly asked, "Sending a letter?"

"Yes, sir." He Yuyang quickly stepped forward and handed over the oil paper package. "Send it to Lianhua Hutong, Qinghe County."

The old man took the letter, squinted at the address for a long time, then tapped away on his abacus for a while before holding up three fingers: "Three cents."

He Yuyang took out three copper coins from his pocket and handed them over. Only after watching the old man stuff the letter into a peeling tin mailbox did he feel a little more at ease. In that letter, he wrote three whole pages, telling his parents not to go back to the courtyard house, as the old house in the countryside arranged by Zhou Zhengguo was safer; telling He Zhu to take good care of the house and not to get into any more fights; and specifically instructing Liu Yan to make sure Yushui had a thick coat when it got cold... He wrote down everything he could think of, as if this would make his home a thousand miles away more secure.

"Brother, shall we go buy something for Aunt and Sister-in-law?" Zhao Dayong suddenly pointed to the general store on the street corner. "I saw they sell floral fabric there, red with small flowers. It would look nice to make a little jacket for Yushui."

He Yuyang looked in the direction he was pointing. Half of the store's door panel had been removed, and sure enough, several bolts of floral fabric hung inside, standing out brightly in the gloomy town. He felt his pocket and found a few silver dollars—the compensation for the battle at Eagle's Beak Cliff, which the company commander had insisted on giving him, saying that he had led the third squad to merit.

"Let's go take a look."

As soon as the two reached the entrance of the general store, a plump shopkeeper in a cotton-padded coat greeted them with a broad smile: "Comrades of the People's Liberation Army, what would you like to buy? I have some newly arrived foreign cloth, as well as brown sugar and soap—all rare items!"

He Yuyang's gaze fell on the red floral fabric. The fabric was thick, and the pattern was festive, making it suitable for making clothes for children. Just as he was about to speak, he heard a child crying from the inner room. A woman came out carrying a little girl with pigtails. The child was clutching a piece of candy in her hand, her face flushed from crying.

"What's wrong?" the fat shopkeeper frowned.

"She insists on buying that flower hair tie, and she'll make a scene if I don't buy it for her." The woman sighed helplessly, then smiled apologetically at He Yuyang, "Please excuse me, comrade."

Looking at the little girl, He Yuyang suddenly thought of He Yushui. Zhou Zhengguo's letter said that Yushui also wore pigtails, but she always liked to pull them off and put them in her mouth. His heart softened, and he pointed to the hair ties in the counter and said, "Shopkeeper, I'll take that box of hair ties."

The chubby shopkeeper's eyes lit up, and he quickly handed over a box of colorful hair ties: "These are imported goods, five cents a box."

He Yuyang paid for the money and then bought the red floral fabric, asking the shopkeeper to wrap it up. Zhao Dayong, watching from the side, exclaimed in astonishment, "Brother, you're spoiling your sister-in-law too much, buying so many things!"

"It's rare to pass through a town." He Yuyang tucked the cloth bag into his arms, his fingertips touching the warmth of the fabric, feeling a warm glow in his heart. "I wonder when I'll be able to run into someone selling these things again."

As the two walked back, they passed a pancake stall, the aroma wafting all the way. Zhao Dayong sniffed and swallowed hard. "Brother, shall I treat you to some pancakes? We've won a battle, we should celebrate."

Just as He Yuyang was about to refuse, the stall owner, seeing them in military uniforms, quickly spread more sauce on the pancakes and said with a smile, "Comrades of the People's Liberation Army, would you like two? They're still hot!"

He ended up buying two, giving one to Zhao Dayong and slowly munching on the other. The pancake was made of cornmeal and had a slightly sweet taste, reminding him of the corn pancakes his grandmother used to make when he was a child. Back then, he was still in modern times and always found corn pancakes too rough on his throat, but now he thought it was the best taste in the world.

"Brother, do you think Auntie will cry when she receives the letter?" Zhao Dayong asked vaguely, his mouth full.

"Maybe." He Yuyang smiled, but her eyes were a little hot. "My mother always worries."

He remembered how Liu Yan looked when she received the news of his enlistment. She secretly wiped away her tears, but laughed loudly when she saw him off, saying, "My son is going to protect our country. I'm so proud!" He was only ten years old then and didn't understand how important the words "protect our country" were. Now he finally understood—it was to let his mother, thousands of miles away, shed tears of peace, let his younger brother grow up with peace of mind, and let his younger sister laugh out loud while wearing a flower ribbon in her hair.

When they returned to their post, the soldiers were talking to Old Wang. Old Wang was a man in his fifties, his face etched with the marks of time, leading an old ox with a large bundle slung over its back. Seeing He Yuyang return, he quickly stood up, patted his chest, and said, "Comrade He, don't worry, I'll definitely deliver this! My daughter is about the same age as your sister; I know what parents think!"

He Yuyang handed the cloth bag from Zhao Dayong's arms and gave him two pancakes he had just bought: "Have something to eat on the way, sir. Take care."

Old Wang's eyes reddened as he took the cloth bag and tied it to the cow's back, muttering, "Good kids, all good kids..."

The troops set off in the afternoon. As they left Liuxi Town, He Yuyang glanced back. The tin mailbox of the post office gleamed in the setting sun, and the floral fabric of the general store still hung at the door like a small red flag. He didn't know how long it would take for the letter to arrive, nor whether Wang Laoxiang would be able to deliver it safely, but a sense of hope arose in his heart, like seeing a lamp on a desolate road.

The days that followed were filled with endless marches. They trekked along mountain paths during the day and slept in dilapidated temples or woodsheds in villagers' homes at night, sometimes having to get up to keep watch as soon as they lay down. He Yuyang's spiritual spring space became almost a mobile warehouse. He would secretly take out food from his space and distribute it to everyone when no one was around at night, and use the spiritual spring water to clean the wounds of the injured, but he never found an opportunity to send a letter again.

Two weeks later, while the troops were resting in a village called "Shiwa," a communications officer suddenly approached him with a letter: "He Yuyang, your letter! It's from Qinghe County!"

He Yuyang's heart skipped a beat, and his fingers trembled as he took the letter. The envelope was made of coarse hemp paper, its edges worn and frayed, bearing several postmarks, indicating it had gone through many detours. He found a deserted haystack, carefully opened it, and a faint scent of soap pods wafted out—the kind Liu Yan often used.

The letter was written on rough-edged paper, which He Yuyang had exchanged for the fine grains he had sent back earlier. The handwriting on it was crooked but densely packed, with dark marks between the lines, like tear stains.

"My dear son, Yu Yang: "

I received your letter. Mother cried half the night while holding it. Your father said I was useless, but he himself hid in the kitchen and smoked a pipe. I remember everything you said. I didn't go back to the courtyard house. I went to the old house in the countryside with your Master Zhou. There's a well and a vegetable garden in the yard. I planted radishes and cabbages, enough to eat for the whole winter.

Your younger brother, Zhuzi, has grown up. A while ago, some thugs from the county came to steal grain. He led the martial arts school students to fight them and drove them away! The neighbors all praised him for his skill, saying he could protect people just like you. Now he helps your father carry water every day and has even learned to braid Yushui's hair, though he's clumsy and always braids it crookedly, which makes Yushui cry. After crying, Yushui follows him around calling "Brother."

Yushui received the peace lock you sent; it's shiny jade, and she clutches it to sleep every night, refusing to give it to anyone else. Old Wang also brought flour and cloth, so I made Yushui a red cotton-padded jacket. She looks like a little lucky charm in it, wobbling after every few steps—so adorable! I also made you a cotton vest; I asked Master Zhou to have someone take it to you. Don't get cold in this weather.

Uncle Yan's family also lives near the old house. Old Yan is always saving money, saying he'll make braised pork for you when you come back. Jia Dongxu has become a foreman at the factory and even sent two feet of foreign cloth to make shoes for Yushui. Everyone's doing well, don't worry about us.

Your dad told me to tell you, don't be reckless in the war, staying alive is the most important thing. He's here at home, don't worry about anything. I'm just looking forward to your early return; Mom will make you lots of sauerkraut dumplings.

"娘字"

He Yuyang pressed the letter to his face, feeling its faint dampness, as if Liu Yan's tears hadn't completely dried. He could almost see He Zhu clumsily braiding Yushui's hair, see Yushui swaying in her red cotton-padded jacket, see his parents sitting on the kang (heated brick bed), reading his letter over and over again by the light of the oil lamp... His nose stung, and tears fell, landing on the letter and spreading a small ink stain.

"Brother, what's wrong?" Zhao Dayong came over unnoticed, holding a roasted sweet potato. Seeing him crying, he quickly handed it to him. "Have some sweet potato, it's sweet."

He Yuyang took the sweet potato, rubbing his hands because it was so hot, but his tears flowed even more fiercely. He remembered the letter about He Zhu driving away the thugs, and he felt both proud and scared—that kid was so young, yet he dared to fight with thugs, just like him when he was a child, always wanting to be a hero.

"Dayong, do you think... we can finish the war sooner?" he suddenly asked, his voice trembling with tears.

Zhao Dayong, munching on a sweet potato, nodded vigorously: "Yes! Definitely! After the war, I'll go back to Qinghe County with you, see the sauerkraut dumplings Auntie makes, and watch how Zhuzi braids Yushui's hair!"

He Yuyang smiled, carefully folded the letter, and put it in his inner pocket. He then took out the jade lock from the spiritual spring—he was worried that it wouldn't be safe to ask someone else to carry it, so he had kept an identical one with him, intending to put it on Yushui himself when he got home. The jade lock was warm and smooth against his heart, as if it could warm the longing from a thousand miles away.

As evening fell, the package Zhou Zhengguo had sent arrived—a heavy cloth bag. He Yuyang opened it and found a cotton vest inside, its stitches neat and tight, clearly hand-sewn by Liu Yan; there was also an oil paper package containing several pieces of sesame candy, tied with red thread, He Yushui's favorite; and at the bottom was a note in Zhou Zhengguo's handwriting:

"Yu Yang, the old house is safe, don't worry. Wear the vest your mother made for you when it gets cold. Also: Zhu Zi wants to learn how to lead troops like you, he keeps pestering me to teach him military strategy, that kid has potential."

He Yuyang put on the cotton vest, which fit him perfectly. The cotton padding was thick, so not a breath of wind could get in. He popped a piece of sesame candy into his mouth. It was sweet and stuck to his teeth, and it also stuck to the indescribable feelings in his heart—a mix of worry, pride, and a fierce desire to finish the war and go home as soon as possible.

"Third squad, assemble!" The company commander's shout echoed through the village.

He Yuyang stuffed the remaining sesame candy into Zhao Dayong's hand, patted his cotton vest, and strode towards the meeting point. The setting sun cast a long shadow of him; the twelve-year-old boy, wearing a cotton vest sewn by his mother, with a tear-stained letter from home in his pocket, had eyes as bright as stars in the night sky.

He knew that the road ahead was long and that battles would continue to be fought. But whenever he thought of that tear-stained letter, the little figure swaying in the red cotton-padded jacket, and the warm spring feeling in his cotton vest, he felt an inexhaustible energy.

A letter from home is worth a fortune; that's what they mean by that. You don't need many words; just knowing that everything is alright at home, knowing that someone is waiting for you to come home, is enough to make you brave the hail of bullets and risk your life.

He Yuyang gripped the rifle tightly in his hand, the butt of the rifle warm from his body heat.

For that letter home, for those concerns, this battle must be won. After the battle, we'll go home to eat sauerkraut dumplings, put a peace lock on Yushui, and watch Hezhu clumsily braid his sister's hair.

for sure.