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

Under the eaves, Lin Meili was squatting down picking chives. Hearing footsteps, she looked up and slammed the cleaver in her hand onto the cutting board with a "clang".

"How dare you show your face here?" She straightened up, a few bits of vegetable stuck to her apron. "Such a big thing just happened at home, and you, you're asking for money?"

Banggeng shuffled along the threshold, his throat tight: "Mom... I lost my colleague's new bicycle the day before yesterday, and he has to pay for it."

"Pay up?" Lin Meili sneered, gesturing with the tip of her knife towards his stomach. "Where's your '28' motorcycle? Just push it over there, won't that solve the problem?"

"But what am I supposed to ride to the factory?"

"Walk there on your own two legs!" She reached out and pinched the soft flesh of his side, twisting it hard with her knuckles. "And lose a couple of pounds while you're at it! Look at your belly, it looks like you're carrying half a sack of rice!"

With a hiss, the stick recoiled, its lower back slamming against the door frame, wincing in pain.

"Mom, it really won't work... They don't want the old car at all, they say a new car is worth more! Please, have mercy and give me 150!"

—What a great joke!

Sun Jiang clearly only wanted 100, but he asked for 50 more, planning to take the opportunity to pocket 50 yuan, buy a pack of cigarettes, save some money for himself, and maybe even get a new towel.

He really has a crooked mind.

Lin Meili's lips moved, but she didn't utter a sound, only staring at him. After a long while, she finally squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth: "One hundred and fifty?"

She suddenly laughed, then her expression turned cold: "Why don't you just rob a bank?"

"One hundred and fifty yuan is enough to buy a brand new Flying Pigeon! You've given me a used, broken metal shell, and you're making a big fuss about it?"

"That car... was just picked up the day before yesterday."

"Just because you picked it up doesn't mean it's new! It's been ridden three times, the chain's worn smooth, how is that new? Secondhand goods are sold by weight, and you can even haggle over the price!"

She paused, picked up the scallion whites, shook off the water, and said, "What's your colleague's name? I'll go find him tomorrow and get to the bottom of this."

It's not just being stingy, it's being incredibly stingy.

Women of this age, who didn't grow up with ration coupons and food stamps? They're meticulous about every penny when it comes to bills, and haggling is ingrained in their very bones.

Later, Banggeng knelt on the threshold, pretending his legs were weak, and then whimpered like a kitten. He also brought up the story of how he helped her repair the leaky awning last year three times... Lin Meili sighed, took out a roll of small bills from the innermost pocket of her blue cloth jacket, counted out thirteen ten-yuan bills, and stuffed them into his hand.

Banggeng clutched the money tightly, turned and ran, his shoe heels almost flying off.

Just as Lin Meili straightened up by holding onto the door frame, she saw Uncle Yan Bugui, the third uncle, slowly strolling over with a bamboo cane.

That's right, he'd been holding it in for days, and he just couldn't swallow this insult. That day, he'd seen Bang Geng furtively stuff a can of gasoline into the corner of the storage room, claiming it was paint, but the pungent smell was enough to make anyone's head spin—nothing beats the eye-burning stench of paint!

As soon as the fire started, he immediately went back to check, and the jar was gone.

He couldn't sleep soundly at night if he didn't tell Shazhu about this; but if he went directly to the police station, he was afraid of damaging the relationships within the compound. After thinking it over, he decided to just let Shazhu know for now and let him make the decision.

"Third Uncle." Lin Meili quickly took two steps to greet him.

"I need to talk to Sha Zhu. There's something I need to discuss." Yan Bugui's voice was calm, but a deep wrinkle was furrowed between his brows.

Lin Meili's eyes darted around, and her hand was already on the courtyard gate: "What a coincidence, he just got drunk and started snoring as soon as he lay down. It's the same if you tell me; I promise I'll relay every word to him when he wakes up."

"It's about stick jokes."

"A stick?" Lin Meili's throat tightened, and her nails instantly dug into her palms.

She didn't reply, but stared at the tip of Yan Bugui's bamboo cane, which still had some fresh mud on it.

"Last Wednesday afternoon, I was passing by the storeroom when I saw Banggeng carrying a red tin can and stuffing it into the corner. I asked him what it was, and he said it was varnish for the window frames." Yan Bugui raised his eyelids, "But the smell—it was so strong it made your eyes water, it was clearly gasoline."

He paused, took out a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his bamboo cane: "The day after the fire was extinguished, I went to take another look... the jar was empty."

After saying that, he didn't look at Lin Meili again, but simply tapped his bamboo cane lightly on the ground, turned around and left.

His back was straight, his steps were steady, as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

Ke Lin Meili stood there, her fingers icy cold, her feet feeling as if they were on a thin layer of floating ice.

She knew—

Yan Bugui didn't explicitly say "arson," but his words implied that he was putting the flames on Banggeng's head.

Uncle San could draw out what this child was like with his eyes closed: greedy for small gains, ruthless and unreliable, bolder than a pot lid, and with a conscience thinner than a needle tip.

To do something like this? It's not surprising at all.

Lin Meili didn't cry or shout. She just slowly squatted down, picked up the leek roots that had fallen on the ground, straightened them one by one, and put them into the vegetable basket.

But as she straightened up, a tear welled up from the corner of her left eye, and another one slid down from the corner of her right eye.

The drop on the left is from anger; the drop on the right is from regret—regret for always holding him by the stove when he was little, feeding him sugar water while cooking, spoiling him into a round, unruly dough.

She raised her hand to wipe it clean, her sleeve brushing against her cheek, leaving her spotless, as if nothing had happened.

Before entering the house, she even wiped the door knocker clean, making it so shiny you could see your reflection in it.

She had it all planned out: only Yan Bugui had seen it, and he had only told her. As long as she kept quiet about it, and then found a moment when she could bring her husband along to visit the Third Uncle, offering him a pack of cigarettes and a bowl of hot glutinous rice balls, using both sweet and harsh words to beg him to keep it to himself—that way, the matter would be covered up.

Bang Geng can still live a good life, get married, have children, and live an honest life.

She never considered that some sparks burn brighter the more tightly they are contained.

In just half a month, it will be the end of the year. The Shuxiangxuan branch in Chaoyang District is all renovated, the red lanterns are hung, and the Spring Festival couplets are pasted up. It's just waiting to open its doors to welcome customers on the sixth day of the Lunar New Year...

the other side.

As soon as Li Guoman and Guan Yan finished their graduation exams, their student IDs were permanently relegated to the drawer.

Li Guoman chose a leisurely job, and on the third day after reporting for duty, he took a leave of absence without pay. He packed his bags and moved into the west wing of a courtyard house. During the day, he tinkered with radio parts, and at night he rode a tricycle to the night market, dealing in enamel mugs and Dacron shirts.

Guan Yan then joined the district planning commission. On her fifth day of work, the personnel department delivered her appointment letter to her desk—she was promoted from staff member to deputy section chief.

What seems incredibly fast to outsiders is actually quite ordinary.

After ten years without college entrance exams, grassroots levels are desperately short of students. This batch of college graduates is like the first rain falling on parched land; who wouldn't want to support them?

When the bell rang to signal the end of the workday, Guan Yan hopped on her dark green "Forever" bicycle. The basket was neatly packed with: a pound of pork belly, two pieces of tofu, a bunch of garlic sprouts, and a small bundle of neatly tied vermicelli.

The wheels rolled over the bluestone road, jingling as they headed towards the courtyard house.

Instead of living in the dormitory provided by her work unit, she moved into Li Guoman's old courtyard house, ostensibly to look after his goods and accounts, and incidentally to lend a hand and take care of his daily life.

Indeed, this courtyard served as both a residence and a storeroom—boxes were piled up in the east wing, money boxes were locked in drawers in the west room, and even several baskets of mountain produce awaiting shipment were stacked in the corner of the courtyard.

It was a medium-sized house with three courtyards and three entrances, covering an area of ​​about a thousand square meters, and there were plenty of empty rooms. Li Guoman saw that she was diligent, cooked delicious meals, and washed clothes cleanly. Since she wasn't staying for free, he happily nodded in agreement.

"Guoman, there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

At dinner, Guan Yan picked up a piece of stewed cabbage with her chopsticks, put them down, and looked up at him.

"Hmm? Speak."

Li Guoman was shoveling rice into his bowl, a grain of rice still stuck to his lips.

The two lived in the same courtyard for almost half a month, meeting by the stove, hanging clothes to dry in the courtyard, and locking their doors at night—they hadn't crossed any boundaries, but the awkwardness between them had long since disappeared.

"You know, I'm twenty-seven and still haven't had a boyfriend. My family keeps sending me letters, pressuring me to come back for blind dates before the New Year. I couldn't take it anymore, so I wrote back saying I had someone. Now they insist I bring him back to meet them. Can you do me a favor and come with me during the New Year to pretend to be my boyfriend and get through this?"

"what?"

Li Guoman stopped, his chopsticks hovering in mid-air, and the rice grains fell back into the bowl with a "plop".

Please!

Guan Yan clasped her hands together in front of her chest, her fingertips touching her chin, her eyes shining brightly, just like when she was a child begging an adult to buy her candy.

"this……"

He scratched the back of his neck, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

The 22-year-old was being asked this kind of thing by a girl five years his senior for the first time. It wasn't that he looked down on her; his brother's wife was six years older than him. He was just worried that he wouldn't be convincing enough—his parents would see him and think, "Oh, the girl is almost 30, and the young man has just graduated?" This lie wouldn't stand up to scrutiny.

"Okay." He finally nodded.

Guan Yan immediately beamed, her eyes crinkling into two crescent moons: "Thanks, Guoman!"

She liked him. His willingness to agree meant he didn't dislike her or mind her age. That little feeling was like a frozen pear drying on the windowsill—frost on the outside, but the sweet juice inside had already quietly melted away.

Seven days later, on the 25th day of the twelfth lunar month, only five days remained until Lunar New Year's Eve. Guan Yan had taken leave in advance, carrying two old canvas bags, and pulled Li Guoman onto the green train bound for Qinglongjiang.

I managed to get two soft sleeper tickets through connections, but when I got into the carriage, I found that both the upper and lower berths were full.

A middle-aged couple had their luggage scattered haphazardly across their bunk, and their quilts were spread out.

"Uncle, ma'am, this is our shop."

Li Guoman's voice wasn't loud, but his tone was taut.

The man rubbed his hands and laughed, "Young man, we're getting old, we can't stand sitting in a hard seat! After a whole day and night, my legs are stiff."

The woman quickly chimed in, patting her suitcase and sighing, "Look, everything's all packed, and moving it around like this is killing me!"

Back then, "borrowing a seat" on the train was commonplace—if you could reason with them, it was worry-free; if not, you just gave up your seat, since you wouldn't lose anything anyway.

Li Guoman had just opened his mouth when Guan Yan stepped forward and said, "No."

Before she finished speaking, the quick-wittedness of the Northeastern girl burst forth: her voice was clear and bright, every word was sharp and decisive, she didn't mince words or show weakness, and she finished off the two men in three sentences, leaving them red-faced and unable to speak properly.

In the end, without even needing to call the train police, the couple sheepishly packed their bags and slunk away, giving up their berth.

Li Guoman stood there, staring blankly at her—just a moment ago she was like a cat with its fur standing on end, but now she turned around and squatted down, deftly smoothing out the sheets, tucking the blankets in, and placing the two boxes side by side against the wall, her movements as practiced as if she were picking vegetables in her own kitchen.

"Okay, lie down now!"

She patted the lower bunk, smiled at him, turned around and stepped onto the small ladder. She climbed up to the upper bunk in a few steps, rolled over and lay down, her boots still on and her toes dangling.

Li Guoman hurriedly said, "Guan Yan, give me the lower bunk!"

"No need, I'm used to sleeping high up." She waved her hand, pulled the blanket up so only her eyes were visible, "You're light, you'll easily roll off if you sleep on top."

He opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't argue.