Courtyard House: Starting with handing over the keys, the state helps me abuse birds.

Yan Bugui did not remember how he got back to the east wing.

He slumped onto the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), his whole body limp and lifeless, as if all his bones had been removed. The oil lamp on the table had long since gone out, and no moonlight could see through the window; the room was as dark as a coffin.

More than two thousand yuan...

Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees the image of money spilling out of the tattered bundle, stacks upon stacks, gleaming with a bluish-gray luster in the moonlight.

He saved for twenty years. Twenty years! Every penny he scraped together, from the public accounts, from the "wise" interception of neighborhood disputes, was stained with his hard work and calculations.

That's it, gone.

"It's alright...it's alright..." Yan Bugui muttered to himself, his voice hoarse like a broken bellows, "There are still three more...that adds up to over a thousand...that's enough...that's enough..."

He kept repeating himself, as if trying to convince himself, or as if praying to some unseen being.

No matter how I tried to comfort him, my heart felt like it was being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, tightening more and more each time.

What's even scarier isn't the money.

are people.

What about the money? Didn't Xie Weihong say she was going to give it to Duan Chengyi today?

If Duan Chengyi were to arrive and see that huge sum of over two thousand yuan of dubious origin, what would he do? Would he really treat it as something he "found" and give him a banner and a ten-yuan reward? Or would he investigate the source of the money thoroughly?

What if Duan Chengyi, accompanied by a group of expressionless plainclothes officers, bursts through the door, shines a flashlight in his face, and coldly says, "Yan Bugui, your affair has been exposed. Come with us."

Then he would be taken away, like those who were put on torture carts back then, bound hand and foot, paraded through the streets as a warning, and finally...

Yan Bugui dared not think any further.

He pulled the blanket over his head, curled up into a small ball, like a frightened hedgehog.

The oxygen in the blanket was dwindling, making him feel suffocated, but he dared not stick his head out.

Yan Bugui dared not sleep, afraid that he would see someone standing by the bed if he opened his eyes. He also dared not move, even though the wound on his ribs was itchy in the stuffy environment of the quilt, and even though his bladder was painfully full, he remained motionless.

He endured it all, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, thinking that if he couldn't see the danger, then the danger didn't exist.

After some time, a sliver of light shone through the gaps in the blanket.

Yan Bugui suddenly threw off the quilt and almost sat up abruptly.

Its daybreak.

The window paper had a hazy, bluish-white tint, and the morning light streamed in through the windowpanes, casting faint checkered shadows on the floor. A rooster crowed in the distance, and the sounds of people talking, brushing teeth, and sweeping could be faintly heard from inside the courtyard.

An ordinary, unremarkable morning, nothing happening.

Yan Bugui sat there blankly, as if he had just woken up from a long nightmare, unable to distinguish where the line between reality and illusion lay.

Just then, Duan Chengyi's familiar, steady, and powerful voice rang out from the courtyard: "Attention, everyone! Assemble in the central courtyard in five minutes for today's training!"

Yan Bugui jumped up from the kang (a heated brick bed) almost reflexively.

The courtyard in the morning carried the chill unique to late autumn.

Yi Zhonghai, Liu Haizhong, He Yuzhu, and Xu Damao were already standing in a row at the Intermediate People's Court.

Their injuries were far from healed, and everyone looked terrible.

It was a complex expression, a mixture of pain, fear, resentment, and deep despair.

Xie Weihong stood beside Duan Chengyi, still wearing his faded old military uniform, his posture upright and his expression calm. He held something in his hand, red and rectangular, which stood out conspicuously in the drab courtyard.

Yan Bugui huddled at the back of the line, trying to minimize his presence. He dared not look at Xie Weihong, much less at where the money had gone; he simply stared at his toes, his heart pounding.

"Comrade Yan Bugui." Duan Chengyi spoke, his voice not loud, but it exploded in Yan Bugui's ears like a thunderclap.

Yan Bugui suddenly looked up: "Here!"

"Step forward."

Yan Bugui froze for a moment, then mechanically took two steps forward like a puppet, walking to the front of the line.

He felt four pairs of eyes staring intently at his back, like four red-hot irons.

"Last night," Duan Chengyi said in a serious and formal tone, "Comrade Yan Bugui found a sum of cash outside the compound, totaling 2,375 yuan and 86 fen. After verification, the money was found to be unclaimed and, in accordance with relevant regulations, was considered unclaimed property and was confiscated."

Yan Bugui's face twitched violently.

Two thousand three hundred and seventy-five yuan and eighty-six fen... He calculated this so precisely. He had never counted it so accurately in twenty years.

"Comrade Yan Bugui's honesty in returning lost property demonstrates his noble character," Duan Chengyi continued. "After deliberation, it has been decided to award him the honorary title of 'Advanced Individual in Returning Lost Property' and a cash reward of ten yuan as encouragement."

He turned to Xie Weihong. Xie Weihong stepped forward and unfurled the bright red banner with both hands.

Red background with yellow border, four large golden characters:

Pick up gold

In the morning light, the words on the banner shone brightly.

Yan Bugui stared blankly at the banner, his expression a complex mix of emotions. It contained heartache, humiliation, anger, and resentment, all of which were tightly suppressed beneath a smile that was more like a grimace.

He reached out and accepted the banner.

The moment his fingers touched the red velvet, he felt as if a piece of his heart had been ripped out.

Two thousand three hundred and seventy-five yuan and eighty-six cents, in exchange for a flag and ten yuan. Yan Bugui had spent his whole life scheming against others, but he had never done such a losing deal!

"Comrade Yan Bugui," Xie Weihong spoke, her tone so sincere that one might think they were close friends despite their age difference, "You've performed well during this period, actively cooperating with training and reforming your thinking; the organization has seen it all."

He paused, then smiled slightly: "Don't participate in training today. Go back to your room and get some rest. Hanging up the banner is an honor in itself."

Yan Bugui was stunned.

No training required?

He subconsciously turned to look at Yi Zhonghai and the others. Four pairs of eyes were staring straight at him, their gazes devoid of congratulations or envy, only containing an indescribable...strangeness.

Yan Bugui's heart skipped a beat.

"No...no need..." he said quickly, his voice dry, "I think I can still train...my injury isn't serious, it'll be fine..."

"Just rest when I tell you to." Duan Chengyi's tone left no room for argument. "That's an order."

Yan Bugui opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't dare to say anything more.

He held the banner as if it were a hot potato, retreating step by step to the edge of the courtyard. He thought about placing the banner on the stone bench, but then felt it inappropriate, so he continued to hold it, unsure whether to stand or sit.

Training began in the courtyard.

"First item, push-ups. Ten minutes, standard form." Duan Chengyi's voice was as calm as reciting a menu.

Yi Zhonghai gritted his teeth and lay down.

A small patch of blood immediately stained the bandage on his chest—the wound that had just scabbed over when he changed the dressing last night. He braced himself with his hands on the ground, managing to sit up halfway, but the excruciating pain made his vision blur, and he groaned as he collapsed to the ground.

"One." Xie Weihong began to count.

Yi Zhonghai struggled to get up, tried to push himself up again, and fell again.

"two."

Liu Haizhong's leg in the cast couldn't support his weight at all. As soon as he lay down, he tilted to the ground like a turtle whose shell had flipped over, struggling desperately but unable to get up.

"Zero in the bangs. Next."

He Yuzhu and Xu Damao fared even worse. Both had their right legs crippled, forcing them to kneel only on their left knees. But push-ups required support from both arms; their hands were fine, but their legs were a burden. Each time they pushed themselves up, their dysfunctional right legs dragged on the ground like dead snakes, completely unable to contribute any strength.

"He Yuzhu, one. Xu Damao, zero."

The courtyard was filled with heavy breathing, suppressed groans, and the strange sound of bones grinding together.

Yan Bugui stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching this scene, cold sweat pouring down his back.

He should be grateful.

He should be grateful that he doesn't have to train, doesn't have to endure this inhuman torture, and doesn't have to be beaten half to death like Yi Zhonghai and the others, sent to the hospital, treated, and then sent back.

But now, standing here, holding that damned banner in his hands, he felt that the way Yi Zhonghai and the others were looking at him was getting increasingly strange.

When Yi Zhonghai fell to the ground again, he turned his head and glanced at Yan Bugui. Just one glance. There was no anger, no accusation in his eyes, only an indescribable...estrangement.

It's like looking at a traitor.

Yan Bugui's last shred of hope shattered with a "crack".

They were unaware of the truth behind the banner. All they saw was Yan Bugui "picking up" a large sum of money and handing it over, then being exempted from training and standing "gloriously" watching from the sidelines, while they had to endure hellish torment here.

In their minds, this was surrender.

This is like staining your own hat with the blood of your teammates.

"No...that's not how it is..." Yan Bugui murmured to himself, his voice so soft that only he could hear it.

He wanted to explain, but how could he? Should he say he lost twenty years' worth of savings to buy a tattered flag? Should he say he'd rather spend those two thousand dollars on a training session than stand here and be treated like an outsider?

He opened his mouth, but his throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

[Ding! Detected that the ninth-tier demon "Hypocritical Soul Demon" is suffering continuous physical damage and its health is decreasing...]

[Reward Settlement: Soul Erosion Crystal +12]

[Ding! Detected that the ninth-tier demon "Lustful Expansion Body" has dropped to 35% health and is on the verge of mental collapse...]

[Rewards Calculated: Body Tempering Elixir +3, Tier 1 Talisman Material Pack +1]

[Ding! Detected a sharp drop in the mental value of the ninth-tier monster "Rampaging Mighty Demon," triggering a state of deep fear...]

[Rewards Settlement: +18 Spirit Crystals, Basic Refining Tips (Fragments)]

A series of system notifications rang in Xie Weihong's mind. He remained expressionless, but a very faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

then.

[Ding! The ninth-tier demon "Iron Abacus Spirit" has been detected to be in a state of severe mental torture!]

[Analysis of the target's current state:]

[Extensive loss of treasure]

[Social relationships: Isolation from peers]

[Self-perception: From "wise man" to "traitor," self-esteem suffers a devastating blow]

[Threshold for mental breakdown]

[Damage level assessment in progress...]

[Assessment complete: SS-level! Beyond conventional mental attacks!]

[Reward calculation in progress...]

[Special Reward Received: Mental Strength Increased by 200%]

Xie Weihong raised an eyebrow slightly.

The rewards for mental damage are far greater than those for physical damage.

He glanced at Yi Zhonghai and the others who were lying on the ground barely surviving, then at Yan Bugui, who was holding a banner and sitting on pins and needles at the edge of the courtyard, and seemed to be deep in thought.

When the ten-minute push-up training ended, Yi Zhonghai and the other three were completely collapsed on the ground, unable to get up.

Medical staff skillfully stepped forward and lifted the four people onto stretchers, their movements as swift and efficient as assembly line workers.

"Send him to the hospital for standard treatment," Duan Chengyi said. "We'll continue tomorrow."

Four words sealed the fate of Yi Zhonghai and others, ensuring they would not have a peaceful night.

As the stretcher passed Yan Bugui, Yi Zhonghai turned his head and glanced at him again.

This time, besides hatred, there was also a deep-seated sorrow in his eyes.

Yan Bugui's hands trembled as he held the banner.

He suddenly felt an urge to rush forward, throw the banner on the ground, and shout at Duan Chengyi, "I don't want to rest! I want to train! Train with them!"

But he dared not.

He could only stand there, rooted to the spot like a wooden stake, watching helplessly as the four people on the stretcher were carried out of the courtyard and disappeared behind the moon gate.

The courtyard gradually quieted down.

Xie Weihong walked up to Yan Bugui and said gently, "Teacher Yan, please keep the banner safe and don't get it dirty."

Yan Bugui raised his head and met those eyes, which were as calm as a deep pool.

He tried to see mockery, ridicule, or condescending smugness in those eyes, but he saw nothing. Xie Weihong looked at him as if he were a tool, a tool that still had some use and needed temporary maintenance.

This is more terrifying than any mockery.

"Yes...yes..." Yan Bugui lowered his head, his voice hoarse, "I'll go back to the house now...and hang it up..."

He turned and fled from the central courtyard as if escaping, almost staggering as he rushed back to the east wing.

The door slammed shut behind me.