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

Lin Yang slowly stood up.

He walked to the French windows and pushed them open.

The autumn wind in October, blowing on my face, no longer carries that oppressive chill, but rather a clear and refreshing coolness.

On the streets, someone, having received the news first, faintly heard the sound of firecrackers. Then, the sound grew more frequent, gradually becoming a continuous chorus. The entire city of Beijing seemed to awaken completely from its long winter slumber at that moment.

"Go buy some wine." Lin Yang said in a deep, resonant voice, his back to Zhao Lichun.

"Buy the best Moutai."

That evening, at Building No. 6, Jiazi, Yuquanshan.

The restaurant was brightly lit.

The table was laden with a sumptuous spread of dishes.

Lin Yang sat in the main seat. To his left was Pei Yihong, who had rushed back from the Northeast overnight. To his right were Zhao Lichun and He Yuzhu.

These four individuals are the core team that the Ministry of Heavy Industry has fought its way out of open and covert battles over the past decade.

Lin Yang personally picked up the bottle of discontinued vintage Moutai and filled everyone's cup.

"These past ten years have not been easy for us." Lin Yang raised his glass, his gaze sweeping over his subordinates and brothers who had shared life and death with him.

Pei Yihong recalled the days of eating coal dust at the coal yard in the southern suburbs, Zhao Lichun recalled the belts that were used to torture him in the cowshed in the basement, and He Yuzhu recalled the sword fight with spies in the rainstorm.

The eyes of everyone reflect the vicissitudes of time.

"Fortunately, we managed to preserve our assets." A truly relieved and domineering smile finally appeared on Lin Yang's lips.

"The storm has passed. The next battlefield is not in the conference room, but in the workshop, in the laboratory, and in the vast tide of economic construction! Cheers! Let's prepare to usher in a truly great era!"

"Homage to the Minister! Homage to the New Era!"

Four glasses collided heavily in mid-air, the crisp sound echoing through the Western-style building.

at the same time.

Northern Jiangsu, Qinghe Brigade.

As night falls, a bright moon hangs high over the vast salt flats.

This once barren land has now been thoroughly tilled by machinery and planted with winter wheat. The lush green wheat seedlings sway in the moonlight, radiating vitality.

The old, hoarse loudspeaker on the big tree in front of the brigade headquarters suddenly started crackling.

Immediately afterwards, the stirring and resounding voice of the announcer from the Central People's Broadcasting Station broke the tranquility of the village, spreading the heart-stirring historical news to every thatched hut.

Smash it! Separate and investigate it!

The entire Qinghe Brigade was in an uproar. Old Liu was so excited that he could barely hold his pipe, and he knelt on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly towards the direction of Beijing.

In the cowshed at the east end of the village.

Lin Weidong and Lin Jianguo were sitting by the stove, wiping the shovels they had used for work during the day with rags.

Upon hearing the announcement over the loudspeaker, the two brothers simultaneously stopped what they were doing.

Lin Jianguo's honest face was filled with shock, which then turned into ecstatic joy. He threw down the shovel and stood up abruptly.

"Weidong! Did you hear that?! It's over! Those rebels have fallen!" Lin Jianguo was so excited he was almost incoherent. "Second Uncle was right in his letter. As long as we hold on, we'll definitely see the dawn!"

Lin Weidong remained seated on the wooden bed, his hands outstretched in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.

Those once long, strong hands that gripped the tank's control levers are now covered in calluses, frostbite, and cuts. These are truly the hands of a working-class laborer.

He neither cheered nor jumped.

He simply listened to the radio quietly, and in his deep, cold eyes, it seemed as if stars were falling and being reborn.

Four years as an armored soldier, four years as an educated youth in northern Jiangsu.

He was forcibly molded into an incomparably hard piece of steel by this cruel era, from a fourteen-year-old boy.

"Jianguo, pack your things." Lin Weidong stood up, his voice calm and undisturbed.

"Pack your things? Where are you going?" Lin Jianguo was taken aback.

"Back to Beijing." Lin Weidong walked to the dilapidated wooden door and pulled it open.

Outside the door, two blinding headlights pierced the darkness of the rural area in northern Jiangsu like sharp swords.

A jeep with Central Security Bureau license plates had somehow ended up parked on the dirt road outside the cowshed.

A major in a crisp military uniform stepped out of the car, strode up to Lin Weidong, and snapped to attention with a perfect military salute.

"Comrade Lin Weidong! Comrade Lin Jianguo! By order of Minister Lin, bring you both back to Beijing immediately!"

Meanwhile, in Beijing at this time, at No. 95 Nanluoguxiang, a courtyard house.

This courtyard, once filled with scheming and jealousy, is now shrouded in a deathly silence and panic.

In the backyard, in that dark side room.

Liu Haizhong collapsed onto the cold ground, clutching the red armband that had once symbolized power tightly in his hand. He listened to the deafening sound of firecrackers outside, and his whole body trembled like a leaf.

He knew that things had changed. All the rebel leaders he had once relied on had been arrested, and he, the clown who had once seized power at the steel mill, was about to face the most brutal reckoning.

"It's over...it's all over..." Liu Haizhong muttered desperately, trembling as he threw the red armband into the furnace, watching it turn to ashes.

Qin Huairu, from the Intermediate People's Court, leaned blankly against the window frame.

She stared at the tightly locked gate of the Lin family's house. She knew that the owner behind that gate had already reached the pinnacle of this era, while she would slowly grow old in this dilapidated courtyard, filled with endless regret.

Ministry of Heavy Industry, Minister's Office.

Lin Yang stood alone in front of the huge national map.

He picked up the red and blue pencil on the table.

At this moment, he forcefully erased each of the black crosses on the map that once represented armed conflict and production stoppage.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he drew a huge red circle representing a special economic zone on the southern coast of the map.

The curtain of a new era was drawn open with a bang by his powerful hands.

·····················

The jeep's tires rolled over the bumpy dirt road, splashing up a series of muddy water.

The cold autumn wind blew in through the cracks in the car windows, carrying a touch of the desolate chill typical of the North. There was no heating in the carriage, but the two young men sitting in the back seat didn't even turn up their collars.

Lin Weidong and Lin Jianguo were wearing faded coarse cotton-padded jackets and a pair of liberation shoes covered in yellow mud from the saline-alkali soil of northern Jiangsu.

Four years, more than a thousand days and nights of meticulous work.

They transformed from fourteen or fifteen-year-old teenagers into robust, sharp-eyed adults. The wind and sand of the Xinjiang Gobi Desert gave them the bearing of battle veterans, while the arduous labor on the saline-alkali land of northern Jiangsu forged in them the steely bones of the working class.

"Brother, how long has it been since we've seen the city walls of Beijing?" Lin Weidong asked in a low, hoarse voice as he looked at the faint outline of the ancient city walls through the dusty car window.

Lin Jianguo rubbed his calloused hands together, a faint, almost otherworldly smile appearing on his honest face.

"Four years and three months. When we left, the train station was full of rebels wearing red armbands and banging drums and gongs. Look at the streets outside now."

Lin Weidong followed his cousin's gaze.