Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

The tall, rusty, and paint-peeled gate of the steel rolling mill gradually came into view, with a brightly colored banner on the lintel that read "Happy Chinese New Year" fluttering in the cold wind.

The security guards at the gate adopted serious expressions, carefully checking the work permits of each employee entering the factory. Wei Chen handed over his small blue notebook. The guard glanced at it; he recognized this well-known figure at the steel rolling mill, who was also a colleague in their security department. He had secured New Year's benefits for their department for two consecutive years, and everyone was grateful to him. The guard then looked up at Wei Chen, nodded, and let him through. Wei Chen smiled and returned the greeting.

Stepping into the factory area, familiar sights and smells wash over you. Towering chimneys constantly belching out thick smoke, massive and silent workshops, crisscrossing thick pipes wrapped in insulation material, and the air filled with a complex mix of metallic rust, sulfurous smells from burning coal, the smell of cooling oil, and the ubiquitous smell of dust.

The machines weren't fully running yet; only sporadic roars and metallic clanging could be heard from some workshops, but the oppressive feeling of an industrial behemoth about to awaken was already palpable. Workers, like worker ants returning to their nest, converged on their posts from all directions, their blue, gray, and green uniforms forming a flowing ocean.

The security department was located in a standalone three-story red brick building, simple in style, with dark green window frames. It appeared somewhat low compared to the surrounding tall factory buildings, but its location was quite crucial—it was situated at the junction of the core area of ​​the factory and the living and warehouse areas, offering a wide view and easy monitoring. A flagpole stood in the open space in front of the building, with a bright national flag fluttering in the morning breeze.

Wei Chen walked into the dimly lit corridor inside the building and turned familiarly towards the equipment warehouse at the far east end of the first floor. The heavy wooden door, covered with iron sheets, was ajar, and rustling sounds and a suppressed cough could be heard from inside.

He pushed the door open and entered.

A complex aroma immediately fills the nostrils: a strong, slightly sweet and fishy smell of gun oil, the unique tanning scent of aged leather, the faint musty smell of damp cotton, the smell of dust, and a trace of lingering tobacco, all of which together create the unique "scent" of this space.

The room was quite spacious, but it felt somewhat cramped due to several rows of tall, dark green iron shelves that reached the ceiling. The shelves were neatly organized with various equipment: stacks of faded or oil-stained cotton coats and fur jackets; neatly hung rattan safety helmets printed with the word "Protect"; bundles of wiped-down rubber batons; boxes of batteries and rows of old-fashioned flashlights; and thick hemp rope coiled like snakes.

A bright red tin bucket and a fire axe leaned against the corner; several wooden first-aid kits with red crosses were stacked together; further inside were two heavy, mottled, dark green tin gun cabinets, their doors tightly closed and secured with huge brass locks—these were where the factory stored the few Type 56 semi-automatic rifles and ammunition issued to the security department. In the corner were also piles of bicycle parts awaiting repair, old tires, and some metal junk of unknown purpose.

A slightly hunched figure stood with his back to the door in front of a workbench, intently polishing a brass whistle with an oiled deerskin, using the morning light streaming in from the window. He wore faded old work clothes with an equally worn navy blue cotton vest over them, and his silhouette exuded an aura that had settled over the years, blending seamlessly into the warehouse.

"Good morning, Master Li." Wei Chen greeted him, closing the door behind him to shut out the noise from the corridor. The figure paused for a moment, not turning around immediately, but holding the whistle up to his eyes and examining it carefully in the light, making sure that every groove was clean and spotless, before slowly turning around.

It was Li Zhijun, an "old man" in the equipment depot. His face was thin, and his wrinkles, like ravines on parched land, were deeply etched with the marks of time. His eyes, however, were not completely eroded by the vicissitudes of life. His eyelids drooped slightly, but when they occasionally opened and closed, a sharp glint, like that of a hawk, would flash across them. These were the marks left by experiencing real war and a long career of vigilance.

"You're here?" Li Zhijun's voice was a little hoarse, as if he had been smoking for a long time. He glanced at Wei Chen from head to toe, his gaze lingering for a moment on Wei Chen's neat collar and clean shoes. He made a barely audible "hmm" sound from his nose as a response.

He was initially lukewarm towards this young man who had been suddenly assigned to the company a few months ago, nominally a "mobile personnel" but actually quite capable. However, as he got to know him better and discovered that Wei Chen was indeed capable, procuring supplies for the factory and security department, and also possessing an excellent police dog like "Dahuang," he became increasingly satisfied with Wei Chen, and his attitude improved. That's just how straightforward he was; he couldn't tolerate any injustice!

Wei Chen was already used to it, so he didn't say much. He put down his lunchbox bag, picked up the long-handled broom standing behind the door, and began to sweep the floor.

There wasn't much dust, but there was always some. The broom swept across the cement floor, making a rhythmic swishing sound. After sweeping, he took a relatively clean rag from the hook behind the door, soaked it under the tap outside, wrung it out, and came back to wipe the frequently touched tabletops, cabinets, and tool tables. His movements were slow but steady and meticulous, leaving no corner untouched.

Li Zhijun stood to the side, slowly and methodically hanging the polished brass whistle back on a specially made small wooden nail on the wall, where seven or eight equally gleaming whistles were already hanging, arranged by size. As he hung them, he glanced at Wei Chen's actions out of the corner of his eye, still remaining silent.

After wiping, Wei Chen walked to the next room, which was their office; this side was the warehouse! He stood in the corner next to a half-person-high iron stove with a warped, burnt-out firebox. The fire had long since died down, leaving only a pile of cold ashes.

He picked up the iron hook and coal shovel by the stove, opened the stove door, skillfully cleared away the ashes, and poured them into the tin bucket next to him. Then he added some wood shavings and a few pieces of wood chips to start the fire, took out a match from his pocket, struck it with a "snap," and the orange-red flame licked the dry wood, quickly becoming lively.

He added a few more appropriately sized pieces of coal, watching them be enveloped in flames, gradually turning red and radiating a steady heat. Above the stove, the blackened iron chimney began to emit steam.

Then, he picked up the blackened tin kettle by the stove, shook it, and found it still contained about half a kettle of water left overnight. He went outside, poured out the remaining water, filled it with clear, cold fresh water from the tap, and returned to sit steadily on the stove, its opening already glowing red. Soon, a faint hissing sound came from the bottom of the kettle, and wisps of white steam began to rise.

The entire process was smooth and natural, without any unnecessary movements or loud noises, as if it had been rehearsed countless times. The chill in the warehouse was dispelled by the gradually rising heat, and the air was filled with warmth and the soft sizzling sound of water about to boil.

Li Zhijun had returned to his office at some point and was already sitting in his old rattan chair against the wall, its back worn smooth. He pulled a shiny short pipe bowl from his waist, then pinched a pinch of tobacco from a small iron box and carefully pressed it into the brass pipe bowl.

Instead of using matches, he leaned over the flames leaping from the stove, took a few puffs, and lit his cigarette. The pungent, bitter smoke immediately filled the air, mingling with the existing smell of the warehouse.

"You're still pretty quick." Li Zhijun exhaled a puff of smoke and finally spoke, his voice somewhat muffled by the smoke.

"It's all thanks to Master Li's excellent teaching." Wei Chen put the broom and rag back in their places, then sat down on a small stool on the other side of the stove, stretching out his hands to warm himself by the fire. This was half polite, half true.

When he first arrived, he was indeed completely clueless about the maintenance of many old-fashioned equipment, and Li Zhijun patiently guided him several times.

"Heh." Li Zhijun chuckled, neither confirming nor denying, squinting at the leaping firelight. "Teach? In this place, do you need to teach? Be observant, be diligent, don't be impatient, and you'll learn in a few days! Besides, you're exceptionally smart; you'll learn after just a few glances!"

The kettle began to make a "whooshing" sound, and the lid bounced slightly from the steam. Wei Chen got up and took two enamel mugs from the wooden shelf next to him. The mugs were printed with faded red characters: "Serve the People" and "Safety in Production".

He first picked up the old jar belonging to Li Zhijun, which had several pieces of porcelain chipped off its rim, revealing a black iron base. He scalded it with hot water, then took out an old iron box from the drawer. Inside was tea produced in his prepared space. He pinched a small pinch of dark brown tea leaves, put them in, and poured boiling water over them.

The tea leaves unfurled and tumbled in the hot water, quickly turning the water a murky, deep yellow. Then, he added even less tea leaves to his own container and poured in water.

He handed Li Zhijun his teacup. Li Zhijun took it, not minding the heat, brought it to his lips, carefully blew away the foam, took a small sip, winced from the burn, but a look of comfort appeared on his face. "Xiao Chen, your tea is really good! Fresh and natural, indescribably delicious! I've finally had some good tea with you! In this awful weather, I need something hot."

The two sat facing each other, tending the fire and holding teacups, chatting about this and that. Occasionally, the storeroom would quiet down, with only the occasional crackling of the fire, the slight hissing of the kettle's residual heat, and the slow puffing of Li Zhijun's cigarette.

Sunlight streamed in through the tall, dusty windows, casting several hazy beams of light on the concrete floor, within which countless dust particles danced silently.

This silence wasn't awkward; rather, it reflected a tacit understanding that developed from working together for a long time. Li Zhijun wasn't a talkative person, and Wei Chen was also used to keeping quiet when necessary.