Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

"Honey, you didn't see that! Wei Chen's dog was so cocky today! That little brat Wei Ran had its dog's work ID hanging around its neck, showing it off all over the yard! All those kids were crowding around it like it was some kind of hero!"

"Pah! What a beast! Thirty-five yuan! That's more than many regular office workers earn! Is there any justice in this world?" Aunt Er said indignantly as she sewed shoe soles.

Liu Haizhong slammed his teacup down on the table, splashing a few drops of tea. "Hmph! This is a perverse trend! Utterly perverse! The factory leaders are muddleheaded! Paying wages to dogs? This is utterly ridiculous! This is a serious political mistake! It's a problem with our ideological line! We must resolutely resist it!"

He became increasingly agitated as he spoke, spitting out saliva. "When we deliver flour to those in need, we're delivering class consciousness! We're delivering noble sentiments! We're delivering a higher level of thinking! Wei Chen raises a dog, no matter how fat it gets, but if its level of thinking isn't high, it'll never be respectable! No way, I'm going to see Director Wang tomorrow, no, I'm going directly to the factory leaders to report this! This bizarre phenomenon of 'people being treated worse than dogs' must be stopped!"

When Wei Chen pushed his bicycle and led Da Huang into the courtyard, the noise in the front yard hadn't completely subsided. Yan Bugui was talking animatedly with some neighbors about how Sha Zhu was "ungrateful," but upon seeing Wei Chen, his expression immediately changed, and he put on a smile.

"Wei Chen's back! Oh, Da Huang's off work too? Look at his energy, no wonder he works for the government!" He glanced at the police dog collar around Da Huang's neck, his eyes filled with undisguised envy.

"Teacher Yan." Wei Chen nodded as a greeting, without stopping. "Brother Wei Chen, did Da Huang really get paid?" a boy asked curiously.

"Hmm," Wei Chen responded, not wanting to elaborate. "Brother Wei Chen, is Da Huang's salary really higher than Brother Sha Zhu's?" another child pressed.

Before Wei Chen could answer, a sour voice interrupted from the side: "Hmph, a dog relying on its master's power! Humans are treated worse than dogs, what kind of world is this!" The voice wasn't loud, but it was loud enough for Wei Chen to hear. It was Liu Guangtian, who was standing at his own door, with the same resentment on his face as his father.

Wei Chen paused, glancing sideways at Liu Guangtian with a calm, unwavering gaze. Liu Guangtian felt a pang of guilt under his gaze and stiffened his neck, turning his face away. Wei Chen said nothing, pushing the cart straight towards the backyard. Big Yellow followed quietly beside him, seemingly oblivious to the surrounding chatter and stares, as if the commotion had nothing to do with it. It only cared about Wei Chen's footsteps and the direction home.

Back in their little house, the familiar warmth and the aroma of food wafted towards them. Wang Xiulan was setting a plate of freshly stir-fried vegetables on the table, while Wei Ran held Da Huang's work ID with its paw print on it, lovingly stroking the police badge. "Brother! Da Huang! You're back!"

Wei Ran jumped up excitedly, holding up her work ID for Wei Chen to see, "Brother, look, isn't it shiny?"

"Okay, Liang." Wei Chen smiled and propped up the bicycle. He took off his coat and took out the two envelopes from his inner pocket.

She handed the envelope containing sixty yuan to her mother: "Mom, this month's." Wang Xiulan wiped her hands on her apron, took it, and smiled reassuringly: "Okay." She carefully put it away.

Wei Chen picked up another envelope, weighed it in his hand, and then squatted down in front of Da Huang. Da Huang immediately sat up straight, its tail gently swishing on the ground, its big black eyes looking at him.

"Here, yours." Wei Chen held the envelope in front of Da Huang's nose and let it sniff. "Thirty-five yuan, plus coupons. You earned it yourself." Da Huang rubbed the envelope with its wet nose and made a low "woof" sound in its throat, as if in response.

Wei Chen handed the envelope to his mother: "Mom, here's Da Huang's wages and ration coupons. Buy it whatever you need, bones, pig liver, don't skimp."

Wang Xiulan took the thick stack of bills, still feeling a little incredulous, but mostly overjoyed: "Hey! Don't worry! We won't mistreat our family's great hero! Tomorrow I'll go buy some big bones! Make soup, and let Dahuang gnaw on the bones!"

Wei Ran came over and hugged Da Huang's neck: "Da Huang! Did you hear that? I'll buy you a big bone tomorrow! You're really something!" Da Huang stuck out his tongue and licked her face, wagging his tail even more happily.

Wei Chen walked to his desk and opened the drawer. Inside lay the two medals and neatly stacked certificates. He glanced at them, his gaze lingering without moving, then gently pushed the drawer shut. The latch clicked softly, locking away all external glory and clamor.

He washed his hands and sat down at the table. On the table was a pot of thick, fragrant cornmeal porridge, a dish of green vegetables, and a small bowl of pickled vegetables. Simple, yet full of the warmth of home. Da Huang lay quietly at his feet, its head resting on its paws, purring contentedly.

Outside, the hustle and bustle of the courtyard was gradually swallowed by the night. Yi Zhonghai plotted how to pass the burden of the Jia family to Sha Zhu; Liu Haizhong was planning how to use the "ideological realm" stick to beat Wei Chen; Xu Damao was counting money inside, thinking about the lucrative opportunities in the countryside and the faint hope, his hatred for Wei Chen and Da Huang still lingering; Jia Zhangshi's curses still echoed softly; Qin Huairu was mending her child's old clothes under the dim light, her mind filled with worries...

In this small, humble room, the light is dim yet warm. A bowl holds warm, coarse grains, the smiling faces of loved ones are at the table, and a loyal, reliable companion lies at one's feet. The drawer may lock away fame and fortune, but it cannot lock away the peace and tranquility within this small space.

Wei Chen picked up the rough porcelain bowl, the scalding hot porridge warming his palms. He blew on it and slurped up a large mouthful. The rough, warm texture slid down his esophagus, bringing a comforting sense of fullness.

Yi Zhonghai's home.

Yi Zhonghai asked an older woman to bring five jin of cornmeal and handed it to Jia Dongxu. Watching Jia Dongxu leave, thanking him profusely and hunching over, Yi Zhonghai thought about what he had just thought and felt that the weight on his heart had been lifted for the time being.

We need to figure out how to get Sha Zhu, this "pillar," to willingly shoulder the burden of the Jia family's financial problems. He rubbed his throbbing temples, his gaze falling on the stack of banknotes on the table, fresh from the finance department and still smelling of ink.

Ninety-three yuan and forty-seven cents. A heavy wad of cash, a top-tier income even in a steel mill. But now, holding it in his hand, it lacked its usual weighty sense of security; instead, it felt like a burning hot iron, searing his heart with unease. His prestige was shattered, the Jia family was a bottomless pit of burden, and the invisible pressure from Wei Chen and Da Huang… all of this made it hard for him to breathe.

"My dear wife," Yi Zhonghai's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible weariness, as well as a long-cultivated caution, "lock the door."

An older woman responded, walked to the door, carefully bolted it securely, and then pulled the worn-out blue cloth curtain shut. The light inside immediately dimmed, leaving only the tiny flame of the kerosene lamp flickering in the glass shade, casting the shadows of the two people onto the mottled earthen wall, stretching them out and swaying erratically.

Yi Zhonghai walked to the old elm wood wardrobe standing against the wall, opened the door, and a smell mixed with mothballs, old clothes and stale wood wafted out.

He reached inside and groped his way out to pull out a heavy, square tin box from the deepest part. The box was painted a dark green, and the edges were worn white, revealing the grayish-white tin underneath. A small but sturdy brass lock hung on the lid.

An older woman stood to the side, watching with bated breath. Yi Zhonghai took a bunch of keys from his belt, picked out the smallest one, and inserted it into the lock. With a soft "click," the lock opened.

Lifting the box, one finds neatly stacked banknotes and a stack of receipts bound with thin hemp rope or rubber bands. Mostly ten-yuan "Great Unity" notes, there are also five-yuan, two-yuan, and one-yuan notes, as well as some loose change. Grain coupons, oil coupons, cloth coupons, industrial coupons… are categorized accordingly.

Yi Zhonghai carefully placed his newly received wages into the drawer and began counting them. His rough, calloused fingers twirled the banknotes, producing a monotonous but clear "rustling" sound. This sound was particularly jarring in the quiet room. He counted slowly and meticulously, as if it weren't money, but rather a record of his life's achievements in the courtyard house and the steel mill. The elderly woman dared not breathe; the only sounds in the room were the rustling of paper and the occasional soft crackling of the kerosene lamp wick.

"...Five hundred and sixty-three yuan and seventy cents." Yi Zhonghai finally announced the number, his voice low. He counted out fifty brand-new "big black ten" bills, carefully tied them together with a thin hemp rope, tightened it, and made a knot. The five hundred yuan was tied into a square, angular brick.

"It's safer to keep it as a round number," Yi Zhonghai said, as if explaining, or perhaps talking to himself. He placed the bundle of money separately on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), then closed the iron box, locked it again, and put it back deep inside the wardrobe, carefully covering it with a few old clothes.

After doing all that, he didn't stop. Instead, he walked towards the earthen bed where he and his wife slept. He lifted the faded blue quilt covering it, revealing the equally old kang mat underneath, its edges worn and frayed.

Yi Zhonghai squatted down, his fingers tracing the edges of the kang mat, where several slightly darker bricks blended almost seamlessly with the surrounding adobe bricks. His fingertips wandered between the brick seams with an almost devout focus.

Finally, with a very slight "click," a brick was pried open. He carefully pulled out the loose brick, and then the others next to it.

A small, dark hole was visible on the kang (a heated brick bed). A musty, earthy smell and a chilly atmosphere wafted from it. The old woman subconsciously glanced at the door again, even though it was already bolted shut.

Yi Zhonghai reached in, his movements carrying an indescribable solemnity. He pulled a smaller, but clearly thicker and heavier wooden box from the pit.

The box was painted a dark red, with brass trim around the edges, and hung a larger, heavier brass lock with a finely cleated key. This lock, gleaming with a warm, subtle light, clearly had been around for a long time; it was a genuine antique.