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

The sky was just beginning to lighten.

Yan Bugui got up from the muddy ground.

He knelt there all night, his legs already numb and devoid of feeling. But when he tried to stand up by bracing himself on the ground, the sharp pain in his knees made him groan and fall back down.

He slowly raised his head and looked towards the backyard.

Xie Weihong's door was tightly closed, and the windows were pitch black. The person was probably still asleep.

Yan Bugui stared at the door, a glimmer of light slowly appearing in his eyes.

The light was faint, yet it carried a desperate, mad gamble.

The money is gone. More than two thousand three hundred yuan, more than nine hundred yuan—his savings for his funeral over twenty years, all gone. But is that money really gone? It was only taken recently; it should still be in Xie Weihong's room.

As long as we get it back, as long as we get it back before he finds out.

Yes, take it back.

Yan Bugui supported himself on the ground and slowly stood up.

He turned around and walked step by step towards the front yard.

Instead of going back to his own east wing room.

It's the Intermediate People's Court.

The place where Yi Zhonghai lives.

When Yan Bugui knocked on the door, he could barely lift his hand. He tapped the door with his swollen knuckles, making a dull thud.

No one answered.

He knocked again.

Still, no one answered.

He started banging on the door, with his fists, his elbows, his shoulders, again and again.

"Who is it!" Yi Zhonghai's weak yet irritable voice finally came from inside the house.

"I."

The door was suddenly pulled open a crack, revealing Yi Zhonghai's deathly pale face.

His chest was wrapped in thick bandages, and there was fresh blood on the bandages.

But when he saw who was standing outside the door, a complex emotion still flashed in his cloudy eyes.

Yan Bugui.

This old man who was tied to him on the same boat, this "traitor" who was just awarded a banner yesterday.

"What are you doing here?" Yi Zhonghai's voice was as cold as ice in the twelfth lunar month.

Yan Bugui did not answer. He simply pushed Yi Zhonghai aside and squeezed into the room.

Yi Zhonghai was pushed and staggered. The sharp pain in his ribs made his vision go black, and he could only barely stand by holding onto the table.

"you!"

"Do me a favor."

Yan Bugui turned around and stared at him. That look made Yi Zhonghai's heart skip a beat; it was empty, crazed, and carried the last struggle of a dying man.

"What kind of help?"

"Help me steal my money back."

Yi Zhonghai was stunned for a moment, then sneered: "Your money? The two thousand or so that Xie Weihong took? Yan Bugui, are you crazy? You want me to provoke that monster?"

"I'm not asking you to steal it." Yan Bugui stepped forward and leaned closer to him. "You just need to keep watch for me. I'll go in and get it myself."

Yi Zhonghai shook his head resolutely: "No way. I'm injured like this, I can't even move, what am I supposed to do? Go die yourself, don't drag me down with you."

You have to do it.

Yan Bugui's voice was extremely low, yet it pierced Yi Zhonghai's ears like a knife. He took another step forward, and the two were almost face to face.

Do you remember what happened thirteen years ago?

Yi Zhonghai's expression changed drastically.

"You know better than I how Xie Weihong's parents died." Yan Bugui spoke each word as if squeezed out from between his teeth, "How much hush money did you take for all that stuff you were selling? You think it's all over just because your compensation issue is over? If they really investigate, neither of us will escape."

"you!"

"Should we help or not?"

Yi Zhonghai stared intently at Yan Bugui, his chest heaving violently. The movement aggravated the pain in his rib wound, and cold sweat instantly soaked his back.

The room was so quiet that only the two people's heavy breathing could be heard.

After an unknown amount of time, Yi Zhonghai gritted his teeth and squeezed out two words from deep in his throat:

"...I'll help."

By the time the two reached the backyard, it was already broad daylight.

The sun rose from the east, bathing the entire courtyard in a warm, golden hue.

Everything is normal.

Xie Weihong's door was tightly closed, and there was no sound from the window.

Yi Zhonghai leaned against the moon gate, his body hunched over, pretending to drink water from an enamel mug. But his eyes were fixed on the door, so much so that they almost popped out of his head.

Yan Bugui took a deep breath and gently pushed open the door.

The door wasn't locked.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

The room was very tidy. There was a wooden bed, an old-fashioned desk, and a two-door wardrobe.

Yan Bugui had no interest in these things. His eyes swept across every corner of the room like searchlights.

Where is the money?

He lunged at the desk and pulled open a drawer. It was empty. He pulled open the next drawer; there were several notebooks, filled with densely packed technical specifications he couldn't understand. He threw the notebooks on the floor and continued flipping through them.

No.

He rushed to the wardrobe and pulled open the door. Several old military uniforms and a Zhongshan suit were neatly folded. He pulled all the clothes out, shook them open one by one, and turned the pockets inside out.

No.

Cold sweat beaded on Yan Bugui's forehead. He knelt on the ground, lifted the bed sheet to look under the bed, and saw several cardboard boxes. He pulled them out, opened them, and found they were full of books and documents.

I have no money.

His breathing became more and more rapid, and his movements became more and more violent. The table was pushed to the ground, the drawers were pulled out and flipped shut, and the shelves in the wardrobe were removed and thrown aside.

No. No. No.

He stood in the middle of the messy house, trembling, his eyes bloodshot.

What about two thousand yuan? What about nine hundred yuan? He saw Xie Weihong put that much money in her bosom with his own eyes. Where could she hide it?

Suddenly, his gaze fell on a wooden box in the corner.

The box was small, about the size of a palm, with some peeling paint on its dark red surface. A small brass lock hung on it, gleaming faintly in the morning light.

Yan Bugui's eyes lit up.

Yes, it must be here. Something this important definitely needs to be locked up.

He rushed over, picked up the box, and shook it. There was something inside; it was heavy.

He didn't bother looking for the key; he picked up the box and slammed it to the ground with all his might.

"Bang!"

The wooden box cracked into several pieces, and the contents rolled out.

Red.

It's made of velvet.

Yan Bugui remained frozen in place.

He slowly squatted down, his hands trembling as he picked up the object. Unfolded, it revealed a red background with yellow borders and four large, gleaming gold characters.

Honesty in returning lost property.

Yan Bugui held the banner and squatted there blankly.

How could it be... how could it be a banner?

Where is his money?

"Teacher Yan."

A calm voice came from behind me.

Yan Bugui suddenly turned around.

Xie Weihong was already standing at the door at some point.