Courtyard Houses: From Bronze Compasses to Global Reach

Chapter 44 The Long Night's Tide and the Hidden Hands of Zhang Chun

The night was as deep as ink, and the courtyard was completely silent. Sha Zhu lay on his hard bed, tossing and turning like a pancake, causing the old bed to creak and groan in protest.

He finally couldn't resist any longer and sat up abruptly again. His thick arms groped in the darkness until he found the matchbox. With a "hiss," he struck a match, and the orange flame ignited the wick of the kerosene lamp with a glass shade on the kang table. He reached out, his fingertips touching the tin box. The icy touch made him tremble slightly, as if it weren't a box for money, but a scorching hot iron.

He opened the box. Inside were several yellowed letters, the handwriting on the envelopes addressed to "He Yuzhu, He Yushui" both familiar and glaring, like cold needles piercing his eyes and his heart. He picked up the top letter. It was thin, almost weightless in his hand, yet it felt incredibly heavy.

He stared intently at the envelope: How heartless and resolute He Daqing had been back then, running off with a widow without a word, abandoning him, a barely grown man, and his snotty-nosed, crying baby sister, Yushui, like trash. How had he survived all those years?

He lived a life of irregular meals, his skin thickened with shame, barely surviving on scraps others wouldn't take from the canteen, shamelessly begging for a bite from one neighbor and a spoonful from another. He remembered being so hungry his stomach was practically touching his back, his eyes seeing stars as he searched for sparrow nests under the eaves; he remembered wearing a tattered, drafty cotton-padded coat in winter, his lips turning purple from the cold as he collected coal scraps; he remembered other children being protected and pampered by their parents, while he and Yushui were like two unwanted stray dogs, huddling together for warmth, enduring endless scorn and bullying… All this pain and humiliation was because of his heartless and cruel father!

Thinking of all this, his chest tightened, and a surge of anger rushed to his head, burning his eyes until they turned red. He wished he could tear these letters to shreds immediately, throw them into the stove to burn to ashes, and let them scatter with the wind, as if that person had never existed! As if he had sprung from a crack in a rock!

But… another stubborn voice rose from the deepest recesses of his heart, carrying a pitiful hope: How has he been doing in Baoding all these years? Is that widow surnamed Bai treating him well? Has she truly won him over, or has she also suffered mistreatment? Has he… even for a moment, in the quiet of the night, thought of himself and Yushui in Beijing? Has he thought of the home he abandoned like a broken bundle? What… will this letter contain? A cold, perfunctory reply, a hypocritical greeting, or… will there be even a trace of guilt or genuine concern?

This contradictory feeling of wanting to know yet fearing to know, of both longing and dread, was like two invisible hands tearing at his heart and soul, threatening to rip him in two. He held the letter, wanting to tear it open forcefully, but no matter what he did, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He was afraid. Afraid of seeing those heartless and indifferent words, which would completely extinguish the pitiful hope in his heart. He was also afraid... afraid of seeing even the slightest bit of warmth and remorse, which would shake the mountain of hatred that had accumulated over so many years, leaving him at a loss and making his resentment seem like a joke.

Finally, as if drained of all his strength by this intense inner struggle, he took a deep breath, roughly shoved the letter back into the cookie box, and slammed the lid shut with a loud "bang."

He blew out the kerosene lamp, lay heavily back down on the bed, and thought to himself, "What's the point of watching this alone? Whether it's good or bad, it's like facing a mountain of knives or a boiling cauldron of oil..."

Let's wait until the weekend.

Wait until the rainy season ends and the school is closed.

Whether it's good or bad, resentment or lingering affection, whether to give up on this thought or... this is something he and his sister have to bear together. Even the rain has the right to know.

The night was as dark as ink, and all was silent. Just past midnight, Lin Yan's figure seemed to blend into the shadows themselves, silently leaving the courtyard and drifting away towards the hospital.

The hospital's night shift nurse was dozing off at the duty station, her arms propped up on her elbows. The corridor was deserted, save for the strong, cold smell of disinfectant that permeated the still air. Lin Yan moved like a ghost through the dimly lit corridor and stopped outside the single room where the deaf old woman was staying. The door lock silently clicked open and closed.

Only a dim wall lamp illuminated the ward, barely casting a light on the figure on the bed, covered with a white sheet, emaciated to the point of being nothing but skin and bones. The deaf old woman lay still, her eyes closed, her eye sockets sunken, her face appearing sallow and lifeless in the dim light, even thinner and more haggard than before, her cheeks deeply sunken, her high cheekbones protruding like two lonely mountain peaks. Due to her prolonged coma and lack of meticulous care (Tan Jinhua had recently been busy with her divorce and property division, physically and mentally exhausted, with no time for anything else), although the hospital was maintaining her basic heartbeat and breathing through intravenous nutrition, no one frequently washed her body, turned her over, or massaged her. A faint, unpleasant odor, a mixture of sweat, medication, and the smell of old age, lingered around the bed.

Lin Yan stood quietly in front of the bed. He reached out and gently hovered his hand over the old lady's mouth and nose, without making direct contact.

A surge of spiritual energy emanated from his fingertips, like the finest silk thread, slowly seeping into the old woman's skull. With a slight thought, Lin Yan felt the dormant spiritual energy being drawn out bit by bit, as if summoned, receding like the tide, returning to his fingertips, and disappearing.

The waters of this pool had just calmed briefly due to Yi Zhonghai's complete downfall and Tan Jinhua's resolute independence, showing a fleeting clarity. But now, with this old "catfish" thrown back into the water, it's likely that it will never be able to remain calm again.