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

The propaganda office of the East Suburb Farm was bustling with noise early in the morning. Several old desks were pushed together, and four or five young people sat around them. Some sat cross-legged on the desks, some leaned on the stools, and two leaned against the windowsill. They talked and gestured with their hands, bursting into laughter every now and then, making so much noise that the roof seemed to be lifted off.

The door was suddenly pushed open, and a middle-aged man poked half his body in, holding an enamel mug. He shouted into the room, "Hey everyone, the task for today has come down! We need to take a few people from your propaganda team to go down to the farm and spread the word about the current policies. Discuss it yourselves and decide who should go!"

The young people paused for a moment, and one of them lazily asked, "How many of you?"

"It's a small matter for you two to discuss. Just don't delay things." The man waved his hand, and after saying that, he walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

There was a two-second silence in the room, followed by a few glances exchanged among the young people. A tall young man stood up, his gaze sweeping over the group and landing directly on the innermost corner of the office. He called out to the person behind the old desk, "Old Du, you can go then."

In the corner, a middle-aged man wearing glasses looked up, a hint of surprise on his thin face, his pen hovering in mid-air: "...Huh? Me?"

"Yes, it's you." The tall boy said confidently. "If you can't manage by yourself, call two more—when the two who fetched water come back later, the three of you can go together."

Old Du opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed the words back down.

Seeing his hesitation, a short-haired young woman next to him frowned: "Old Du, why aren't you willing to do even this small task? Where's your enthusiasm for revolutionary work?"

"Alright, alright, we won't force you if you don't want to," another boy chimed in, a half-smile playing on his lips. "We'll talk to the section chief later and say we'll go. No need for you to trouble yourself, sir. You're an old comrade, so it's only right that you do."

"Exactly, he's a long-time employee, a seasoned veteran, isn't he?"

"you do not say……"

A series of sarcastic remarks were thrown at him. Old Du's face gradually flushed red, and the flesh on his cheekbones trembled slightly. He took a deep breath, forcing back the words that were rising in his throat, and squeezed out a single word through gritted teeth: "...Okay."

The young men exchanged glances, their lips curling into uncontrollable smiles. Old Du lowered his head again, staring at the notebook on the table, but he couldn't decipher a single word written on the densely packed paper.

His mind was in turmoil. These young people were all crammed in within the last two years. After the "Down to the Countryside Movement" intensified a few years ago, countless people found connections to be placed in the farms. The propaganda section originally had only four people—one section chief and three workers. Now, it was a mess: a section chief plus eight underlings, and the workers were still the same three from before. These five newcomers, three men and two women, came from families where the lowest rank was deputy director-level and the highest was director-general level, and there were more than one. They spent their days loafing around in the office, doing absolutely nothing of substance, yet they were more than capable of ordering around people.

He only dared to curse these words in his heart, not uttering a single syllable aloud. These families all held real power; if they really made things difficult for him, which leader in the farm would dare to stand up for him? He couldn't afford to offend them.

Just as he was grumbling to himself, the door was pushed open again. The section chief came back, as if he had forgotten something.

"Oh, right everyone, there's something I forgot to mention." The section chief tapped the folder in his hand. "We notified everyone yesterday that we need another person for our section. He reported for duty yesterday but didn't come to work yet; he'll officially start today. Everyone must be polite, caring, and united with the newcomer."

After saying that, he left again, just as swiftly as he had come.

As soon as the door closed, the young people gathered together again.

"So, guys? Anything you want to say?" The boy sitting at the table raised an eyebrow.

"It's definitely someone with connections again." The girl with short curly hair curled her lips. "It's not easy to get people into our farm's publicity department. We haven't had a single one in over a year. If someone suddenly squeezes in, there's no doubt about it."

"Alright, when he gets here, let him go work with Lao Du, how about that?" The boy sitting at the table grinned mischievously, "Give him a hard time."

"Hehehe, good idea."

The group exchanged knowing glances. The conversation quickly drifted away.

"Xiao Hui, shall we go see a movie tonight?" The tall boy suddenly turned to a girl with a ponytail next to him and leaned over with a grin.

"You're crazy. I'm not going to go with you. You should ask Chengcheng to go."

"Hey, how did we end up talking about me again when we were talking about you?" The short-haired girl laughed and pretended to hit me with her notebook.

"We're a good match," the tall man persisted. "Your dad's a department-level official, and so is mine—though your dad's a deputy department-level official, but I don't mind, right?"

The young people burst into laughter again, and the noise filled the office once more.

A moment later, the door opened for the third time. The section chief stepped in, followed by a young man.

"Wow, so young! How old is he?" Several people whispered to each other with puzzled expressions when they saw the newcomer.

"She looks young, probably seventeen or eighteen?"

"Let's give him a warm welcome!" The section chief clapped his hands. "This is our new colleague, Comrade Li Shuo! Everyone should actively help our new colleague at work."

As he finished speaking, a sparse, weak applause rang out in the office. Li Shuo, however, paid no attention—everything felt new and exciting to him. He'd gotten up incredibly early, even earlier than when he was in school, and had come here full of excitement. It was his first day at work, and everything was new and exciting.

The section chief pointed him to a table near the door, gave him a few instructions, and left. Li Shuo had just put down his bag and hadn't even sat down properly when he heard someone call his name.

"Hey—you new guy, what's your name again, Li something? You're perfect, you'll be following Old Du down there to do propaganda and other work."

Li Shuo looked up and saw a boy sitting at a desk looking up at him, acting as if he were the most important person in the world. He didn't reply, but just smirked.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

On the edge of the field.

Although the early autumn sun wasn't as scorching as the dog days of summer, it was still blazing hot by midday. Three young men in white shirts stood on the edge of the field, holding signs and official documents, their faces flushed red from the sun and their foreheads covered in fine beads of sweat.

Several workers taking a lunch break squatted on the edge of the field, smoking pipes and watching them casually.

"Hey, a new member has joined the propaganda team?" a young worker asked curiously.

"Tch, you don't know this, do you?" An older worker next to him tapped his pipe, giving him a "you're ignorant" look. "Those three aren't newbies; they've been in the propaganda team for at least two years. They just haven't been off the job much."

"Really? If the propaganda team doesn't go to the fields, what do they do all day?"

"Who knows? You're asking me? Who am I supposed to ask?"

Three young men stood at the edge of the field. One stumbled as he read the policy guidelines from the document, another frantically held up a banner that was flapping in the wind, and the third handed out leaflets to the workers one by one.

After finally managing to greet everyone in this area, the three of them packed up their things and hurried to the next plot of land. Only when they were all alone did their expressions finally relax.

"It's all your fault," the tall, thin man glared angrily at the person leading the way. "You didn't even know the situation before ordering the new guy around. How did you fare? You've bitten off more than you can chew!"

"How can you blame me?" The boy in the lead turned around and glared at him. "You didn't object when I said it! Besides, wasn't it your decision to give him a hard time?"

"Alright, alright," the chubby young man at the back waved his hand listlessly. "Stop arguing. Who would have thought... his dad is a minister. Just accept it."

The three fell silent, their steps unsteady and listless on the dirt road.