Courtyard House: From Deputy Division Commander to Civilian, Progressing All the Way

Intermediate People's Court.

Liu Haizhong was wearing a dirty, tattered cotton-padded jacket and carrying a mop made from a broken broom. He had just returned from cleaning the public toilet at the entrance of the alley.

He was covered in the pungent smell of ammonia and coal dust, and most of his hair was gray. Hearing the radio and laughter coming from He Daqing's room, a hint of pain and jealousy flashed across Liu Haizhong's old face.

Back then, he arrogantly seized power from Lin Fan at the Hongxing Steel Rolling Mill, only to be left with a pile of scrap metal and unachievable production targets. Ultimately, he was not only dismissed but also demoted to a street-level job as a sanitation worker sweeping public toilets. His eldest son, Liu Guangqi, had long since severed ties with him, and his second son, Liu Guangtian, although holding a deputy director position in the street office, feared being implicated by his "mistaken" father, Liu Haizhong, and moved out long ago, rarely returning home even for ten days or half a month.

Now, Liu Haizhong's only hope each day is to avoid being dragged out and criticized by those red armband-wearing officials.

He shrank back and glanced at the tightly locked main gate of the Lin family's house. The red paint on the door was still bright and shiny, exuding an aura of authority that he could not reach.

Liu Haizhong sighed and staggered back to his drafty side room.

In the backyard, inside Xu Damao's house, the sounds of a desperate argument, like selling everything they owned, could be heard.

"Xu Damao! You useless piece of trash! Look at He Yuzhu, he drives a Jeep around every day, living the high life! And you? You even lost your projectionist job, now you're carrying sacks in a factory, you can't even earn back that meager amount of grain!"

Wang Cuihua's rough voice pierced through the window paper.

Xu Damao covered his scratched face, squatted in the corner, so frustrated that he didn't dare to utter a sound.

In his attempt to climb the corporate ladder, he wrote an anonymous letter reporting Lin Fan, which was discovered by Zhao Lichun's informant within the factory. Although it didn't cost him his life, it resulted in him being stripped of his projectionist position and reassigned to the foundry workshop to do the hardest and most physically demanding manual labor. Now, Xu Damao suffers from back pain and exhaustion from the heavy workload every day, and when he gets home, he's subjected to beatings and verbal abuse from his shrewish wife. His life is worse than death.

Qin Huairu was sitting on the kang (heated brick bed) in the Jia family home, mending a tattered garment by the moonlight.

Two years ago, Jia Zhangshi suffered a stroke and became paralyzed. Now she lies in bed all day, needing help with eating, drinking, and toileting. The house is filled with a persistent, foul odor.

Qin Huairu's appearance had aged drastically. Her hands, from years of washing clothes in cold water, were cracked and bleeding, and her finger joints were large and deformed. She listened to the radio coming from the front yard; the stirring song "The East Is Red" felt like a dull knife cutting into her heart.

She recalled that more than a decade ago, when Lin Fan was still an apprentice. Back then, there was clearly a hint of affection in Lin Fan's eyes when he looked at her.

If only I hadn't been materialistic and hadn't married the short-lived Jia Dongxu, but instead chosen the honest and reliable Lin Fan...

So today, the one living in that high-ranking cadre compound, wearing an officer's woolen overcoat, enjoying special state supplies, is Qin Huairu. She will be the wife of the director of a massive factory with tens of thousands of employees, and the sister-in-law of the Minister of Heavy Industry.

Unfortunately, one wrong step leads to another. By choosing the Jia family, she was destined to rot and stink in this quagmire.

A single, cloudy tear fell onto Qin Huairu's hand, which was covered in chilblains. She closed her eyes and sighed resignedly.

Within the microcosm of this courtyard house, the Lin brothers were like the blazing sun hanging overhead. The brighter their light, the more these beasts who had once oppressed them felt the despair and sorrow of their own lives in comparison.

Looking westward, across mountains and rivers.

Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps Independent Armored Division.

In early spring, the border region is still experiencing wind and snow.

A live-fire tactical exercise is underway amidst a sandstorm.

The Type 59 tank that Lin Weidong was in was like a roaring steel behemoth, wildly weaving through the undulating sand dunes.

He was no longer the green recruit he was when he first joined the army at fourteen. Now almost sixteen, he had grown to 1.8 meters tall, with broad shoulders and a sharp, cold gaze. Based on his outstanding achievements in destroying a Soviet T-62 tank during a border conflict, and his terrifying performance in various assessments over the past year that crushed the entire division, Lin Weidong was promoted to tank commander and appointed as the platoon leader of the elite platoon.

Lin Jianguo, with his solid skills and calm personality, served as the tank's driver and deputy platoon leader. The two brothers, one skilled in literature and the other in martial arts, worked together seamlessly.

"Hard to port! Over Dune 3, armor-piercing rounds loaded!"

Lin Weidong stood in the train commander's tower, half of his body leaning out of the cabin. The gale, mixed with sand and gravel, lashed against his goggles, but he didn't even blink.

The tank's tracks kicked up clouds of yellow sand as it executed a skillful tactical drift, coming to a steady stop at the highest point of the dune.

"Two kilometers away, moving target! Fire!"

boom!

The 100mm cannon spewed flames as a training armor-piercing shell precisely penetrated a moving target two kilometers away.

On a distant high ground, Kong Jie, commander of the Northwest Military Region, was holding up a high-powered telescope and watching the lead aircraft, numbered "01".

Kong Jie put down his binoculars, turned to look at his superior officer beside him, and nodded in satisfaction.

"This kid has the same crazy drive as his father back in the day! He drives tanks like a madman, but his tactical maneuvers are as precise as a textbook," Kong Jie exclaimed sincerely.

"Commander Kong, Wei Dong is indeed a promising young man. The division is preparing to submit a report to the military region to send him to a military academy for further studies." The armored division commander was also full of pride.

"Forget military academy! What the front lines need most right now are commanders who have seen blood." Kong Jie waved his hand. "The Soviets are reinforcing their troops on the other side. Tell this kid not to get cocky. The real test is yet to come."

After the exercise ended.

Lin Weidong and Lin Jianguo crawled out of the tank, covered in engine oil and dust. They leaned against the tracks and took out their water bottles to drink a few mouthfuls of ice-cold boiled water.

"Brother, have you heard?" Lin Weidong wiped the sand from the corner of his mouth, his eyes looking southeast, where the capital city of Beijing was located.

"What did you hear?" Lin Jianguo asked while wiping the grease off his hands with a rag.

"Our country's first satellite was launched yesterday." Lin Weidong's lips curled into a proud smile. "The instructor heard it on the radio. Apparently, the most crucial material on the rocket that launched the satellite was developed under the leadership of my father and his team at the Ministry of Heavy Industry."

Lin Jianguo paused for a moment, and a genuine sense of pride appeared on his honest face.

"Second Uncle is really awesome. My dad must have put in a lot of effort at the Southwest Special Steel Plant. Weidong, we can't let them down. We must uphold the reputation of this elite armored division platoon."

"Of course. If those Russians dare to take another step forward, I'll make sure they leave their lives on the Gobi Desert!" Lin Weidong's eyes turned cold, and his right hand unconsciously reached for the Type 54 pistol at his waist.