Courtyard House: A Start with Black Gold Swallowing 100,000 Silver Dollars

A month later, the acceptance letter arrived. Liu Wu successfully obtained her visa to the United States.

On the eve of her departure, she drank until her cheeks were flushed and her steps were unsteady. Carrying a half-empty bottle of red wine, she knocked on his dormitory door. Only a table lamp was on in the room, casting a dim, yellowish light. She didn't speak, but simply leaned closer, pressing her forehead against his chest, her breathing very soft, as if afraid of startling something away.

She knew that once she left, she most likely wouldn't return—better jobs, wider opportunities, and a more respectable marriage prospect lay in the United States. She didn't want to let herself down, but she also didn't want to betray their three-year relationship. So, she left him with the most important thing.

Li Guoman understood. He neither pushed her away nor responded, but simply put his arm around her shoulder slowly, as if handling a fragile piece of porcelain. He knew this was a farewell, and also a gesture of letting go. In the past three years, he had bought her things worth two hundred and thirty-seven yuan—not a lot, but all of it was money he had saved himself. Let's just consider it a clean and simple transaction.

The next afternoon, she boarded the plane, dragging her suitcase.

He stood under the sycamore tree at the school gate, gazing in the direction the plane was taking off. Snowflakes fell silently, landing on his eyelashes, cool and refreshing. The wind swirled snowflakes down his neck, but he didn't move, his hands in his pockets, his shadow stretched long and thin by the setting sun, lonely and rooted to the ground.

"Three years... In the end, I still couldn't resist the good life they have over there."

"Liu Wu, don't regret it. I also wish you that you're well-fed and clothed over there, and that you have someone to care for you and comfort you."

The snow was falling heavier and heavier. He turned around and took a few steps, then suddenly stopped, tilted his head back, and exhaled a puff of white breath.

He remembered that night all too clearly: the scent of wine in her hair, the slightly warm patch of skin on the back of her neck when his fingertips brushed against it, and the sound of her saying "Guoman, don't let go" with her eyes closed—as light as a feather, yet as heavy as a weight that had weighed on him for half his life.

Behind a ginkgo tree less than ten meters away from him stood a girl in a gray cotton-padded jacket.

She clutched a thick coat in her hand, the cuffs still damp with flour—she had just returned from helping out in the cafeteria. She stared at his back for a long time, lifting her foot several times only to pull it back, the tips of her shoes crunching softly on the snow.

She feared he would keep her at arm's length, and even more so, she feared that if she approached him rashly, she would embarrass him instead. Only when he was gone, leaving only a blurry silhouette, did she slowly release her grip, letting the neatly folded coat slide into the snow.

Early one weekend morning, Li Guoman rode an old bicycle with a bulging canvas bag strapped to the back rack, heading straight for Li Guojiang's small warehouse.

"Brother, get me two hundred pairs of thick flared pants, cotton-padded ones. I'll pay you on credit first, and settle the bill as soon as I sell them all."

He figured it out. Why did Liu Wu have to leave? What was she after? Was it to avoid queuing for meat at the supermarket, to avoid being crammed together on the subway, to have a rented apartment with heating and a dryer? Ultimately, wasn't it just about "living more comfortably"? And behind that word "comfortable" stood money.

From childhood to adulthood, he received far less pocket money than others. Qin Huairu was extremely strict with money, keeping the savings book hidden at the bottom of a box, and even giving out New Year's money monthly, saying, "You can't raise a lazy son." Li Guoxuan was just like him; the elbows of his trousers were worn shiny, and his schoolbag strap, even after being broken, was taped three times and he still carried it without a care.

So all that savings went into Liu Wu's life—she loved coffee, so he drank with her; she loved movies, so he bought double tickets; she complained about the crowded school bathhouse, so he secretly saved up money to rent her a small private room off-campus.

It's not that I don't love you, it's that I love you too sincerely, so sincerely that I've emptied myself out.

Now, he has to fill in the empty spaces inch by inch.

"Why are you being so polite with me, kid? I'd even give it to you for free!" Li Guojiang said with a smile, patting him on the shoulder as he puffed out a cigarette.

"No, no," Li Guoman waved his hand, "Father said that even between brothers, accounts must be clear."

Upon hearing this, Li Guojiang's fingers, which were holding a cigarette, paused, and ash fell onto his work pants. He didn't respond, but instead looked down and rummaged through the shelves, pushing several boxes of jeans to his feet.

Because the goods were picked up directly from his brother's warehouse, the cost was kept low. In addition, with the business common sense he learned in the United States—how to price, how to bundle, and how to insert a "limited-time special offer" announcement on the campus radio station—two hundred pairs of pants were sold out in five days.

Earn twenty per item, two hundred items would be four thousand.

Four thousand yuan! Back then, that was enough to buy a small house at the entrance of the alley.

For the first time, he felt that money was something that felt solid to the touch, made a sound, and gave him a sense of security when he held it.

He remembered Alice's words: "Resources that are not used are just scrap metal; opportunities that are not seized are just fleeting clouds." He had channels, vision, and a year more of practical experience than his peers—wasn't that a ready-made asset?

He first recruited three roommates from impoverished families. Each roommate received thirty strips, with a commission based on the number sold. During their free time, they frequented stalls outside the school, night markets, and factory gates, their shouts echoing throughout the campus. Sales immediately doubled.

Having tasted success, he then set his sights on the group of students from rural areas in his class. They received a monthly stipend of twenty yuan, their meal card balances were consistently below five yuan, and they had to get a teacher's signature to defer payment when they couldn't afford to pay for make-up exams. Li Guoman didn't make empty promises; he simply handed over a stack of pants and said, "Sell one, and I'll give you a three-yuan commission; sell fifty, and I'll treat you to dumplings."

In eleven days, twenty-three people earned 20,360 yuan.

He became the first person in the entire school to earn 10,000 yuan.

Unfortunately, their glory lasted only half a month.

The news reached the squad leader's ears.

She was a girl from Harbin, surnamed Zhao, with the given name "Min". She walked with a brisk pace, spoke with a strong voice, and when she was angry, her eyebrows shot up so sharply that even the boys dared not cough. She believed in two things: to study, one must be able to sit on the sidelines and patiently endure long hours; to maintain discipline, one must strictly adhere to ironclad rules.

The night before, she cornered several classmates who had sneaked out to set up a stall at the back door. She didn't scold them, but asked them one by one, "Are you selling pants and neglecting your self-study? Are you copying homework? Are you missing morning exercises?" She made them sweat profusely, and they all lowered their heads and admitted their mistakes.

The next day at noon, she called Li Guoman to the old locust tree behind the teaching building. Sunlight filtered through the branches, dappling and shimmering like scattered gold.

She didn't look at him, but stared at the gleaming tips of her black leather shoes, her tone as flat as if she were reciting a text:

"Li Guoman, you're quite capable."

"Comrade Li Guoman, don't you realize the consequences? These people are all promising—they will be able to shoulder the responsibility of national construction in the future; they are truly pillars of society. By stirring things up like this, you're leading them astray, not only ruining their futures but also damaging the foundation of the collective. Tell me, how can you bring yourself to do this?"

The class monitor, Guan Yan, stood by the back door of the classroom. Her tone was calm, and although her voice wasn't loud, it was like a brick hitting a cement floor—crisp yet unpleasant. She didn't slam her hand on the table or raise her voice; instead, she placed her hands on her hips and stared directly at the monitor.

"And then there's yourself—Li Guoman, you're in the top three of your class, how many times have the teachers praised you by name? Instead of studying hard, you're messing around with those street vendors' businesses, what's the point? Do you think you're doing right by your parents who scrimped and saved to send you to school? Do you think you're doing right by the food coupons, patched-up clothes, and scholarships the school gave you?"

Her brows were furrowed, her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her eyes didn't blaze with anger, but rather seemed to be stuck on something hard, something she couldn't swallow.

"Oh dear, class monitor, I was wrong, I was really wrong! I'll stop right away and never think about it again!" Li Guoman quickly stood up straight, smiling apologetically, his shoulders slightly slumped, his tone as soft as a freshly steamed bun, "Please be lenient and don't report this to the administration office—every student in our class, who didn't come here carrying a bag of dry rations and an enamel mug? It's not easy for them."

He was all sweet talk, but he knew exactly what was going on: one of the boys had walked seven days from Shenxian County, Hebei Province, carrying his bedding, to register; another was living at the school with his three-year-old daughter; and yet another's wife had just given birth to their second child, with diapers still hanging on the dormitory wire. He had recruited them to help them out; if he were to get a demerit and have his student status revoked, he wouldn't be able to sleep soundly at night.

"Hmph! You know it's not easy, yet you still drag others into this mess?" Guan Yan wrinkled her nose slightly, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and her sleeves brushed against her wrist bones, revealing a slender but strong wrist.

She was from Northeast China, with a large frame and a height of 1.75 meters. She always wore a faded blue cotton shirt and had a straight back, like a birch tree growing in the wind and snow.

Her family was poor, the food was meager, and she was thin, yet surprisingly well-built in all the right places; when she crossed her arms, the fabric of her clothes stretched out in a gentle curve. Her face was delicate, her features sharp and clear. Compared to Liu Wu, a southern girl who spoke with a smile and walked with a brisk pace, she was like a ladle of well water—cool, but clear, reflecting everything perfectly. She had a quick temper, but despite her haste, she never lied or shifted blame.

"Yes, yes, I won't dare again, I really won't dare again, class monitor." Li Guoman replied with his head down, but his eyes secretly lifted up, glancing at the natural curves of her chest, and then quickly lowered again.

He already knew in his heart that Guan Yan wouldn't report him. Her father was a carpenter who had three fingers amputated last year. He endured the pain at the village clinic without surgery, and it was only by secretly slipping her a hundred yuan and having someone take it back that his life was saved.

From then on, the way she looked at him changed—not with gratitude, but as if he owed her a debt that she had to pay off herself. She urged him to memorize formulas, checked his homework, and even commented on how he dipped his steamed buns in pickled vegetables in the morning: "Chew slowly, your stomach takes time to develop." She euphemistically said, "I owe you a hundred dollars, and I can't pay you back right now, so I'll use my time to pay it off—I'll help you improve your grades and calculate the interest." It sounded absurd, but she was truly the best in the class, and every word she spoke was firm and unassailable.

After they finished speaking, they each returned to their seats.

Guan Yan's desk was right in front of him, and her stool had just touched the ground when he felt a warmth on the back of his neck—someone gently tapped the back of his chair with their knuckles.

Li Guoman turned around and saw Hua Chengfeng standing in the corridor, dressed in a crisp navy blue work uniform, holding a letter in his hand. He raised his chin forward and then gestured towards the back of Guan Yan's head.

Oh—Li Guoman's heart lit up: No wonder this kid always squatted next to her bicycle to fix the chain, borrow her notes, and ask where to get food in the cafeteria without queuing... So that's where he was hiding!