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

What he didn't know was that Lin Meili hadn't mentioned the can of gasoline from before the Lunar New Year to Sha Zhu at all. She only thought that Sha Zhu was sentimental and soft-hearted, which was why he kept covering for Bang Geng time and time again; little did she know that Sha Zhu was completely unaware that the gasoline had entered the hospital.

This misunderstanding, like a thin fog, quietly obscured the truth, and made Bang Geng even more unrestrained, his actions becoming increasingly reckless.

Li Guoxian and Xu Damao helped Yi Zhonghai into the house, one on each side, and the crowd dispersed in twos and threes. The courtyard became quiet, with only the rustling of the wind sweeping through the withered grass in the cracks of the blue bricks.

"What a terrible thing to do... How could Banggeng do that?"

"Does he really not understand that it's illegal?"

As soon as Yan Bugui stepped into the main room, he couldn't help but shake his head, his voice as heavy as if a stone had fallen on it.

The three women were sitting on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) sewing shoe soles, their needle and thread moving back and forth through the coarse cloth. Hearing the noise, they were startled: "What? A stick? What law is that against?"

"Sigh—" He sighed deeply, rubbed his rough hands, and then told the story of how he had bumped into Banggeng carrying a tin bucket into the courtyard before the New Year. "The bucket was filled with gasoline. The restaurant caught fire today, but the lock was intact, the key opened it, and there wasn't a single pry mark inside—only acquaintances can get in."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the old key with a brass hook hanging on the stove: "He lives in the same courtyard as Sha Zhu and Lin Meili. Borrowing a key is just a simple matter of asking for help, isn't it?"

"Huh?!" The third woman's hand trembled, and the thimble slipped from her grasp. "You...you told Sha Zhu and the others?"

"I told him." Yan Bugui nodded, then lowered his eyes again. "But he didn't call the police. I guess he still wants to leave him a way out."

"And the result?"

"And then..." He raised his hand to wipe his face, his voice hoarse, "the fire started again."

He sat down at the eight-immortal table, his knuckles pressed against his temples, his forehead propped up. "That brat Banggeng, I watched him grow up. He's dishonest, crooked-minded, spoiled rotten by Jia Zhangshi, and Lin Meili is even more protective of him—spoiling him so much, he's become a menace!"

The old woman curled her lip and wiped the needle on her temple: "I told you he wasn't someone to be trifled with. I saw him steal Old Ding's dried sausages last time, and I even covered for him. Now look what he's done, he's burned the house down!"

"This time, Sha Zhu won't be able to fool us anymore." She clapped her hands, splattering oil onto her apron. "He needs to give his brother-in-law an explanation, right?"

"That's right." Yan Bugui picked up his enamel mug and took a sip of cold tea. "I heard that shop in the west of the city is almost finished. If we turn a blind eye again, who knows if he won't order somewhere else next time."

"But arson is a serious crime," the third woman said in a low voice. "It's a restaurant that's burning down; lives are at stake. Money can't make up for it. If you get arrested, you'll either die or spend half your life in jail."

"He's unlikely to be executed, but he'll probably spend the rest of his life in jail."

Yan Bugui slammed the jar on the table, splashing water everywhere: "To cover it up once is foolish; to cover it up again is to condone it! If he doesn't stop, he'll cause even bigger trouble in the future, and who can bear the consequences?"

"But... what if Lin Meili pleads for mercy again?"

"Then I'll go to their door and talk to Sha Zhu face to face." He stood up, his trouser leg brushing against the table leg. "She's the one who's protective of her own, but he's the one who's soft-hearted—I'm looking for Sha Zhu because I'm looking for someone who'll still listen to me."

-

At 5:30 in the morning, the sky was just beginning to turn a pale gray. Guan Yan, wearing a faded blue apron, was busy in the kitchen: the steamer basket was filled with plump, white meat buns, the casserole was bubbling with millet porridge, the hot oil in the wok sizzled, and golden-yellow fried dough sticks floated to the surface. On the cutting board was a small dish of stir-fried preserved pork with pickled vegetables—a glossy, dark brown sauce with alternating layers of fat and lean meat, its salty aroma filling the air.

Li Guoman yawned and lifted the curtain to come in. His hair was disheveled and his cuffs were still stained with machine oil from repairing the radio last night.

"Almost done. The porridge is hot, have some warm water first." Guan Yan didn't turn her head, lightly flipping the spatula, and the cured meat sizzled, making the aroma even stronger.

"Oh!" he replied, but didn't move. He just leaned against the door frame, staring at the fair skin on the back of her neck and the curve of her waistline under her apron.

For the past six months, the meals had been plentiful. Her once slender shoulders had become more rounded, and her hips fuller. Her skirt swayed gently as she walked, like willow branches pushed by spring water. His Adam's apple bobbed as he watched. Suddenly, he stepped forward, hooked his fingers around the sash of her skirt, and tugged—

Guan Yan stopped, placed the spatula back on the stove edge, and without turning around, simply hummed softly. The flames had died down, and she braced herself against the slightly hot stove edge, her breathing becoming a little heavier.

After breakfast, the two sat side by side on the back of the bicycle. She held his waist as he pedaled through the alley in the morning light. When they returned from getting their marriage certificate, it was a striking red. The two laughed all the way, never letting go of each other's hands.

At 11 a.m., Li Jiacheng entered carrying a canvas bag, his trouser legs still damp with dew. He had come to discuss choosing a location for their factory, but as soon as he sat down, he lowered his voice and said, "Uncle Shazhu's new restaurant is booked again!"

Li Guoman slammed his enamel mug on the table with a loud "bang!": "What?!"

Guan Yan, who was wiping the dishes, also stopped what she was doing, the rag hanging in mid-air.

"The first time it burned down was the one on the south side, this time it was a newly opened one on the east street—the lock wasn't broken, someone went in with a key, poured oil on it, and set it on fire."

"Gasoline?" Li Guoman blurted out.

Guan Yan immediately chimed in, "Yes! Yesterday afternoon, Bang Geng carried a gray metal bucket into the yard, and the smell was so strong it made your eyes water—I could tell it was gasoline!"

"A bucket?!" Li Jiacheng leaned forward, his eyes shining brightly. "He carried a bucket into the yard? When?"

"It was right when we came back from my father-in-law's house," Li Guoman wiped his face, "Your aunt has a keen nose; she can tell just by smelling it. Jiacheng, isn't that a coincidence—he walked in the door, and the restaurant was already steaming!"

Li Jiacheng didn't reply, but suddenly stood up, slung his canvas bag over his shoulder, and said, "Let's go! Let's go find Uncle Guolei!"

Just before leaving, he suddenly turned around: "Auntie, what does that iron bucket look like? Is it rusty? Is the handle bent or straight?"

Guan Yan thought for a moment, then pointed to the earthenware jar for pickling pickled mustard greens by the stove: "It's about the same height as this jar, the body of the jar has some paint chipping, and there's a small piece of porcelain missing from the right handle."

Li Jiacheng nodded and stepped across the threshold.

The wind blew in through the open courtyard gate, making the red paper with the words "Congratulations on Your Wedding" on the window sill rustle softly.

the other side.

The hospital rooftop.

The wind was a bit cool, and the iron gate swayed slightly, making a creaking sound.

"Snapped!"

A crisp slap rang out, silencing the entire floor for a moment.

Lin Meili stared at Bang Geng, her fingers still hovering in mid-air, her knuckles white: "Bang Geng, why did you burn down your father's restaurant?"

Banggeng covered his left cheek, which burned with pain, but he kept his head turned away, not daring to lift it: "It really wasn't me... Mother, you must have misheard me, I didn't do it."

Lin Meili sneered, pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, and unfolded it: "Before the fire in Xidan, Uncle San saw you carrying a tin bucket and stuffing it into the woodpile in the backyard—the bucket even had the words 'Hongmei Brand' printed on it. Do you think people are blind?"

Banggeng's Adam's apple bobbed, but he remained defiant: "Just because I took the bucket doesn't mean I started a fire! The bucket was filled with paint, I told you!"

"Paint?" Lin Meili took a step forward, her shadow pressing against his face. "Do you think the police station's lab is just for show? Uncle San just sent the oil stains scraped from the bottom of the bucket for testing yesterday—gasoline, pure."

Bang Geng swayed, his face turning ashen. He suddenly remembered that day: the bucket wasn't screwed on tightly, and two drops leaked onto the back of his hand, sticky and pungent; the Third Uncle came out from behind the wall, and he casually said, "For painting the wall," and turned to leave... It turned out that the man had been squatting there waiting to see.

Regret, like ice water, poured down my spine from the back of my neck.

His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees on the concrete floor. "Mother! I was wrong! Please don't let Uncle San go to the police station to testify... If I go in, I'll never come out!"

Lin Meili didn't help him up; she only looked down at her son's hunched shoulders, her voice hoarse: "Scared?"

"Are you scared now?"

"Why weren't you afraid when you lit the fire?"

Banggeng opened his mouth, but made no sound.

Lin Meili stared at him for three seconds, then suddenly shouted, "Speak!"

He trembled, his forehead pressed against the crack in the floor tiles: "...I'm angry at He Xiao... He's two years younger than me. Mother always praised him for being sensible and good at studying. Even Uncle Shazhu said he'd hand over the kitchen to him in the future... But that shop should have been mine! I'm the eldest son!"

As soon as she finished speaking, Lin Meili looked up and smiled.

It wasn't a sneer, nor a mocking laugh; it was the kind of laughter that came from a throat full of blood, eyes brimming with tears, and shoulders trembling. The laughter grew louder and louder, eventually turning into a gasping sob, tears streaming down his nasolabial folds, leaving dark streaks along the edge of his mask.

"What a joke..." She wiped her face, her voice so soft it was almost a soliloquy. "I taught He Xiao to recite 'Serve the People' every day, and made him write 'When I grow up, I want to be a grain station accountant'; I collected his brother's old notebooks and copied the 'Food Hygiene Regulations' page by page; I pestered Sha Zhu seven times just to change the restaurant's name to 'Xiangyang Canteen' so that the official seal would have the words 'Collectively Owned' engraved on it..."

She paused, her nails digging into her palms: "I was looking forward to your twentieth birthday, to personally hand you the marriage certificate—but you set it on fire, burning the business license, the fire safety inspection certificate, and all thirty notebooks of your brother's copied notes to ashes."

"You didn't just burn the house down," she stared at him, "you chopped your mother's heart into pieces, poured oil on it, and set it on fire."

"You're just a lump of stinking mud that can't be warmed up!"

"He can't be helped up, nor can he stand up straight!"

She pounced on him, her fists pounding his back, each blow heavier than the last, as if she were beating a piece of rotten wood.

Banggeng cried and dodged, "Mother! Please think of something! Find someone to say a word, pull some strings... I can't go to jail!"

Lin Meili stopped what she was doing, panting heavily, and suddenly bent down to pull him up: "Let's go."

She led him downstairs, and as they passed the ward, she nodded to Xiao Dang and He Xiao: "Keep an eye on your father, don't let outsiders get close."

The two children nodded in unison, with Xiao Dang still clutching half a piece of unfinished sugar cake in his hand.

In the east wing of the courtyard house, Uncle Yan Bugui, the third uncle, was sitting on a small bamboo stool peeling garlic. The garlic skins were snow-white and scattered all over the floor.

Lin Meili pulled the stick through the door, and without saying a word, she bent her knees—

"Thump!"

"Thump!"

The two knelt on the blue brick floor, their knees hitting each other with a dull thud.

"Oh dear! No, you mustn't!" The third auntie hurriedly threw down her palm-leaf fan.

"Get up! Get up!" Yan Bugui reached out to help her up, but then withdrew his hand halfway and sighed, "Lin Meili, this time... it's really difficult."

Lin Meili didn't look up, but placed Bang Geng's hand on her back and made him kowtow as well: "Third Uncle, please believe me this once—no matter how bad he is, he is still Sha Zhu's nephew, the child you watched grow up."

Yan Bugui stopped peeling garlic. A thin crack appeared on the garlic clove, and juice seeped out, like a tear about to fall.