He Yuyang: The tough eldest brother of the courtyard house

The early summer evening breeze, carrying the scent of wheat, swept across the threshing ground on the outskirts of the city. He Yuyang sat on the stone mill by the threshing ground, clutching a worn-out letter from home. The letter had been folded repeatedly, its edges white, but the handwriting remained clear—it was a letter his mother had sent through someone, filled with the warm, comforting atmosphere of everyday life.

"...Your younger brother, Yuzhu, now runs a martial arts school in the county town called 'Zhenyuan Hall.' He has more than twenty students, some are neighborhood kids, and some come from the countryside. Every day before dawn, he shouts so loudly that the ivy on the courtyard wall shakes. He says he wants to spar with you when you come back and see whose punch is harder..."

He Yuyang's lips curved into a slight smile. He remembered how He Yuzhu used to follow him around as a child, tiptoeing to snatch the wooden knife from his hand. Now, he had become a man who could open a martial arts school and take on apprentices. He stroked the letter, his fingertips tracing the words "Yuzhu," and his heart felt soft and warm, as if it had been soaked in warm water.

"...Yushui, that girl, went to school in the county town. The teacher said she's got a knack for studying, especially good at arithmetic, always getting first place. The other day she asked me for a calligraphy brush, saying she wanted to write you a letter. She wrote until midnight, crumpling up several sheets of paper, but in the end she was too embarrassed and asked me to give you my regards..."

He remembered his sister with her pigtails, her eyes shining like stars, always clinging to the doorframe and asking, "When are you coming back, brother?" Now she's in school, and must have grown taller by now. Perhaps she still pouts and tries to snatch candy from Yuzhu, just like when she was little.

The letter also mentioned Yan Bugui: "Old Yan's general store has reopened, twice the size of before, fully stocked with everything from oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, needles, and thread. He's even stocked up on some imported cloth, saying it's the kind that's fashionable in the city. A few days ago, I went to buy some cloth and overheard him telling customers, 'My store was able to open entirely thanks to Yu Yang's promising future,' speaking so loudly as if afraid no one would hear him..."

He Yuyang couldn't help but laugh out loud. Old Yan was still the same old Yan—sharp-tongued but warm-hearted. He remembered how he used to go to the general store to get candy for free. Old Yan would scold him as a "little rascal," but he would always give him a couple extra fruit candies, the wrappers glistening in the sunlight.

"...Everything is fine at home. Your father has two acres of land on the outskirts of the county town, and the cotton he grows is thriving. He said he'll make you two new cotton quilts after the harvest. I've also made a pair of shoes and sent them to you through a messenger. The soles are stitched with a thousand layers; they're durable enough to last..."

He looked down at the cloth shoes on his feet. They were made by his mother, with tight, neat stitches and a tiny dandelion embroidered on the toe. They wouldn't rub his feet no matter how far he walked. He had worn these shoes for almost half a year, reluctant to replace them. When the heels wore down a bit, he found a piece of leather and sewed them back on himself, cherishing them like precious treasures.

"Commander, the brigade commander is calling for you!" The communications officer, Xiao Zhou, ran over, his trousers covered in bits of grass, his face beaming with excitement. "News just came from brigade headquarters: the major cities in the south have been liberated!"

He Yuyang carefully folded the letter and put it in his pocket, then stood up and patted the dirt off his clothes. The setting sun was sinking in the west, dyeing the clouds on the horizon golden red. On the poplar trees by the threshing ground, cicadas were chirping "zhi-liao-zhi-liao," their clear voices sounding as if they were trying to pierce a hole in the summer night.

He is now the commander of the Third Regiment. When this appointment was announced, many people were stunned—no one could have imagined that this boy, who looked only fifteen or sixteen years old and had delicate features, would be the youngest regimental commander in the entire army. The medals on his shoulders could cover half a table: one Special Merit, three First-Class Merits, five Second-Class Merits, and countless Third-Class Merits; there are also two Collective First-Class Merits, three Second-Class Merits, and five Third-Class Merits; his medals, from Special-Class Hero to Third-Class Hero, are neatly stored in a wooden box. These are the honors he earned with his life, and also the keepsakes entrusted to him by countless fallen comrades.

"Commander, look at this!" The operations staff officer ran over, holding up a mimeographed victory report. The large red characters on it were glaringly obvious: "Our army has captured Nanjing, and the Chiang Kai-shek regime has been destroyed!"

The threshing ground erupted in chaos. The soldiers dropped their guns, hugged each other, and jumped and laughed. Some threw their hats into the air, while others squatted on the ground and cried. The sounds of crying and laughter mingled together, startling the sparrows in the trees.

"We've won... We're really going to win..." A veteran wiped away his tears. He had been with the army since the War of Resistance against Japan and had lost an arm. Now, he had finally waited for this day.

He Yuyang stood outside the crowd, looking at the scene before him, yet his heart was unusually calm. He remembered the medal that Grandpa Wang had given him before he died, the polished bronze medal engraved with the words "Hero of the War of Resistance"; he remembered the strength with which Zhao Dayong gripped his arm at the end, and the words, "My mother... please take good care of her"; he remembered the comrades who failed to escape Eagle Beak Valley during the breakout on the snowy night, their faces still clear in his memory.

"Let's go up the hillside and take a look," he said to Xiao Zhou.

The two walked along the ridges of the fields up the hillside. The evening breeze grew increasingly cool, causing the hems of their military uniforms to flutter loudly. The hillside was covered with wild grass, and tiny purple flowers were in full bloom, like scattered jewels.

He Yuyang found a flat rock to sit on and took out a small wooden box from his backpack. Opening the box, he found it lined with red cloth. On the left was Grandpa Wang's military medal, and on the right was the jade pendant with the character "An" that he had worn for many years. The jade pendant was warm and lustrous from his body heat, and the engravings on it were clearly visible.

He placed the wooden box on the stone, then sat cross-legged, gazing at the starry sky. The stars were densely packed, like scattered silver, brighter than those he had seen in Jiangnan, and denser than those he had seen in the north, as if he could reach out and pluck one.

"Uncle Wang, Dayong, and the brothers who sacrificed their lives..." he said softly, his voice slightly blurred by the wind, "Look, it's almost over, really almost over."

He recalled the battles he had fought over the past few years, from the snowy forests of Northeast China to the water towns of Jiangnan, from the smoke of bombing bunkers to the surging waves of crossing the river. The roads under his feet went from muddy to smooth, and the people around him changed one after another. Only the gun in his hand, the responsibility on his shoulders, and the concerns in his heart remained unchanged.

"Yuzhu has opened a martial arts school. In the future, he can teach more people to practice boxing, improve their health, and no one will dare to bully us ordinary people anymore." He said to the stars, as if chatting with an old friend. "Yushui is going to school. In the future, he can become a teacher and teach more children to read, so that they will know how this world came to be."

"Uncle Yan's grocery store is doing well. He always says it's all thanks to me, but actually, it's all thanks to the peaceful days we've brought about. In the future, his store will be filled with even more things, children will be able to eat White Rabbit milk candy, and adults will be able to buy floral fabric to make new clothes..."

As he spoke, his voice lowered. The medals in the wooden box gleamed in the starlight, and the jade pendant shimmered with a faint, lustrous sheen, as if responding to his words.

In the distance came the sound of soldiers singing "The Sky Over the Liberated Area." The tune wasn't quite right, but it carried a joyful energy that went far into the night. Fireflies flew over from the field ridges, carrying tiny lanterns, dancing in the grass.

He Yuyang reached out and caught a firefly that landed on his fingertip. The little insect's wings fluttered, making him feel ticklish. He remembered when he was a child, Grandpa Wang would take him to catch fireflies in the yard, put them in a glass jar, and say, "These are the lights that God lit, to guide us forward."

Now, this lamp will finally illuminate the whole of China.

He released the fireflies, watching them disappear into the night. Then he stood up and solemnly saluted the medals and jade pendant in the wooden box. The young man stood tall and straight like a pine tree, the stars on his shoulders flickering in the starlight, reflecting the light in his eyes—a light that held nostalgia, determination, and boundless hope for the future.

"I'll go home when the whole country is liberated," he said softly, as if making a promise. "I'll go home to see my mother, to see Yuzhu and Yushui, to see Uncle Yan's general store. And then, I'll tell them your story."

The evening breeze swept across the hillside again, carrying the barking of dogs from distant villages and the chirping of insects nearby. He Yuyang gazed at the eastern horizon, where a faint light was beginning to appear, like the pale white of a fish's belly, or the dawn before sunrise.

The eve of victory is always exceptionally quiet. But within this quiet lies the hope bought with the lives of countless people, the dawn that is about to break, and a brand new China.

He knew that once dawn broke, they would continue their advance to liberate the last few cities and usher in true peace. But at this moment, standing on this hillside, gazing at the starry sky, he felt incredibly at ease—because he knew that behind him lay the hopeful glow of countless homes, and before him lay the approaching dawn, and that he and his comrades would eventually turn this night into day.

"Let's go," he said to Xiao Zhou, then turned and walked down the mountain.

Footsteps echoed on the silent hillside, firm and powerful, as if measuring the distance from war to peace. And the medals and jade pendant in the wooden box lay quietly under the starlight, as if they too were waiting, waiting for that declaration that would resonate through history—

Its daybreak.