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

Her ankles were slender, her skin was so white it seemed to glow, her insteps had a smooth curve, and her toes were round and pink. He stared at her for two seconds, then suddenly felt his heart skip a beat.

"What are you looking at?" She suddenly looked up, her tone cold and hard.

If she hadn't already lost her virginity to him last night, she would have slapped him again based on that look in his eyes.

"N-no!" He hurriedly lowered his head, his ears burning. "I...I was daydreaming."

It turns out that such a small piece of bone and skin on a woman's body can make people's minds go blank.

He shook his head, forcing himself to clear his mind, unscrewed the bottle cap, poured out some medicated oil, rubbed it in his palm to warm it, and then gently lifted her ankle, his fingertips avoiding the swollen area, slowly massaging it in circles.

She gritted her teeth, her nails digging into her palms, forcing back a groan. If it weren't for the fact that his face was so handsome—high brow bones, a straight nose, and a very faint mole under his eye—she would have kicked him away right now.

It wasn't until 6 p.m. that she finally walked out of the hotel with Li Guoshu by his side. Her ankle was covered in medicine, and she was still limping. He kept supporting her by the elbow, at just the right distance.

Today is Sunday, and the TV station is closed, so she doesn't need to rush back to her post.

After spending half a day together, the cause and effect became clear: she was an investigative reporter for the city's radio station, and her superiors had assigned her to follow up on the local investment projects of foreign businessman Chen Weibang. He suggested "talking over a meal," so she went with him to the meeting—but the man, who appeared refined, kept urging her to drink during the meal, and before she could even put down her chopsticks, she felt dizzy.

Li Guoshu escorted her to the TV station's dormitory building and didn't go any further up.

She stood on the steps, looked up at him, and said, "I don't want people to know about what happened today."

"I understand," he nodded. "I won't mention a word about it."

As the evening breeze blew by, she raised her hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her fingertips still carrying the lingering coolness.

Her boss was no pushover either. To meet the deadline, he stubbornly pretended not to see anything—treating the incident at the dinner table as if it had never happened. If she hadn't had a sudden change of heart, grabbed the unopened bottle of Erguotou from the table, smashed it on the businessman's forehead with a "bang," and then, clutching a half-damp tissue, shouted to the two men in black at the door, "Stomach ache, can I use the restroom?" she probably wouldn't have even reached the door of the private room.

Later, she ran into Li Guoshu, who stopped her and took her back to her residence, which could be considered a rescue. But this "rescue" felt like a hot potato being stuffed into her heart—he got off easy, but she couldn't swallow her anger.

"Do you need my help?"

His voice was soft, but it carried a hint of probing, as if afraid of startling a sparrow that had just landed.

After all, what happened last night was still there, and he felt he was indebted to the event, so he couldn't bear not mentioning it.

"No need, I can handle it myself."

Wang Tingxi answered decisively, but her fingertips unconsciously tightened the hem of her clothes.

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, before speaking again, "Then... if I'm not busy, can I come to see you?"

As the words left her mouth, the chaotic scene from last night flashed before her eyes: she had fallen onto the sofa, her hair ribbon was loose, her eyes were red, and she was cursing "bastard" while her hands didn't push him away... Once the thought popped into her head, she couldn't suppress it anymore.

Wang Tingxi looked up at him, her expression calm, but inside she seemed to be struggling with several conflicting emotions: she wanted to say "no," but her innocence had been compromised, and refusing would seem pretentious; she wanted to agree, but her heart felt like it was being bound by a thin rope, tightening tightly—how could they talk about marriage after only knowing each other for a few days?

That afternoon, she did stand by the window for a long time, thinking about marrying him. These days, who you give your body to and who you spend your life with is a perfectly normal plan. But the thought of spending your life with a man who doesn't even know what his favorite food is made the idea dissipate like steam.

In the end, she neither nodded nor shook her head. The two exchanged phone numbers, left the alley, and walked in different directions, their shadows stretched long by the setting sun, one in front of the other, without looking back.

-

"Jiacheng, Guoman, a stranger came to our door today, saying he has some cassette tapes, and they're two yuan cheaper per tape than ours."

In a private room on the second floor of Shuxiangxuan, Li Guohang put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, and spoke in a flat tone, as if he were saying that the dishes were too salty today.

That's right. Wang Hanli had barely gotten the pirated cassette tapes into Beijing when he went through several roundabout ways to find Li Guohang—the "gatekeeper" of the underground distribution channels in the north. He wanted Li to act as a distributor.

In fact, the sound quality, packaging, and tape transport smoothness are exactly the same as the genuine product. The only difference is a piece of paper: the authorization certificate.

For ordinary people, who cares about that piece of paper? It's a two-yuan discount, enough to buy half a pound of pork, and you can listen to three more songs.

Many people even specifically choose to buy the cheapest ones, just for the sake of getting a good deal.

The uncle and nephew exchanged a glance—Li Guohang was in his early forties, while Li Jiacheng was only twenty-six, but their eyes met and they both understood the fire burning in each other's hearts.

"Uncle Air China, what do you look like? Where's your factory?"

"Dare to steal my and Uncle Guoman's livelihood? I'll make sure he can't even sell cassette tape cases."

Li Jiacheng sneered, his voice low but sharp as a blade scraping through sheet metal.

The cassette tape factory produces 200,000 tapes a month, netting 1.2 million yuan, over 10 million yuan a year—a veritable money tree. Now that someone's come with an axe to cut down the roots, it's no wonder he's anxious.

Li Guoman also had a stern face, tapping his knuckles twice on the edge of the table. Cutting off someone's livelihood is almost like desecrating their ancestral graves—aren't you angry? Of course you are.

"That person only relayed messages; he couldn't even say where the goods came from. He brought samples, a price list, and a phone number." Li Guohang picked up a lion's head meatball, took a slow bite, and said, "I checked; it's a US number."

"Ordered in the US, delivered domestically," he added after chewing and swallowing.

Wang Hanli's move was extremely clever: by hanging the phone line overseas, he effectively cut off all leads in the investigation. Want to follow the trail? You'd have to search through business registration files city by city. Beijing alone has over a thousand registered factories, not to mention Tianjin, Shenyang, Harbin… it's like finding a needle in a haystack.

He was so cautious not because he was afraid of getting caught, but to protect the tape factory and his nephew Wang Tingxuan—that kid was still in charge of quality control at the factory and couldn't be allowed to get involved in anything.

"This guy's slippery." Li Jiacheng frowned, tapping the table with the tip of his chopsticks. "He tossed the phone aside, and we couldn't even tell which way was which."

"What do we do now?" Li Guoman asked.

"First, screen the major cities and check all registered factories with the words 'recording,' 'audio-visual,' or 'electronic' in their names. Give priority to foreign-invested enterprises—local people wouldn't dare to run factories so openly," Li Jiacheng said. "If we can't find them, we'll push down to medium-sized cities and small counties, peeling back the layers."

"The supply line also needs to be blocked," Li Guohang added, flicking his cigarette ash into his bone dish. "I'll have Lao Zhou pretend to place an order and send two people to follow the delivery truck. Wherever the truck comes from, that's where the factory is."

He paused, picked up a slice of braised beef, and said, "It's a family business, so we should always help each other out. Even if others get a discount, it can't compare to this gesture of goodwill."

"But we have to be quick," Li Jiacheng warned. "If we drag it out, the goods will end up in the hands of small vendors in Panjiayuan and Xiushui Street, and then nobody will buy our genuine products."

"I understand." He nodded, without saying anything more.

-

After the dinner party, Li Guohang rode the second-hand Jialing motorcycle that his younger brother Li Guojiang had just bought, sputtering through several alleys, and stopped at the entrance of the east wing of the courtyard house.

There was no other way. Three years ago, Zhong Linlin became pregnant again, so he had to buy this house. He didn't give her a formal title, but she lived a more honest life than the first wife—everyone outside called her the "second wife."

"dad!"

Three-year-old Li Jinyuan ran out as soon as she heard the sound of the motorcycle, hugged his leg, and smiled with her little face upturned.

"Ouch, my little cannonball." Li Guohang bent down, picked her up, and weighed her in his hand. "She's gotten heavier."

This is Zhong Linlin's second child. She was born strong and healthy, and has two dimples when she smiles.

"Jin Yuan, hurry back to your room, wash your feet, and go to sleep!" Zhong Linlin poked her body out from the doorway of the main room, her voice so soft it could melt your heart.

The meaning couldn't be clearer: the people have arrived, it's time to get down to business.

Now, this is the only thing that keeps the warmth between them going.

As the old saying goes, familiarity breeds affection, but sometimes "familiarity" also needs to be built upon "actions".

"Hmph! Every time Daddy comes, I have to sleep!" Li Jinyuan said, hands on her hips, her cheeks puffed out. "I want to ride a horse!"

His mature demeanor made Li Guohang burst out laughing on the spot.

"Linlin, go wipe yourself first. I'll play with Yuanyuan for ten minutes."

He lifted his daughter up and coaxed her earnestly.

Zhong Linlin leaned against the door frame, her eyes sparkling: "I...want to take a bath with Teacher Guohang~"

"What nonsense are you spouting!" Li Guohang said sternly, though his ears were secretly burning. "The child is listening!"

—But the image of her standing under the showerhead, foam dripping down her collarbone, had already surfaced in my mind.

"Then... shall I go and run the water first?" She blinked, unable to hide her smile.

"Wait a minute!" He coughed, quite seriously. "The toy isn't even unpacked yet. Play this game with her until she's asleep."

Two hours later.

-

Zhong Linlin leaned against the headboard and offered her a cigarette. The flame flickered and illuminated her fingers, which were painted with light pink nail polish.

"Air China, my brother has completed the formalities and is on unpaid leave."

"Okay, I got it. Tell him to meet me at the east entrance of Xiushui Street tomorrow morning. I've rented a warehouse there." Li Guohang exhaled a smoke ring.

Zhong Linlin's brother used to be a technician in a textile factory. Seeing Li Guohang's business growing bigger and bigger, he couldn't sit still any longer. Now that the tide of reform and opening up is at his feet, he also wants to jump in.

After smoking two-thirds of his cigarette, Li Guohang got up to wash up. Zhong Linlin reached out and tugged at his sleeve: "Want to lie down a little longer?"

He shook his head, draped a towel over his shoulder, and said in a damp voice, "No, I'm going home."

—That's what they said, but when they reached the gate of the courtyard, they stopped and looked back at the window with the light on.

In the lamplight, she was bending down to tuck the blanket around Li Jinyuan.

Zhong Linlin watched him walk out of the building entrance. His figure was stretched long and thin by the streetlights. She lowered her eyes, her fingertips unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes. Her expression was as calm as a deep pool of water, but something was churning beneath.

When Li Guohang opened the door, Song Xiaoqin was leaning against the headboard, flipping through an old magazine. Her dark green velvet nightgown was loosely wrapped around her body, the neckline slightly open, and the sleeves slipped down to her forearms—not casually, but deliberately; not by chance, but waiting for him.

"Xiaoqin, haven't you rested yet?"

His voice was strained, with the last syllable rising in pitch, as if he were speaking on thin ice.

The skirt was provocative, and the message was clear: they wanted to be intimate today. But he had just spent two nights with Zhong Linlin, and his back and legs ached so much that he was too tired to even breathe heavily.

"Hmm, I've been waiting for you." Song Xiaoqin closed the book, looked up and smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, but there was no warmth in them. "Come on up, let me massage your shoulders and then take good care of you."

That smile was like icing sugar, with needles hidden beneath.