Courtyard Houses: Longevity Since the War of Resistance

In the western suburbs of Beijing, this place is remote and not many people come here on weekdays. Cypress, poplar and locust trees grow together in a dense area, making it a lush green sight in summer.

Deep in the woods, a winding dirt path leads to a courtyard. The courtyard wall is low, made of red bricks and whitewashed, with some patches of plaster peeling off to reveal the bricks underneath.

The courtyard gate consisted of two old pine wood doors, painted dark brown, which looked sturdy, and a common iron lock hung on the door.

That's the good thing about teleportation; you can go anywhere you want with just a thought. From Shanghai to Beijing, it's only a matter of time before you can catch your breath. Li Feng reached out and pushed the door open; it wasn't locked and creaked open.

The courtyard wasn't large, the ground paved with blue bricks, the cracks were clean and there was no grass growing in them. Directly opposite were three tiled houses facing south, with blue bricks and gray tiles, old in style, but they looked neat and tidy.

The windows had wooden latticework, and the glass was so clean you could see your reflection. There was a lower-level side room on each side, with the doors closed.

There's an old locust tree in the courtyard, its shade casting a cool, shady glow over half the yard. Beneath the tree sits a stone table and four stone benches, all spotlessly clean. Several clumps of roses grow in the corner, blooming in red and pink, adding a touch of vibrancy to the simple courtyard.

It's very quiet.

Li Feng entered the courtyard, walked to the main house, pushed open the door, and went inside. Against the north wall stood an eight-immortal table with two armchairs, made of old elm wood, polished to a shine. On the table was a bamboo tea tray containing a white porcelain teapot and several small teacups.

Against the east wall was a wooden bed, covered with a blue and white checkered sheet, laid out flat. A thin quilt was folded into a square and placed at the head of the bed, and there was a small wardrobe at the foot of the bed.

A washbasin stand stood against the west wall, with two towels draped over it, one white and one gray, both washed until faded. Below them was an enamel basin with a red double happiness symbol printed on the bottom. In the corner was a tin stove, polished to a shine, next to which was a small stack of coal and a few pine sticks for kindling.

There was no dust or musty smell in the room, just the scent of sun-dried cloth and a faint fragrance of soap. It was clear that someone cleaned the place regularly.

Li Feng placed the worn canvas bag he was carrying next to the eight-immortal table, walked to the window, and opened it to allow for better airflow. Then he went to the corner of the room, picked up the tin kettle from the stove, shook it—it was empty.

Carrying the pot, I walked outside to the eaves.

There was a water vat half-buried in the ground, covered with a wooden lid. Lifting the lid, a gourd ladle hung from the rim. I scooped out a full vat of water, went back inside, and placed the vat on the stove.

He took a match from the small wooden box beside the stove, struck it with a hiss, lit a pine stick, carefully placed it into the firebox, and then added two pieces of coal. The flames slowly rose, a bluish-green, then turned red, and the stove emitted a soft hum.

While the water was boiling, I took a brown paper packet from my bag. Inside were tea leaves. It was ordinary jasmine tea, but the leaves were whole, and the aroma was irresistible. I pinched off a small amount and put it into the teapot.

Before the water boiled, he took out a clean cotton cloth from his bag and carefully wiped the eight-immortal table and the armchair. Actually, it wasn't dirty to begin with, but he wiped it very slowly and meticulously, one stroke at a time.

After doing all that, the kettle made a hissing sound, emitting white steam.

He lifted the kettle and first poured boiling water over the teapot and teacups, a process called "warming the pot and cups." Then he poured out the water, put the tea leaves into the pot, and poured in hot water. He didn't want the first brew, quickly discarding it, saying it was for rinsing the tea. Next, he poured in hot water again, covered the pot, and let it steep.

The aroma of tea wafted out, a subtle blend of jasmine and tea fragrance, spreading through the air.

I placed the brewed teapot in the center of the table, and two white porcelain cups on either side. Instead of sitting down, I walked to the open east window, put my hands behind my back, and looked at the old locust tree in the courtyard. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, breaking into fragments that shimmered on the ground.

His face remained calm as he stood quietly waiting. About ten minutes passed. The fire in the stove dwindled, and the steam from the teapot thinned.

Footsteps sounded outside the courtyard gate, very light and unhurried, almost inaudible on the dirt road, but Li Feng's ears twitched. The footsteps paused at the gate, then the gate was gently pushed open and gently closed again.

Li Feng then turned around from the window and looked towards the doorway.

Wearing cloth shoes, a dark gray Zhongshan suit, and holding half a cigarette in his hand, it was Teacher Renzi, and he was alone.

Li Feng immediately took two steps forward, stopping three steps away from Teacher Ren Zi. He put his feet together, straightened his body, raised his right arm, and bowed. His movements were crisp and precise, carrying a hint of the old days.

"Reporting to Teacher Renzi! Duan Zhenghong, deputy captain of the Ghost Suppression Team, codenamed King Qin Guang, reporting for duty!"

Teacher Ren Zi smiled his usual gentle smile and waved his hand, "Sit, sit, sit. Let's meet privately, no need for such formality. Zhen Gui has disliked formalities ever since Li Feng."

Li Feng stepped aside and invited Teacher Renzi to take a seat.

Teacher Ren sat down in the main chair, casually stubbing out his nearly finished cigarette in a small ceramic dish on the table. Li Feng then sat down on the other side, picked up the teapot, poured Teacher Ren's cup to about seven-tenths full, and then poured one for himself.

"Li Feng left me a letter before he left." Number One picked up his cup and blew on it.

"They talked about some things inside, including your ghost-suppressing activities. We've kept in touch over the years, but you've never been in the country. You handled the wooden tiger matter cleanly and beautifully."

Li Feng's reply was brief: "Teacher Ren, you flatter me. We are simply following orders and eliminating potential hazards. It's our duty."

"Your duties..." Teacher Renzi repeated softly, took a sip of tea, and put down her cup. "Your duties are not easy. You work in the shadows, doing the hardest work, and you can't even claim credit for it."

"Willingly." Li Feng only said four words.

Teacher Ren smiled and stopped talking about it, instead asking, "Tell me, why aren't you leaving after dealing with the wooden tiger? There must be something important going on. You ghost-suppressing people never show your faces unless it's important."

Li Feng nodded and leaned forward slightly: "Teacher Ren, we believe the time is right; we can consider taking back Hong Kong and Macau."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Teacher Renzi gently stroked the smooth surface of the teacup with her fingers, her expression remaining unchanged.