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

Yan Bugui had a keen sense of smell. He took a sniff and his brow furrowed—something was wrong. He followed the smell closer, lifted the lid of the box, unscrewed the can lid, took another sniff, and then looked down at the blurry printed words on the can: "Oh dear, this kid, is he using gasoline instead of paint?" He shook his head and turned to leave.

He thought: The storage shed is spacious and far from the house, and there is an old well next to it. If something goes wrong, a ladle of water can extinguish the fire.

At two o'clock in the morning, the clock tower struck three times in the distance, and the courtyard was so quiet that only the chirping of insects could be heard.

Banggeng crept into Shazhu's room and gently pushed open the half-closed door. Shazhu and Lin Meili had just rested, both exhausted, their breathing even and deep. He tiptoed to the bedside, took the key from Shazhu's pocket, and moved as lightly as a cat stepping on a tile.

Before leaving, he tied the gasoline can to the back of his bicycle and pedaled very fast.

Upon arriving at the "Siheju" (a traditional courtyard house), he unlocked the door and slipped inside silently. Starting from the kitchen, he splashed oil along the stove, cutting board, dining table, and door frame, quickly filling the air with the stench of grease. He didn't go upstairs—once the fire started, the thick smoke would rush up, and no one could escape.

Standing at the door, he took out his lighter, and with a "click," the flame shot up two inches high.

He stared at the light, his voice as cold as well water: "If I can't have it, you can forget about it too."

With a flick of his wrist, the lighter traced an arc before "plop" hitting the oil puddle.

boom--!

Flames suddenly shot up, licking the table legs, lunging at the curtains, and swirling around the beams. The orange-red flames reflected on his face, sweat mingling with his smile lines as they streamed down, his mouth stretched into a deep, fierce grin.

He turned around and pushed the cart, never looking back. When he returned to the courtyard, he stopped by the well, scooped up a ladle of cold water and splashed it on his face, then put the key back into Sha Zhu's pocket, his actions as practiced as a daily routine.

As soon as I closed the door, I looked up and bumped into Xiao Dang, who was wearing a bear-patterned pajama and slippers, standing in the hallway rubbing his eyes.

"Brother...where have you been?"

Xiao Dang's voice was still sleepy and she seemed dazed.

"Shh—" Bang Geng raised a finger and pressed it to his lips, but didn't blink.

Banggeng panicked instantly, quickly put his index finger to his lips, and hurriedly "shushed" his younger sister Xiaodang.

As soon as Xiao Dang opened her mouth, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of Sha Zhu's house. He coaxed her in a low voice as they walked, agreeing to her three strange requests—a new hair clip, a candy wrapper to fill a tin box, and him to copy her homework for three days—before finally suppressing Xiao Dang's eagerness to tattle.

And what about Shuxiangxuan? Overnight, it was burned down to a charred, jagged skeleton. The beams collapsed, the brick walls crumbled, and even the character "Shu" on the signboard curled into a ball of ash, fluttering down in the wind.

The fire started at three in the morning. The whole alley was fast asleep; no one heard the crackling sounds, and no one saw the crimson flames shooting into the sky. It wasn't until seven in the morning, when Sha Zhu, carrying his keys and humming a tune, strolled to the shop entrance, that he suddenly stopped—

A group of elderly men and women, who had gotten up early for their morning stroll, were pointing and commenting in front of the ruins. He stared at them intently, and it felt as if someone had gripped his heart tightly; a lump formed in his throat, neither rising nor falling.

Only one word kept replaying in my mind:

Finish.

"Wah—woo—wah—woo—"

The sirens ripped through the morning light, and the red lights of the fire trucks shone blindingly as they pulled up one after another at the alley entrance.

Li Guotao also arrived, not even having had time to change out of his suit, his tie askew, sweat beading on his forehead. He squatted by the charred doorstep, poking at the half-melted oil can with the tip of his shoe. The metal was black, the can intact, the keyhole gleaming, without pry marks or scratches; the door had been opened by someone's own hands.

The investigation quickly revealed that the arson was committed with gasoline, and the perpetrator was highly likely an acquaintance.

This case is too serious, and it involves Li Guotao. The branch office held an emergency meeting overnight and slammed their fists on the table—they must find that person and leave no one behind.

After giving his statement at the police station, Sha Zhu walked out of the gate with a hunched back, as if his spine had been removed.

Although Shuxiangxuan was badly burned, the fire didn't spread up to the third floor, and the main structure was still intact, requiring only demolition and reconstruction. Li Guotao immediately decided, "I'll cover all the losses." But Shazhu stood at the empty kitchen doorway, staring at the half-eaten electrical wire hanging from the ceiling, feeling empty inside, as if a piece of his flesh had been ripped out.

This shop was something he had worked hard for three years, saving every penny on food, sweeping the steps 360 times in the morning frost, and counting down the last light to go out after closing time. He dared not relax for even a moment, afraid that one day his hand would slip and life would slip back to the way it was before—but what he feared most was what he encountered most.

He walked into the courtyard with his head down. Just as he turned into the gate, he bumped into an old man carrying a birdcage, who was about to go out for a stroll.

"Huh? Sha Zhu? Why are you back so early today? Shouldn't you be opening the shop?"

An old man shook the birdcage and chuckled, adding, "Oh, what a long face... like someone owes you eight strings of cash? Don't worry, I'm still in good health, it's not time for you to be in mourning!"

Sha Zhu forced a smile, his throat dry: "The old man's... shop was burned down last night."

The old man's smile froze, the birdcage shook, and the thrush inside flapped its wings and chirped twice.

He opened his mouth, but only managed to utter one word: "Huh?"

The news spread faster than cooking smoke.

Before noon, the entire courtyard knew that Shuxiangxuan had been set on fire and burned to the ground.

Some people gasped in surprise, while others clicked their tongues in astonishment.

This is Beijing, after all. The police officers patrolling the streets are denser than locust tree leaves, and the security is so strict that even a stray cat rummaging through a trash can will be watched closely by the police. Yet, this is the kind of thing that happened—murder and arson. The word "arson" comes after "murder," but it is still a top-level serious crime.

Everyone in the courtyard had their own thoughts:

Envious of Sha Zhu's booming business, he turned around and grinned secretly.

Those who genuinely cared about him included an elderly man, an elderly woman, and He Xiao, who immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed to his home upon hearing the news.

Lin Meili didn't show herself, but had Xiao Dang bring over a bowl of hot soup with several thick pieces of meat buried at the bottom—ostensibly to comfort her, but actually to figure out: if the matter of Bang Geng couldn't be covered up, how would she secure a stable job for her son in the future?

Where are Huaihua and Xiaodang? The two of them are squatting by the windowsill shelling edamame. Xiaodang shells one and throws it away. Huaihua asks her what she's thinking about, but she doesn't even look up: "I'm thinking about whether I can still eat braised pork knuckle every day in the future."

Blood ties are a tricky thing; they warm slowly but cool quickly. A smiling face may be on one hand, offering a bowl of soup, but in the other's heart, a clear line has already been drawn.

Two people also had doubts.

One of them was Uncle Yan Bugui, the third oldest man in the family. A few days ago, he passed by the storeroom and saw Banggeng furtively stuffing a tin can behind an old wooden box. The lid wasn't even screwed on tightly, and a pungent smell hit him right in the face. He didn't say anything at the time, but now that the fire has started, that smell of gasoline is back... He stroked his beard and paced around the yard three times, but ultimately didn't say anything.

The other one is Xiao Dang.

Last night, when she got up in the middle of the night, she saw her brother emerge from Sha Zhu and her mother's room, clutching a bunch of keys in his hand. The metal reflected the moonlight, looking cold and white. She didn't say anything, just bit her lip and went back to her room—after all, Bang Geng had promised to buy her a new hair clip, promised to help her copy her homework, and even promised... not to tell her mother that she had secretly hidden 50 cents of her New Year's money.

Three days have passed since this incident.

The police station questioned all the employees in the shop, especially those with keys. But everyone was innocent: they were paid on time, received holiday bonuses, and Sha Zhu was kind and honest, never using foul language when he cursed. Who would be so foolish as to burn down their own restaurant?

The case is stuck.

The police had no choice but to expand their investigation—checking Sha Zhu's relatives, Li Guotao's contacts, and the neighbors of the employees. Even the regular customers who often came to eat spicy chicken and the owner of the newly opened "Chuanweige" restaurant next door were invited for tea.

The stem is fine.

He has irrefutable evidence: he played cards all night at Sun Jiang's house, and six people testified that even the sunflower seed shells from the wins and losses were piled up on the corner of the table and not swept away.

But trouble has to come from Sun Jiang.

That evening, Sun Jiang, with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, leaned against the corner of the courtyard wall. Seeing Bang Geng swaying over, he immediately went to greet him, a cloying smile on his face: "Hey, Bang Geng—you, your stepfather's shop, you lit the fire yourself, didn't you?"

Bang Geng stopped in his tracks, his face turning deathly pale, but he retorted defiantly, "Nonsense! Stop spouting nonsense!"

"Tsk tsk, what's the rush?" Sun Jiang flicked his cigarette, his smile growing even more sinister. "Last Wednesday, who was squatting by the back door of the auto repair shop with ten dollars in their pocket, waiting for me? Who said 'as long as the oil doesn't smell, any price is fine'?"

He took a half step forward, lowered his voice, and said, "—It's you?"

Bang Geng's heart sank suddenly.

Of course he remembered. That can of oil was siphoned off by Sun Jiang from a scrapped car; it wasn't filtered and was covered in bluish-gray foam.

He immediately understood—this wasn't casual conversation, it was a ploy to extort money.

"What do you want?" Bang Geng clenched his hand in his pocket, his nails digging into his palm.

(He should have thought of this sooner. A man like Sun Jiang can be your sworn brother, but he can also boil you to a pulp.)

"Sigh, I've been having a really bad run of luck lately, I've almost bet my underwear," Sun Jiang said slowly, rubbing his right thumb and forefinger. "Can you lend me a hundred bucks to tide me over?"

"One hundred?!" Bang Geng nearly jumped up. "I don't even have ten coins in my pocket right now! Do you think I run a bank?!"

"I don't care about that." Sun Jiang shrugged, glancing at him dismissively. "Your stepfather has been running a restaurant for years and made a fortune. Go ask him for it."

—But inwardly he scoffed: guarding a gold nugget, yet so poor he can't even afford fifty dollars, he's truly a hopeless case.

"Him?" Banggeng gave a bitter laugh, kicking away a small pebble at his feet. "The shop's gone, he's fallen apart, he's been drinking Erguotou all day, so drunk he can barely hold chopsticks. Me, borrow money? That's like walking into the line of fire!"

He paused, his voice becoming hoarse, "When he really gets angry... I got more than just a beating."

The sycamore leaves rustled at the alley entrance, and the setting sun cast long, thin shadows of the two people, one in front of the other, like two intertwined snakes.

"Go ask your mother for the money. If I don't see a hundred yuan by tomorrow morning, I'm going to the police station to file a formal complaint."

Sun Jiang said this without even raising his eyelids, turned around and left, his shoes scraping against the blue bricks, making a short, rustling sound.

Banggeng stood frozen in place, his face like dried dough, tight and hard.

He clenched his empty pockets, then lowered his head and shuffled toward his own gate.