Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

"Brother Zhu, you brought some good food again?" Wei Chen would sometimes give a simple greeting. This silly Zhu gets angry quickly, but he gets over it just as quickly, and he usually doesn't hold grudges!

Sometimes the two would stand in the courtyard and chat for a while. Sha Zhu would talk animatedly about who had slacked off in the cafeteria and been scolded by the director, whose food was too salty or too bland, or boast about his newly invented "He Family Secret Recipe." Wei Chen would listen with a smile, occasionally chiming in and asking if there were any tricks to making the cafeteria's communal dishes. Sha Zhu thought Wei Chen was "knowledgeable" and "a connoisseur," so he chatted even more enthusiastically.

Xu Damao in the backyard, however, had a completely different style. He was usually more tidy than the other men in the yard, his hair neatly combed, and even when wearing work clothes, he kept his collar as clean as possible. When he saw Wei Chen, he would usually offer him a cigarette first (usually a common brand like "Economy" or "Harvest," while the better "Daqianmen" was hidden in his pocket and he would take it out when he met his superiors), and he would put on a professional smile: "Brother Wei Chen, off work? You've worked hard! Here, have a cigarette to relax."

Wei Chen would take the cigarette, light it with the match Xu Damao had struck, say thank you, and then quietly wait for the other party to continue.

Xu Damao would usually start by making small talk, asking how busy the factory was lately, what new films the film crew had shown, and then casually change the subject, asking, "Brother Wei Chen, you're in the security department, you're well-informed. I heard... the factory is going to do some kind of safety inspection again? Or is there some new directive coming down?" Or, "Your department's been really focused on training lately, is there... something going on?" His eyes would gleam with shrewdness and inquiry.

Wei Chen would exhale a smoke ring and reply in a similarly casual tone, "Brother Xu, I'm just a figurehead, doing odd jobs in the equipment depot and hanging around with the trainees. What information could I possibly have? Aren't there major inspections every year? As for the new spirit, you're a movie projectionist, you have more contact with the leaders, your information should be better than ours!" He neither offended anyone nor revealed any substantial information, but instead threw the question back at them.

Xu Damao would laugh it off, changing the subject to talk about the internal reference films he'd recently watched, or the "local specialties" given to him by villagers when he went to the countryside to show movies, implying that he had wide connections and was well-connected. Wei Chen would listen with a smile, occasionally agreeing, but never delving deeper. He knew that Xu Damao was the kind of person who was shrewd and adept at maneuvering, but that also made him prone to offending people; it was best not to get too close to him, and maintaining a polite facade was sufficient.

These diverse characters, each with their own distinct personalities, desires, schemes, and joys and sorrows, enact a real and vivid human drama day after day in this small courtyard.

Wei Chen is like an actor who has part of the script but is deeply involved in it, calmly observing, carefully analyzing, and occasionally participating passively or actively.

He stood up for his mother against a family in the front yard who tried to install a private lock on the public water tap, subtly reminded Sha Zhu to be careful of the little tricks of some people in the cafeteria so as not to be used as a pawn, and also cleverly avoided Xu Damao's several attempts to get him to join in "making some extra money".

This participation carries a subtle sense of control and detachment, making him feel that he is not completely swept up by the tide of the times, but rather, within his own power, protecting the peace of his small corner of the world and quietly influencing the subtle ecology around him.

Life flowed steadily and fulfillingly amidst the roar of steel and the sweat of discipline in the steel mill, and the mundane daily life and human warmth of the courtyard house.

Training, working, listening to Li Zhijun tell stories, eating at home, dealing with neighbors, tending the small vegetable garden... life is calm and uneventful, yet there is a sense of peace and contentment as if rooted in the soil.

That afternoon, Wei Ran ran into the yard like a cheerful little bird, waving a small pickup slip in her hand. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she called out in a clear voice:

"Brother! Mom! Has the family photo we took before the New Year been developed? Tomorrow is the day we pick it up, right?"

The following afternoon, the rolling mill's whistle blew as usual to signal the end of another day of industrial clamor. Wei Chen finished handing over his work to Li Zhijun in the equipment warehouse and carefully locked the door.

The afterglow of the setting sun cast a soft golden edge on the factory's tall chimneys and water towers. The air was filled with the unique smell of coal smoke and cooled metal, but if you sniffed carefully, you could also catch a very faint, moist scent of thawing soil from afar.

Instead of going straight home, he took out the carefully folded pickup slip from the inner pocket of his work clothes. The edges of the slip were a little worn, and the name and address of the photo studio were written on it in blue ink: "Red Star Photo Studio, No. XX, Qianmen Street".

This is a family photo he took with his mother and sister at the park during the Chinese New Year. At the time, Wang Xiulan was worried about the cost, saying, "Why take photos? It's expensive and troublesome," but she couldn't resist Wei Chen and Wei Ran's persistent pleading. Now, more than half a month has passed, and the photo should be developed.

Leading Dahuang, Wei Chen walked out of the factory gate, joined the flow of people leaving get off work, and then turned towards the city center.

At this time of day, the streets are quite lively. Bicycle bells ring, buses chug by, and pedestrians either hurry along or stand in twos and threes chatting in front of shops.

The locust and poplar trees along the roadside were still bare, but upon closer inspection, small, dark brown buds had begun to swell on their branches, hinting at the arrival of spring. The edges of the remaining dirty snow in the shady corners of the walls had melted, leaving behind a ring of dark water stains.

Qianmen Street is one of the famous commercial streets in Beijing. Even in this relatively simple era, it was much more lively than ordinary hutongs and streets.

The signs of various state-owned shops are lined up one after another: grocery store, department store, Xinhua bookstore, barbershop... The air is filled with the sweet aroma of roasted chestnuts, the oily aroma of fried pastries, and the faint salty aroma of pickled vegetables emanating from a certain time-honored brand.

The Red Star Photo Studio had a small storefront, nestled between two gray brick buildings. The display window was gleaming, showcasing several large sample photos: a dashing young man in military uniform with a Chairman Mao badge pinned to his chest; a shyly smiling girl with two long braids; and a standard family portrait of several people dressed neatly in Zhongshan suits or Lenin suits, sitting upright. The photos were all black and white, but the expressions of the people were captured vividly, conveying the solemnity and hope unique to that era.

Pushing open the glass door, the brass bell above the door jingled crisply. The shop was dimly lit and filled with a faint smell of chemicals. Behind the counter, an elderly craftsman with gray hair and reading glasses was hunched over his worktable, writing something on the back of a photograph with a fine brush. Hearing the bell, he looked up and adjusted his glasses.

"Comrade, please pick up the photos." Wei Chen stepped forward and handed over the pickup slip.

The experienced craftsman took the order, leaned under the lamp to examine it carefully, and then looked up at Wei Chen and the big yellow dog sitting quietly at his feet: "Oh, the afternoon of the first day of the lunar new year, a family of three, surnamed Wei, right?" His voice was a little hoarse, but very kind.

"Yes, thank you for your help."

"Just a moment." The old craftsman turned around and opened a cabinet with a glass door behind him, inside which were many neatly arranged kraft paper bags. He ran his fingers over the rows of bags, quickly pulled one out, walked back, and took out a square cardboard clip wrapped in kraft paper.

"It's all washed. Are you satisfied?" The old man opened the paper folder and pushed it in front of Wei Chen.

The photo is a standard six-inch size, framed in a stiff cardboard frame. The black and white tones are distinct yet clear. In the photo, the mother, Wang Xiulan, sits in a rattan chair in the middle, wearing a faded but neatly ironed navy blue blouse, her hair combed perfectly and tied in a bun at the back of her head.

A slightly reserved yet genuine smile graced her face, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes smoothing out, her hands resting naturally on her knees. Wei Ran stood to her mother's left, wearing a new floral cotton-padded jacket made for the New Year, her hair in two pigtails, her little face beaming like a flower, revealing a row of neat white teeth, one hand affectionately resting on the back of her mother's chair.

Wei Chen stood to his mother's right, his posture upright, wearing the new Zhongshan suit, with a gentle and calm smile on his face and bright eyes.

The backdrop for the three people is a standard photo studio setting—an oil painting backdrop depicting Tiananmen Square and pine trees. The composition of the entire picture is well-balanced, and the lighting is soft, perfectly capturing the simple and warm emotions of the family embracing each other.

Wei Chen's gaze lingered on the photograph for a long time, a warm feeling welling up inside him. This photo was the first official family portrait of his family, making it exceptionally meaningful. It captured precious moments of him and his two closest relatives, bound by blood, facing their new life together after his transmigration.

"The photos are great, thank you, Master," Wei Chen said sincerely, carefully clipping the photos back together and putting them into the brown paper bag.

"Hmm, your family is very photogenic." The old craftsman smiled as he put away the pickup slip. "Your mother is kind, your sister is lively, and you look quite energetic too. Here you are, go back and find a frame to put it in; it will last for many years."

After paying the balance, Wei Chen carefully placed the paper bag containing the photos into his canvas shoulder bag, thanked him again, and left the photo studio with Da Huang in his hand.

On the way back, the evening breeze carried a slight chill, but it was no longer as biting as in the dead of winter. Wei Chen's steps were much lighter. The thin photograph in his satchel felt as heavy as if it weighed a ton, yet it also seemed to carry a comforting warmth. When he passed a grocery store, he used his ration coupons and money to buy two yuan worth of peach shortbread, wrapped it in oil paper, and carefully placed it on the other side of his satchel, intending to surprise his mother and sister.

When Wei Chen returned to the courtyard house, it was already dusk. Dim yellow light shone from the windows of each house, and the air was filled with the aroma of cooked meals. In the front yard, Uncle Yan Bugui was filling an enamel basin at the communal water tap. Seeing Wei Chen, he habitually adjusted his glasses: "Wei Chen's back? You got off work pretty late today?"

"Yeah, I went to pick up some photos." Wei Chen replied casually in a good mood, without stopping.

"Photos? Oh, a family portrait taken during Chinese New Year, right? They're printed? I'll have to see them sometime!" Yan Bugui immediately became interested, his eyes glancing at Wei Chen's handbag.

"Alright, Uncle San, another day." Wei Chen mumbled an agreement and went through the moon gate into the central courtyard. The lights were on in Sha Zhu's room, and he could vaguely smell the fumes of cooking oil. It seemed that Sha Zhu was tinkering with food again.

Wei Chen didn't disturb them and went straight back to his home in the east courtyard.