Chapter 9: Settling Down in a Siheyuan

Just as I reached the Central Courtyard, I smelled a whiff of a sizzling pot drifting out from He Daqing's house.

He Daqing was squatting beside the little coal stove at his doorway, fanning the fire with a broken Palm Leaf Fan, while the pot sizzled. A tiger‑faced, seven‑ or eight‑year‑old boy (He Yuzhu, Sha Zhu!) was clinging to the doorframe, his eyes almost falling into the pot.

"Uncle He!" Li Ping'an said with a smile as they walked over.

"Hey, settled?" He Daqing looked up, pointing the Palm Leaf Fan toward the Front Courtyard, "Rented the Front Courtyard East Wing Room?"

"Yes, I rented it, thanks to Brother He's recommendation." Li Ping'an leaned in, lowered his voice, sounding a bit uneasy, "There's another matter I need to trouble you with. I'm new here, eyes still dark, and I've heard that to move around the city you need a 'Good Citizen Certificate'? Where do I get that thing? What's required? I… I really have no relatives here…" He showed a pleading expression at the right moment.

He Daqing slowed the fanning, glanced at Li Ping'an, then at the watery greens in the pot, and slapped the Palm Leaf Fan on the knee twice, "Huh, about that—go to the Inner Fifth District Police Substation on Drum Tower East Street. Bring two one‑inch photos, find a shop guarantor… that is, a shop to vouch for you, proving you're not a bad person. Pay a bit, fill a form, wait a few days and it'll be done."

He paused, looking at Li Ping'an, "Shop guarantor… that's not easy to get, you need a familiar face. You're an outsider, unfamiliar with the place…"

Li Ping'an immediately replied, "Uncle He, you see… you're well‑known in Four Nine City, could you… lend me a hand? I'm completely at a loss. If you can help me, I, Li Ping'an, will remember your kindness for life!" His tone was extremely sincere, with a hint of desperation.

He Daqing smacked his lips, scanned Li Ping'an's earnest face, then glanced at the thin vegetables in his pot. His throat rumbled as if making up his mind, and he waved the Palm Leaf Fan, "Alright! Who says my old… heart is soft! You look friendly, not a bad seed. Shop guarantor… I'll vouch for you! Just say you're my distant cousin from my hometown, your family suffered a disaster and you came to me! Is that okay?"

Li Ping'an's heart leapt with joy, his face brimming with gratitude, "Ah! Uncle He! You're truly my great benefactor! How… how can I ever thank you!" He stammered with emotion, "Rest assured, I'll pay every cent! I won't make things hard for you!"

"Hey, saying such heretical words!" He Daqing waved his hand, looking hearty, "Distant kin is still kin! Tomorrow morning, just come with me to the substation! Bring the photos, the money… you'll need about three or five yuan." He quoted the price, his eyes implying "you know what I mean."

"Understood! Understood!" Li Ping'an nodded repeatedly, his mind clear that this money certainly included He Daqing's favor. "Tomorrow early I'll come find you!"

"Fine!" He Daqing agreed heartily, the pot's aroma grew stronger, and his son He Yuzhu swallowed with a glug.

Li Ping'an stopped dithering, said goodbye and left. Stepping out of the gate of Courtyard No. 95, the outside air felt fresh. The identity issue, a perennial difficulty, finally seemed on track. He Daqing's guarantor, though seemingly enthusiastic, was actually a transaction, but exactly what Li Ping'an needed—a legitimate, reasonable identity to put down roots in this Siheyuan.

In the latter half of the day, Li Ping'an became the most inconspicuous speck of dust in Beiping City. He followed He Daqing's directions and found the Inner Fifth District Police Substation. At its entrance, two Black Dogs with Box Cannons slung over their shoulders scanned the comings and goings with hook‑shaped eyes. Li Ping'an kept his distance, observed for a while, memorized the location and procedure. Then he began his ant‑like moving.

Space is an all‑purpose warehouse, but you still have to keep up appearances. He singled out inconspicuous small sundry shops and second‑hand stalls. A chipped enamel washbasin, two coarse porcelain bowls, a cracked kitchen knife, a bundle of straw‑rope‑tied chopsticks, an old woven rattan thermos shell (its inner bladder new in the space), a cracked earthenware jar… the items were broken and old, worth only a few copper coins together, perfectly matching his "fleeing poor kid" persona.

The most off‑putting thing was bedding: new ones were too conspicuous, while the ragged cotton from the second‑hand market was dirty, hard, and reeked of mildew. Li Ping'an endured the disgust, bought the two most tattered sets, took a roll of straw mat, and slung it over his shoulder.

Each time he bought something, he acted like a startled rabbit, shrinking into a Small Alley or crouching by the roadside as soon as he saw a uniformed Black Dog or a patrol squad of gun‑carrying Japanese Soldiers.

After several trips, he finally gathered all the cooking utensils, oil, salt, sauce and vinegar needed for daily life, hauling them back to the Front Courtyard East Wing Room each time. When he finally went shopping, he was ultra‑careful, picking only the cheapest cabbage, radish and potatoes, and cutting a small strip of pork belly.

Night fell, and the Front Courtyard East Wing Room finally had a hint of hearth. It was "lighting the fire"; the cracked stove was lit, burning low‑grade coal, the smoke a bit acrid. Li Ping'an rolled up his sleeves and began preparing dinner.

Inside the space, the prime Pork Belly, fresh vegetables, and a small jar of yellow wine could not be shown. He could only use the newly bought pork fat to render some oil residue, stir‑fry a vinegar‑flied cabbage, stew a big pot of potato‑radish chunks, steam a pot of brown rice, with generous portions.

The aroma of the food broke through the stale coal smoke, drifting over Courtyard No. 95. After the meal was ready, Li Ping'an walked to the doorway of He Daqing's house in the Central Courtyard.

"Uncle He! Aunt He! Zhuzi!" Li Ping'an beamed, "Thanks to you today, Uncle He! I've just settled, bought some vegetables, made a simple home‑cooked meal. If you don't mind, the whole family can come over for a bite, as a token of my gratitude!"

He Daqing had just finished stir‑frying his own plate of salted vegetables and was chewing on it. The rich aroma of the stew pierced his nose, and seeing his own thin broth, his throat involuntarily twitched. His son He Yuzhu stared hungrily at the oily stew in Li Ping'an's hands, saliva almost spilling out.

"This… I'm so embarrassed…" He Daqing rubbed his hands, politely saying, but his feet moved without delay as he stepped over. He peeked into Li Ping'an's room; the items were shabby but neatly arranged, especially the appearance and aroma of the food, naturally appealing to him as a cook. "Alright! Young brother has spirit! Mother of the child… Zhuzi! Quickly, go to Brother Li's place to eat!"

He turned back, shouted into the house, then smiled at Li Ping'an, "Hey, didn't you see? Your handiwork isn't like raw melon… The flavor of this dish… quite authentic! The oil residue is crystal clear, the potatoes and radish stew is silky soft!"

Li Ping'an gave a shy smile, showing two little tiger teeth, "Country style, clumsy nonsense, I've made the great chef He Daqing laugh." He stepped aside to let the He family of three enter.

When He Daqing entered, his eyes habitually swept over the shabby yet neatly arranged belongings, lingering on the cracked kitchen knife, then at the pot of soft, oily potatoes and radish, his nose twitched as if discerning the seasoning. His wife smiled a bit shyly, while He Yuzhu's soul had already been captured by that pot.

"Sit quickly, sit quickly!" Li Ping'an welcomed warmly, giving the only relatively whole bench to He Daqing, while he and little Zhuzi squeezed onto the edge of the kang. Under the dim oil lamp, in the shabby little house, the four shadows stretched long on the mottled wall.

Outside, the gradually darkening Luo Gu Lane, where other residents of Courtyard No. 95 might peer in, and inside, a simple thank‑you meal, like the first stone Li Ping'an tossed into this "beast's nest," its ripples quietly spreading.

Li Ping'an lifted his chopsticks, his inner string taut: the identity proof comes tomorrow, and the "demons and monsters" in this courtyard will eventually show themselves. He must wear the "distant poor cousin of He Daqing" mask tightly and convincingly.