Courtyard House: Starting with a 28-inch motorcycle

"System check-in." He thought to himself as he brushed his teeth.

"Sign-in successful, reward of one yuan."

Hey! We ordinary folks have earned another coin today, and we're feeling great!

As I went out to rinse my mouth, I bumped into Qin Huairu busy at the sink. She gets up earlier than the roosters, and we almost always "coincidentally" run into each other. Ugh, what bad luck.

Good morning, sister-in-law!

"Good morning, silly Zhu!" she replied with a smile, her hair still dripping wet.

At this moment, Jia Zhangshi came over with a blue and white porcelain basin, her eyes crinkling with laughter, and squatted by the pool to wash diapers and baby clothes.

He Yuzhu sighed inwardly: This woman is really capable; she tamed that stubborn old mule, Jia Zhangshi, in just one night.

Steel rolling mill canteen kitchen

"Master He, come here for a moment!" Director Zhang waved from the stove.

He Yuzhu wiped his hands and walked over, completely bewildered: "Haven't I talked back to him recently?"

Director Zhang spoke slowly, "Master He, have you encountered any difficulties lately?" His tone was as flat as a dry well.

"No, does the director have any instructions?" He Yuzhu's heart was pounding.

"In our factory, we follow the rules when it comes to eating, not to be lax!" Director Zhang tapped his fingers lightly on the cutting board, his voice not loud, but like a brick being thrown into water.

He Yuzhu's brow twitched—good heavens, the label has been slapped on him already?

He Yuzhu: "Director, just tell me what instructions you have. I will listen attentively and accept them all." He was slightly bent over, his eyes were clear, and his tone was sincere.

—But he had already made his plans: this time, the model worker award certificate was all in his hands! Although it was just a piece of paper and a stamp, it was more precious than food coupons right now—the shelves of the supply and marketing cooperative were so empty that mice could run around in them. Want to buy something decent? Difficult!

Director Zhang slammed the enamel mug on the table, the tea sloshing around: "It's only been fifteen days, and you've already taken three days off! If everyone in the cafeteria followed your example, the stoves would all be cold—what's the point of even turning on the stoves?" His words were like a red-hot iron, hard and scalding.

He Yuzhu immediately lowered his eyelids and lowered his shoulders by half an inch: "I admit my mistake and will reflect deeply! From now on, unless I am hospitalized, I will never ask for leave easily." He lowered his voice, just like a junior high school student who stood in front of his homeroom teacher to hand in a letter of apology.

—If you just scribble "Outstanding performance, diligent and reliable" on the attendance sheet, I'll kowtow to you three times without hesitation!

But if one day you write "opportunistic and lazy" in your file... then whether the college entrance exam results are released or not, or which way the university gates open, it will have nothing to do with you.

Before he finished speaking, he had already pulled out a pack of Daqianmen cigarettes from his canvas bag—the kind with filters, the cigarette box brand new and crisp—and placed it in Director Zhang's palm with the practiced ease of serving tea or water.

Director Zhang glanced down, twirled the corner of the cigarette pack between his fingers, and said slowly, "It's a good thing to admit mistakes and correct them. We Communists have always advocated curing the disease and saving the patient, leaving a path for comrades to advance."

In those days, as long as you didn't embezzle public funds or misappropriate a single pound of rice or foot of cloth from the state, it wasn't considered corruption. Two bottles of Red Star Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) were enough to make many cadres beam with joy and praise "Little He for being sensible."

He Yuzhu quickly nodded and bowed, "Thank you for your guidance, Director! You're busy, I'll go back to the kitchen to stir-fry right away!"

—That smoking craving from before I transmigrated is only just starting to surface here. Last month, I gritted my teeth and bought two packs of cigarettes with my paycheck, then traded some ration coupons for half a carton from an old colleague. Looks like I'll have to invite Director Zhang for a couple of drinks more often from now on—after all, I'm not the original owner of this body, and there's no need to risk my life. More help and fewer obstacles, and life will be more stable.

Who wants to see their subordinate embarrass them in public?

The original owner of this body toiled until near retirement to finally become a class monitor; one can only imagine the good deeds they accumulated. But if Director Zhang were willing to lend a hand before retiring… even if it meant not sitting in his chair, a few extra dollars on their paycheck would be a real comfort. Besides, with no knowledge, even the night school roll call teacher wouldn't remember who you are.

This place is all about personal connections and familiarity; you can't get ahead just by burying your head in chopping vegetables.

As soon as Ma Hua saw He Yuzhu push the door open and enter, he immediately rushed forward, his eyes shining: "Master! Is there some good news?"

—Master’s skill has long been known throughout the steel plant. It’s probably because Director Zhang specifically asked him to cook the banquet.

He Yuzhu glanced at him sideways and smirked, "Yes! You swept my sanitation area at noon today as well."

—Isn't this just picking on the weak?

MCA was taken aback: "Huh?"

—Little friend, is there a string of ellipses floating in your head?

noon.

He Yuzhu jumped on the tram and headed straight for Xinhua Bookstore, only to find that Lou Xiao'e wasn't there. He hurriedly borrowed a "Quick Literacy Textbook" and then rode his bike back to the factory.

at night.

When Ms. Wu stepped into the classroom, her brows were furrowed and her expression was not good.

The steel mill's management just spoke with him: many of the students didn't recognize the characters he taught yesterday, and some even muttered, "How can we continue teaching like this?"

He used to teach at a primary school in a hutong. Every time, the students would recite in unison and the parents would come to his door with eggs to express their gratitude.

—It must be because this group of trainees has too weak a foundation!

Little did he know that in the past, very few people in the surrounding villages could even recognize their own names. He led the child to recite them again and again. The child had a good memory and would recite them to the adults when they got home. The adults were illiterate, but when they heard the child's clear and accurate pronunciation, they believed that the child had truly learned them, and how could they not be happy?

Literacy education was basically just recognizing a few dozen commonly used characters, passing an exam, filling out a letter of introduction, and getting you into accelerated primary and junior high school cram schools. Want to go to senior high school? First, you had to prove yourself with your junior high school grades. And to go any further, you had to wait for the 1970 Workers, Peasants and Soldiers University entrance exam.

Teacher Wu cleared her throat, her voice as cold as well water: "Let me start by saying this: if you don't know how to read, just come and ask me. Don't stab me in the back or go complain to the factory leaders."

After saying that, he unfolded the newly printed flashcards and took back the old stack from yesterday—"From now on, follow this method for everything."

No one dared to respond. Offending a teacher here was no small matter.

Unlike later generations of children who dared to talk back or fight, nowadays, if someone angers their father, the whole family will lose face: they'll be punished with a ruler at school and then have to kneel on a washboard when they get home.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; no one dared to utter a sound, and no one admitted to causing the mess.

It was the same old routine again—he finished reciting it with his head bobbing, but the air was still stiff.

Teacher Wu paused for a moment, then asked, "Is there anyone else who can't finish reading?"

He waited for a full three minutes, but no one got up. He sighed, "Go back and read more, study more, and ask your classmates more questions."

He grabbed the old card, turned around, and left.

Actually, most of them got stuck, but looking at the teacher's tense face, who dared to go up and make a fool of themselves? What if he said something like, "You can't even do something this simple? What's the point of learning?"—then they would really have nowhere to put their face.

A few minutes later, Teacher Gao entered the room carrying her lesson plan.

I first reviewed yesterday's addition with everyone, and then I explained subtraction. My explanation was clear and my pace was steady.

Finally, he took the literacy chart that He Yuzhu had borrowed yesterday, and got the new cards for today from the students in the front row. He wrote forty commonly used characters neatly on the blackboard, and led them to read them one by one, teaching them the stroke order stroke by stroke.

As soon as the bell rang, the teacher who took attendance appeared on time, counted the number of students, and led the class out in single file.

No one was left in the factory—just to prevent someone from using the guise of attending night school to steal even a single screw from the steel mill.

Back in the compound, He Yuzhu raised his hand and knocked on the door.

As soon as Uncle San opened the door and saw him, he grinned broadly: "Silly Zhu! Uncle San is treating today, all you can eat and drink!"

He Yuzhu was taken aback: What's gotten into this stingy old man today? He nodded hesitantly.

The third uncle turned around and went back into the house, picked up a wine pot, peanuts, cucumbers, and cabbage, and locked the courtyard gate with a click before walking inside with He Yuzhu.

……

Once inside, the third uncle placed the pile of "ingredients" on the table: raw peanuts, a whole green cucumber, and a large cabbage covered in mud.

He Yuzhu stared at the pile of "fresh food," momentarily speechless: "Today...we're having a cold salad?"

The third uncle slapped his thigh: "Hey! Your third aunt's cooking skills can't compare to yours! I'm thinking—you should be in charge of cooking this!"

His expression was as if he had seen someone else find a gold ingot for free and was not grateful at all.

This old fox is calculating: the wine was a gift from He Yuzhu last time, and the dishes he'll cook later, including the oil and seasonings, will cost about 35 cents each.

They've brought three substantial dishes, and I'm going empty-handed? No way! I should at least offer something in return—

(So ​​you're not bringing any of them, and I have to pay for one myself?)

He Yuzhu really couldn't refuse—they had already come to the door with their things, he couldn't very well turn them away with a stern face.

Since it was all vegetarian dishes, he casually added some stir-fried shredded potatoes with vinegar. Anyway, there was plenty at home, and it was quick and easy to chop them up with a sizzling sound.

Smashed cucumber, fried peanuts, spicy stir-fried cabbage stalks, and vinegared shredded potatoes—all four dishes were served steaming hot.

As soon as the dishes were served, Uncle San slapped his thigh with delight: "Silly Zhu! Uncle San is feeling great today! Let's drink ourselves into a stupor!"

He Yuzhu's eyelids twitched, and he thought to himself: This old man probably got a bargain again. Maybe some pie just happened to fall on his head.

He chuckled and replied, "Oh, Uncle San, you seem so happy. Something good must have happened! Let me share in your joy!"

The old man grinned, his eyes narrowing into slits: "You got 150 for free! Don't you think it's worth drinking three bowls?" Before he finished speaking, he burst out laughing.

After listening to his rambling explanation, the whole story finally came together in He Yuzhu's mind:

As dawn broke and everyone was still snuggled in their blankets, Xu Damao's mother got up—today she and her husband were going back to their old house to tidy it up, and she also had to get up early to cook porridge and make pancakes for them, keeping her very busy.

Before leaving, she grabbed Xu Damao and asked him what had happened. The more she listened, the more panicked she became: if this matter got out to the neighborhood, her son's reputation would be completely ruined.

Without saying a word, she dragged the old man straight to her third uncle's house, using both soft and hard language, just to try and settle the matter peacefully.