Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

Xu Damao only stopped smoking when the cigarette in his hand had completely burned down to the filter and emitted a burnt smell.

He threw the cigarette butt on the ground, crushed it with his toe, and then smiled at Yan Bugui, saying, "Third Uncle, it's getting late. You've been busy all day, you should rest early. My stomach is empty, I need to go back and see how your sister-in-law's cooking is going."

He then turned to Wei Chen, who had remained silent, his face still bearing that warm smile: "Wei Chen, see you later! Come visit my house in the backyard sometime, let's chat!"

Wei Chen then raised his eyelids, glanced at him, nodded, and said in a flat voice, "Okay, see you later." He accurately flicked the cigarette butt, which had barely been smoked but was already burned out, into the broken earthenware basin next to the wall where trash was kept. Then, without saying anything more, he bent down, patted Da Huang's head, turned around, pushed his bicycle, and walked towards his own quiet little courtyard in the east wing.

His figure, silhouetted against the twilight in the courtyard, appeared remarkably composed, quiet, and even somewhat lonely, a stark and silent contrast to the "trial by public opinion" that had just taken place at the front gate, filled with malice, ridicule, and spittle. Big Yellow followed silently behind him, its steps light and agile.

Xu Damao watched Wei Chen leave, pursed his lips, and muttered to himself, "A blockhead, no fun." But then, the exhilarating feeling he had accumulated throughout the day surged back into his heart. He pushed his bicycle, humming the tune of "Today we drink to celebrate our victory" from "Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy," and walked into the central courtyard with a smug look on his face.

As he passed Sha Zhu's dark, silent, and seemingly uninhabited house, he deliberately slowed his pace, even glancing sideways at the tightly closed, dilapidated wooden door that seemed to shut out all life. A smug, mocking, and cruel smile spread across his face before he raised his head and walked briskly back home.

Wei Chen pushed open the moon gate of the east courtyard, turned around and closed the door. His mother, Wang Xiulan, was busy at the stove in the kitchen. The sound of stir-frying came from the pot, and the aroma of scallions filling the small room.

Hearing the noise, Wang Xiulan didn't turn her head. While stir-frying the cabbage in the pan, she casually asked, "You're back? What were you talking about with Xu Damao and Uncle San at the door just now? It sounded quite lively."

Wei Chen leaned his bicycle against the wall behind the door, walked to the washbasin stand, picked up a towel, soaked it, and wiped his hands and face. The cool water made him feel refreshed and also washed away the lingering smell of smoke. He replied casually, "Nothing much, just listening to Xu Damao talk about things at the factory."

Wang Xiulan ladled the stir-fried cabbage into a plate, turned around, wiped her hands on her apron, and glanced at her son. Wei Chen's face was expressionless, but she could still sense something unusual from his unusually silent profile and slightly furrowed brows. She wasn't one to pry into gossip, but having lived in this courtyard for decades, she could guess most things without hearing the whole story.

"You mean...Zhu Zi's matter?" Wang Xiulan sighed, her voice lowered, carrying a sense of melancholy and sympathy from someone who had been through it all. "There were already rumors circulating in the courtyard this afternoon. Xu Damao's mouth...sigh, he exaggerates and embellishes, he can make the dead sound alive. Zhu Zi is also...unlucky, stuck with such a father, and he's so straightforward and stubborn, easily offending people. This time, he's probably been seriously hurt." In the past few days, she had heard all the stories of He Daqing, Zhu Zi's father, from Grandma Li and Aunt Liu.

Wei Chen hung up the towel, walked to the small dining table and sat down. He didn't say anything, just silently watched his mother set out the bowls and chopsticks. Da Huang walked to his feet and gently rubbed against his trouser leg.

Wang Xiulan set out the bowls and chopsticks and sat down. After hesitating for a moment, she said softly, "Chen'er, Mom knows you don't like getting involved in the gossip in the courtyard. Xu Damao... I've heard he's cunning and speaks harshly. It's best to stay away from him. Shazhu... although he's a bit muddle-headed, he's not a bad person at heart. He just needs someone to guide him properly. Sigh, this courtyard seems peaceful on the surface, but underneath... the water is murky." Wang Xiulan had lived here for a year, and with her abilities, she could see clearly who the people in the courtyard were—good or bad.

Wei Chen picked up his chopsticks, took a bite of cabbage, and slowly chewed it. The cabbage was stir-fried to perfection, carrying a warm, homely flavor. There was also a hint of meat aroma. Wang Xiulan had stir-fried some pork cracklings with the cabbage. Even though the family had never run out of meat and vegetables, she was still frugal. If it weren't for Wei Chen's picky eating habits and love for fragrant flavors, she wouldn't put meat in her cooking every day!

Wei Chen ate his meal in silence, but the scene in the front yard that evening involuntarily flashed through his mind: Xu Damao's smug and exaggerated face, the Third Uncle's shrewd and voyeuristic eyes, the suppressed sneers of the surrounding neighbors, and the cigarette between his fingers that was slowly burning out and emitting a pungent smell.

He also recalled that late last night, he vaguely heard heavy and hurried footsteps in the central courtyard, and the sound of a door being slammed shut with all its might, which shook half of the courtyard.

He could imagine He Yuzhu's feelings at that moment. It wasn't just the frustration of a failed blind date; it was the despair and anger of being stripped of one's dignity in front of everyone, reduced to one's original state, and repeatedly humiliated by the most vicious words.

Xu Damao's tricks weren't particularly clever, but in the closed environment of a factory and an equally closed courtyard house, the destructive power of rumors was astonishing. It could not only destroy an opportunity, but also completely ruin a person's reputation, relegate them to the sidelines of society, and even affect their future prospects at work.

Wei Chen wasn't a bodhisattva; he didn't have the leisure to save all sentient beings. He and He Yuzhu didn't have a particularly deep relationship. Besides, He Yuzhu's loud, boisterous, and fist-throwing manner wasn't his type.

However, seeing someone being so openly and viciously trampled into the mud, while the one trampling on them is so smug and unscrupulous, a subtle unease and chill still lingers deep within him.

It wasn't sympathy for He Yuzhu, but rather an instinctive aversion to this blatant malice and cruel "mass violence." After all, Wei Chen had lived in that peaceful and law-abiding society for so many years! Even after coming to this era, he still often reminded himself that no matter how great one's personal abilities are, they are nothing in the face of the torrent of the times! Therefore, Wei Chen never abused his power.

This courtyard needs people like Xu Damao to create excitement and buzz, people like Yan Bugui to spread and amplify it, and countless neighbors like those who stop to listen and laugh knowingly in the evening to form the audience and backdrop for this "comedy." As for Wei Chen, he can only, and only wants to, be a silent observer. At least for now.

After finishing his meal, he helped his mother clear the table, then picked up the letter and package he had brought back. The letter was from his grandfather and uncle in the countryside; as usual, it simply informed them that he was safe and sound, and reminded them to take care of themselves—brief and restrained. The package contained some local produce from the village: a few kinds of dried mushrooms and a small bag of peanuts. Wang Xiulan's eyes reddened slightly as she looked at these things, but she quickly concealed it and carefully put them away.

As night deepened, the courtyard fell completely silent. Only the lights, some bright and some dim, shining from the windows of each room outlined the contours of this crowded world.

The house of Sha Zhu in the middle courtyard remained dark and silent, like a forgotten, dark wound, existing silently in the seemingly peaceful night.

In the front yard, back yard, and east and west wing rooms, the sounds of talking, snoring, and children crying gradually subsided, and the adults' chatter also quieted down. But everyone knew that some things had quietly changed amidst today's rumors and the evening conversations at the door.

The name He Yuzhu, along with the nickname "Silly Zhu," and labels such as "his father ran away with a widow," "his lewd behavior at a social gathering that scared a female worker to tears," and "almost physically assaulting someone," have been deeply etched into the public discourse of the steel mill and the courtyard house, becoming a "case" and a source of endless discussion and a source of amusement.

For Xu Damao, the instigator, he had never felt so exhilarated; he was overjoyed! Of course, his elation hadn't yet reached its peak. He still needed to observe Sha Zhu's reaction at the factory and seek more opportunities in the yard to consolidate and expand his "victory." He wanted to make Sha Zhu utterly lose face and completely extinguish any thought of him "starting a family and living a better life" than him!

He had found the best way to deal with Sha Zhu! He could almost see Sha Zhu gradually sinking into despair under everyone's disdain, eventually becoming a truly neglected "old widow"—what a satisfying sight that would be!

However, Xu Damao may not have realized, or perhaps deliberately ignored, that when he poured all his malice and scheming into one person and took pleasure in it, he himself was unknowingly becoming a more pathetic being. He too was imprisoned by jealousy and narrow-mindedness, living in a distorted world where pleasure could only be derived from belittling others.

But behind the tightly closed doors and windows, behind the chest repeatedly scorched by humiliation and anger, is there truly only despair and resignation left for He Yuzhu, whom he regards as a fool and can be manipulated at will? Beneath that silence, is there some dangerous force that he himself is unaware of?

The night was gentle, yet cold. It concealed the daytime's clamor, as well as the undercurrents of scheming and wounds. The aftershocks were far from subsiding; instead, they spread into an even more unpredictable depth in the silence.

A "war" ignited by jealousy, fueled by rumors, and watched by a crowd has just begun between an ordinary worker and an ordinary projectionist in a seemingly peaceful courtyard house.

Meanwhile, at the eye of the storm, Shazhu was curled up alone in the boundless darkness, licking his bleeding wounds. His eyes flickered with pain, confusion, and... a growing, increasingly clear, and icy glint. His clenched fists loosened and tightened again in the darkness.