Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

"Alright! Mission accomplished!" Wang Xiulan breathed a sigh of relief, patting the dirt off her hands. "Thanks so much to Shi Tou and Xiao Cao for their help today, thank you both!"

"You're welcome!" Little Stone puffed out his little chest, a bit of mud still clinging to the tip of his nose. Little Grass also said softly, "Thank you, godmother, for letting us help."

Wei Chen went to the public water pipe and filled a half-bucket with clean water for the children to wash their hands. The cool water washed away the mud and dirt from their hands, and also took away the slight fatigue from their work, leaving behind only the excitement of participating in creation.

"Stone, Little Grass, would you like to have dinner at our house before you go back?" Wang Xiulan politely invited them to stay, as usual. She knew that both children's families were struggling financially, especially the Liu family, which had many members, and Grandma Li and her grandson were even more destitute.

Little Stone swallowed hard, glancing at the dining table faintly visible in Wei Ran's main room, but still resolutely shook his head: "No, thank you godmother, my grandma told me to go home for dinner, the food is already prepared." In fact, he knew that dinner at home would probably just be a pot of thin porridge and cornbread with pickled vegetables.

Xiao Cao whispered, "My mom is waiting for me at home too." Wei Chen didn't say anything, turned around and went into the house. He wrapped four freshly baked pancakes that night in oil paper. They were mixed with fine bran but still smelled delicious. He came out and handed two pancakes to Xiao Shitou and Xiao Cao each: "Here, share them with your mom and Grandma Li tonight. You worked hard today, this is a reward."

The two children's eyes lit up as they looked at the warm, substantial flatbread in their hands, the aroma filling their nostrils. After a moment's hesitation, they couldn't resist the temptation of the food, took the flatbread, clutched it tightly in their hands, and said in a clear, cheerful voice, "Thank you, Brother Wei Chen!" "Thank you, Brother Wei Chen!" Then, following Wei Ran, they happily ran out of the east courtyard and went home.

Night fell completely, and a few scattered stars dotted the deep blue sky. Lights gradually illuminated each household in the courtyard, their dim glow filtering through the paper windows and outlining different glimpses of daily life.

From the small kitchen in the east courtyard, the aroma of simple food wafted out again, along with the low voices of a family of three. Wei Chen washed away the dust, changed into clean clothes, and sat on the threshold of the main room. By the light shining from inside, he looked at the outline of the newly cultivated, dark vegetable patch under the moonlight.

A gentle evening breeze brought a touch of coolness, along with the faint scent of earth and new growth. A profound peace settled in his heart. The feeling of improving his life little by little through his own labor, of creating hope, was so grounded and powerful.

Meanwhile, in the other households of the courtyard, their own joys and sorrows unfolded on this spring night. In Xu Damao's room in the backyard, the light was dimmer than usual. The bruises on his face looked even more terrifying in the dim light.

He sat facing the cold stove and pot, gnawing on a hard cornbread with pickled vegetables. With each chew, the muscles in his face twitched in pain. His gaze would occasionally drift menacingly towards the central courtyard and the east wing, where the faint sounds of laughter and the aroma of food emanating from there pierced his sensitive and resentful nerves like needles.

In the front yard, at the home of Uncle Yan Bugui, the family of six was gathered around the table, drinking thin porridge so light it reflected their images. Under the lamplight, Yan Bugui was still scribbling in a small notebook with a worn-out pencil, muttering, "This month's water and electricity bills... next month's school fees for the eldest son... I need to find a way to save some money..." Auntie sighed beside him.

The atmosphere in the Jia family compound was somber. Banggeng and Xiaodang stared longingly at the bowl of thin porridge, barely enough to count the grains of rice, half a dark cornbread, and a small dish of salty, bitter dried radish on the table.

Qin Huairu silently scooped some more porridge from her bowl into the children's bowls. Jia Dongxu lay on the bed, listening to the children swallowing and Jia Zhangshi's dissatisfied grumbling, staring blankly at the dark rafters. He smelled the faint aroma of someone baking pancakes in the air, and his throat involuntarily bobbed, followed by a deeper sense of powerlessness and irritability.

At Yi Zhonghai's home, the elderly couple ate their meal in silence. The older woman couldn't help but sigh again, "Zhu Zi has really suffered this time... I wonder who the person behind this is, and how could they be so cruel!"

Yi Zhonghai, his face grim, shoveled a mouthful of rice into his mouth: "This matter is not over. Zhu Zi is holding back his anger, and Xu Damao... sigh, it's likely that things will become even more unsettling in this courtyard from now on." They were both relieved that Sha Zhu's innocence had been proven and worried about the increasingly sharp and confrontational situation.

This is just an ordinary spring night in a courtyard house. Every family has its own troubles, and everyone has their own worries and calculations. The relatively stable life that Wei Chen's family has built through hard work, wisdom, and a bit of forward-thinking is like a warm and bright light on the backdrop of this generally difficult era. It is not dazzling, but it is enough to illuminate their own doorstep and also subtly attracts gazes that are either envious, complicated, or prying.

As night deepened, the spring chill still lingered, but the seeds beneath the soil were quietly absorbing moisture, preparing to sprout. Taking advantage of his family's inattention, Wei Chen swiftly wielded several planting techniques, instantly reviving the somewhat wilted seedlings.

Tomorrow will be a new beginning, and the story of the courtyard house will continue to flow forward amidst these trivial daily routines and hidden undercurrents.

The annual "Youth Workers' Friendship Meeting," a highly symbolic event held by the steel rolling mill union, will once again be scheduled in late spring when willow catkins begin to drift in the air.

This event, ostensibly a "Revolutionary Friendship Exchange Meeting" for all eligible unmarried young people in the factory, aimed to demonstrate organizational care and help resolve personal issues.

However, in practice, a set of unspoken, implicit rules gradually formed. Those who received the formal invitations with polite wording and red headings, and who had the confidence and mood to attend, were mostly the children of cadres in various departments of the factory, draftsmen and technicians in the technical department, cultural and artistic backbone members of the propaganda department or the trade union, as well as some retired and resettled soldiers or representatives of military families.

These people either come from relatively well-off families or have a certain level of education, and their speech and behavior carry a temperament that is quite different from that of frontline workers.

The topics they discussed might be a Soviet film shown internally, international affairs in the newspaper, or a rare literary manuscript.

For the vast majority of young workers who spend their days in deafening workshops, in front of smoky stoves, and doing heavy physical labor, the club venue with its soft lighting, candies and melon seeds, and the music of "Moscow Nights" seems more like a distant and reserved stage.

When they arrived, they were often at a loss, unable to join the conversation, as if separated by an invisible glass wall. That subtle sense of alienation and inferiority was more exhausting than completing a day's production quota.

Over time, few people volunteered, and the union often had to "mobilize" or "invite" them. As a result, the social gatherings became, to some extent, social salons for a specific group of people.

This year, as soon as the preparatory meeting began, one name gave several union officials a headache—He Yuzhu. His shocking "face-to-face courtship" maneuver from last time hadn't even died down and had already become a long-standing source of amusement in the factory. This time, should they send him an invitation or not?

In the small union office, filled with the smell of cheap tobacco, Sister Li, who was in charge of specific affairs, and two male staff members, Lao Zhang and Lao Wang, sat around a desk with peeling paint, their brows furrowed.

"Comrade He Yuzhu's situation... is too special." Old Wang took a deep drag on his cigarette, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. "If we don't invite him, I'm afraid he'll complain again, feeling that the organization doesn't care about him, and cause some trouble. But if we invite him..."

He shook his head and didn't continue, but everyone understood his unspoken meaning: he was afraid that he would ruin the good social gathering and become an even bigger laughing stock in the factory.

Old Zhang sighed and flicked his cigarette ash with his fingertip: "Yeah, with his temper, he's easily provoked. If he gets into a fight with one of the women, or does something outrageous again, our event will be completely ruined. How will the other young employees have a normal conversation then?"

Sister Li adjusted her thick glasses and rubbed her temples with a troubled expression. "From a work perspective, he is indeed one of our targets—older, single, and with strong demands. Although our approach last time was inappropriate, it did raise the issue. If we exclude him just because he might 'cause trouble,' it doesn't align with the union's mission of 'caring for workers' well-being,' and it won't sound good if word gets out. But finding the right balance is really difficult." The three discussed for a long time, but none of them could come up with a safe solution.

Finally, the problem was brought before Chairman Zhao of the trade union—an old revolutionary who had transferred from the military, was decisive and efficient, but also had the biggest headache when it came to these kinds of "trivial" matters.

After listening to the report, Chairman Zhao's thick, dark eyebrows furrowed. He paced around his office a couple of times, then suddenly stopped and waved his hand dismissively: "Send them out! Send them out as usual! He Yuzhu is a genuine member of the working class, a key member of our steel rolling mill! He has his flaws, and his behavior last time was reckless, but the more he does this, the more it shows that he needs the organization's proper guidance and care! We cannot throw the baby out with the bathwater, nor can we shut out comrades with real difficulties just because we're afraid of taking responsibility! This is a matter of principle!"

He paused, his tone softening slightly, but still resolute: "As for what happens to him after he goes, whether any women are willing to talk to him, that's his own problem. We only provide a platform and create opportunities; we don't take over or guarantee anything! However, when the invitations are sent out, the message must be clear, emphasizing discipline and reminding him to be mindful of the occasion and his behavior! Sister Li, you're responsible for ensuring this is done; you must explain the reasons clearly to him!"

The chairman gave the order, and those below had no choice but to comply. Thus, a light red invitation card, exuding a faint scent of ink, was handed by the canteen director, Ma, with his oil-stained hands, to He Yuzhu, who had just finished wiping away a large spoonful of food and was currently wiping the steaming sweat from his head with a damp towel.