I feel right at home in the world of the courtyard house.

Upstairs, in the factory manager's office.

Li Jing'an sat in a leather chair, his fingers tapping idly on the table. A program for the propaganda team lay open on the table.

"Song Yun, I just looked at the roster for our factory's propaganda team, and there are frontline workers on it? For a factory this big, to need to use workers in their spare time for propaganda—what kind of nonsense is that?"

Song Yun quickly explained, "Brother Li, I learned about this situation after I took office. Indeed, many people in the propaganda team were transferred from the workshop. Isn't this also in response to the policy call to vigorously promote and attract workers to participate in cultural and artistic work?"

"That's petty. Small and medium-sized factories don't have labor quotas, so they can't hire professionals and they have to pull in laborers from the workshops. What kind of factory are we? A factory with tens of thousands of workers! Our workers' job is to work in the workshop, what kind of business would it be for them to go on stage?"

He slammed the program on the table: "Don't reassign these people anymore. And these programs—besides singing, opera, storytelling, and crosstalk, there's nothing new at all."

"Look outside, the new plays and model operas are so well-received. We can't fall behind. Don't we have people in the propaganda team who are good at drama? They can put on plays and model operas. But without fresh blood, what can we possibly come up with by just these few people repeating the same things over and over again?"

"And dancing. What do we have here? A few people standing on the sidelines making a few gestures while singing, is that considered dancing? Add a ballet performance."

"Here's what you'll do: submit a report to the Labor Bureau and apply for this year's graduate quota. We need to recruit a few graduates from the dance academy."

He turned to look at Song Yun and said, slowly and deliberately, "Remember the standards—good looks and a good figure. That's the most important thing."

Song Yun nodded quickly, wrote two more lines in her notebook, then closed the notebook and stood up: "Understood, Brother Li, I'll get on it right away."

After Song Yun left, Li Jing'an also got up and left the office. He had promised to have dinner at his parents' house today, and it was almost time. He needed to go to the guesthouse first, so he instructed them to prepare two large dishes for him to take with him.

When Yi Zhonghai returned to the courtyard house after get off work, he had just turned the corner of the screen wall when a figure darted out from the corner, startling him.

"Old Yi!" Yan Bugui leaned closer, his eyes darting around, and asked in a low voice, "Shazhu and Xu Damao haven't come back today. Do you know what they did wrong?"

Yi Zhonghai frowned, not stopping his steps, and said irritably, "Hey Lao Yan, can you change this habit? Don't you know what the situation is? You can barely take care of yourself, and you're still asking about other people's business? Aren't you afraid Xu Damao will make things difficult for you when he gets back?"

"Hey!" Yan Bugui spat, lowering his voice even further, almost whispering in Yi Zhonghai's ear, "To tell you the truth, I just want to find out about Xu Damao. That kid is truly rotten to the core, I wish the government would execute him as soon as possible! He's the worst bastard in our compound."

"Shh—" Yi Zhonghai suddenly turned his head and glared at him, his eyes like knives. "Keep your voice down! You can say this to me, but don't you dare tell anyone else. Haven't you been criticized enough yet?"

Yan Bugui shrank his neck and rubbed his hands awkwardly: "I know, I know. I just wanted to chat with you, don't worry, I'm not stupid."

"Alright, that's enough. I don't know anything about their affairs either." Yi Zhonghai took a step forward, then stopped after a couple of steps, frowning as he thought for a moment. "I guess it's probably related to Lou Xiao'e's sudden departure."

"Grandpa! Grandpa!"

A clear, crisp female voice came from behind, startling Yi Zhonghai and Yan Bugui, who both jumped like two old cats whose tails had been stepped on. They whirled around—

Liu Yuanyuan, from the front yard, has a pretty face and still retains a bit of childishness. She has two braids, carries a military green canvas backpack, and is standing smiling on the steps.

"Oh my goodness!" Yan Bugui patted his chest, his face pale. "Don't you dare call me that! Don't you know what the situation is now? We're not allowed to call you 'Grandpa' anymore, they've all been beaten down!"

Liu Yuanyuan stuck out her tongue and whispered, "I really forgot."

"You're on vacation? You'll be graduating soon, right? Where did you get assigned? Any news?"

"Hi, not yet." Liu Yuanyuan adjusted her backpack straps to her shoulders. "I'm still waiting for the school to assign me a place. I guess it'll be similar to previous years, like the Cultural Palace or a performing arts troupe."

The three chatted for a bit longer. Liu Yuanyuan waved to them, turned around, and ran back to her house.

"Yuanyuan's back?" Liu's mother put the basin on the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and asked, "When are you all being assigned jobs? Any news yet?"

"I don't know. Maybe soon, we'll hear from them in a few days." Liu Yuanyuan put her schoolbag on the chair, went to the kitchen, poured herself a bowl of water, and gulped down most of it.

Liu's mother sighed, her voice carrying that uniquely maternal tone of both heartache and helplessness: "If only we could stay in the city."

"You're saying this is something you should be worrying about?" Mr. Liu, sitting on a chair nearby, had a cigarette in his mouth. "It's all a matter of government allocation. Even if they don't stay in the city, they'll still have a vocational school diploma. We don't need to worry about it, and we can't do anything about it."

"Isn't it because I love the child?" Liu's mother rolled her eyes at her husband. "If Yuanyuan could get a job in a factory in the city, a big factory, it would be so much more stable."

Liu's father flicked his cigarette ash onto the ground and sneered, "You're dreaming. Who wouldn't want to work in a factory? Who would want to join a performing arts troupe if they had a factory? You think you can just get in whenever you want? Everyone's scrambling to get in. If you don't have connections, stop daydreaming."

Inside the courtyard, Qin Huairu was squatting next to the water pipe, washing clothes.

"Uncle Yi." Qin Huairu looked up and saw Yi Zhonghai coming in. She wiped her wet hands on her apron and stood up.

Yi Zhonghai, who had intended to go straight to his room, stopped upon hearing this. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke, his voice unconsciously lowered: "Huairu, I have something to ask you. What exactly happened to Shazhu? Do you have any news?"

Qin Huairu glanced around; the courtyard was empty. She took two steps forward, her voice lowering, "Hey, I didn't know at first. Jingru told me when she got off work today—she went to ask Director Li, and it's nothing serious, just about Lou Xiao'e's family. The higher-ups need to call in all the relevant people to ask, but don't worry, nothing will happen. Zhuzi and her… they didn't actually get a marriage certificate, did they? It's impossible for anything to happen because of his relationship with the Lou family."

After hearing this, Yi Zhonghai's wrinkles relaxed, and he nodded: "Ah, I feel a little more at ease now that you say so."

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, and finally couldn't hold back: "What about Xu Damao?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he was taken aback. When he asked the question, he even felt a faint sense of expectation—an expectation that felt strange, unsettling, and even somewhat shameful to himself. He quickly lowered his eyelids, suppressing that thought.

Qin Huairu didn't notice his expression: "Xu Damao is the same. He'll probably be out tomorrow or the day after."

"Hmm," Yi Zhonghai responded, turning to walk into his room. He stopped at the door, standing for a few seconds in the twilight. He squeezed his eyes shut, silently cursing himself: Yi Zhonghai, Yi Zhonghai, when did you become this kind of person? Don't you wish others well?

Meanwhile, Sha Zhu and Xu Damao, who had been the subject of their gossip all day, were now crammed into a room of about ten square meters.