Chapter 78: Residual Forces Collapse, Siheyuan at Peace

Er Lengzi's screw was still lying on the dining table; Zhao Jianguo just took it, his brows didn't even have time to knit, when a rustling sound came from the Courtyard Gate.

Qin Huairu, holding her child, stood at the East Room doorway, a hint of grievance on her face, her voice neither loud nor soft, just enough for half the courtyard to hear: "Comrade Jianguo, I know Old Yi made a mistake, but the child is innocent. He's only five, and it wasn't his money; don't you think so?"

No one answered.

Aunt Li, holding her own child, stood by the water basin, her fingertips still wet with vegetable‑washing water; hearing that, her hand paused, she said nothing and didn't move.

Zhao Jianguo slipped the screw into his trouser pocket, neither looking at Qin Huairu nor at Jia Zhangshi's head tucked in the corner. He turned back to the bulletin board, set the Cloth Bundle on the table, unzipped it, and pulled out the register.

With a 'pop', the register opened.

He said nothing, just displayed that page of relief‑fund records, pressed it against the table corner; the wind made the paper rustle loudly, and he didn't even press it down.

The crowd slowly gathered around.

San Daye, leaning on his crutch, shuffled forward step by step, lowered his head to read the line: "120 yuan… only 40 given." He sighed and said no more.

Uncle Wang stuck his head out from the doorframe, glanced twice, and muttered low: "No wonder Aunt Jia kept chanting 'the state treats me well' before she left; she had no idea …"

Sha Zhu's pot‑scrubbing brush hung in mid‑air; he glanced at the East Room, then at Zhao Jianguo, and suddenly flung the brush into the bucket: "What act is Old Yi's family putting on? Using a martyr's money for his son's marriage, now using the child as a shield—whose child isn't a person? Is Jia Wu not his mother's child?"

Qin Huairu's face turned pale, and she stepped back half a step while still holding the child.

Jia Zhangshi hurried forward, her voice a bit shrill: "Jianguo, don't go overboard! Even if Old Yi isn't good, he's spent half his life laboring for the courtyard! Now you lock him in the house, don't let him go out, even the meals have to be delivered secretly—are you trying to drive him to death?"

Zhao Jianguo finally looked up, gave her a glance, his tone as even as asking how many meals to eat today: "Aunt Jia, you say he's labored half his life, then I ask you— he took 80 yuan of relief money for his son's marriage, does that count as labor? Three years ago he falsified his work years and received an extra 40 yuan of subsidy, does that count as labor? He exchanged public coal tickets for wine, does that count as labor?"

Jia Zhangshi opened her mouth, but said nothing.

Zhao Jianguo pulled another sheet from the bag and handed it to San Daye: "Please have a look at this, sir."

San Daye took it, squinted, stared for a while, his hand trembling: "This… is a finance‑department subsidy application form? Signed by Yi Zhonghai? Work years three years longer? This… isn't that fraudulently claiming a subsidy?"

"He reported 'entered the factory in 1961'." Zhao Jianguo's voice was low, "but the factory roster writes 'reported for duty in 1963'. Two years off, an extra 40 yuan. At that time his son was in middle school, and he said it was 'for the child'."

San Daye fell silent.

After several seconds, he shuffled forward two steps, stood in the middle of the Courtyard, his voice low but each word clear: "Old Yi has done things. But deeds can't be used as a veil. His son used a martyr's money for his marriage, his wife now uses the child as a shield, he himself falsified work years to cheat subsidies—this isn't grievance, this is shamelessness!"

The crowd erupted with a sudden roar.

"Goodness, they even dare to cheat subsidies?"

"I thought it was just those few items, turns out they're seasoned veterans!"

"From now on, which family would dare let him handle a single coin?"

Qin Huairu's complexion turned ashen, she turned with the child and retreated into the house, the door slamming "bang", and even the curtains were quickly drawn tight.

Jia Zhangshi also tucked her neck, vanished like a flash back into her own room, not daring to slam the door.

Zhao Jianguo folded the subsidy form back into his bag. He didn't look at the East Room, nor speak, just placed the register on the table and gave it two dust pats.

"From now on, supervision rotations will have no entry barrier," he began, "Anyone who wants to manage accounts, anyone who wants to inspect items, anyone who wants to take a turn, write their name on the bulletin board, change every ten days. The ledger will sit on the council table, anyone can flip through it. If anyone again touches a martyr's money—" he paused, "I won't need to investigate; everyone can drive him out."

No one objected.

Aunt Li was the first to step forward, signing her name under the rotation list: "I'll take the second turn."

Uncle Wang also produced a fountain pen: "I'll take the third turn."

He Yushui, holding a blanket, came out of the house, heard it, draped the blanket over a rope: "Can I take the fourth turn? Anyway I'm at home every day with the child, idle is idle."

Zhao Jianguo nodded: "Fine. Anyone can come."

Sha Zhu suddenly stepped forward, his voice the loudest: "I'll take the first turn! I cook every day, I know exactly how much oil, salt, sauce and vinegar cost! Whoever wants to cheat, they have to get past me first!"

The crowd burst into laughter.

Er Lengzi crouched under the dining table, heard the laughter, stuck his head out, and naively asked: "Then… can I be a supervisor?"

"You?" Sha Zhu grinned, "Can you do arithmetic?"

"I can! One plus one equals two, two plus two equals four, I can even write my own name!" Er Lengzi hurried, pulled a small notebook from his pocket, its pages crookedly bearing "Er Lengzi Supervision Notebook.".

The crowd laughed even harder.

Zhao Jianguo also laughed, walked over and patted his shoulder: "Fine, when it's your turn, I'll get you a red armband."

"Really?" Er Lengzi's eyes lit up.

"Really."

The atmosphere by the council table completely relaxed.

No one brought up "Should Old Yi come back?" nor said "There still needs to be someone in charge." The rules stood here; anyone could manage, anyone could inspect, and no one argued.

Early the next morning, as the sun just rose, the courtyard buzzed with activity.

Sha Zhu rose before dawn, moved a small table to the council corner, spread out the register, ledger, and receipt stubs, even placed a piece of glass on top, fearing the wind would blow them away. He dressed neatly, and pinned a new badge on his chest, sewn overnight by Aunt Li: red background, white characters reading "Supervisor."

San Daye shuffled over, circled once, glanced at the ledger, and nodded: "Well organized, the characters are neat."

"Is that so?" Sha Zhu boasted, "I practiced last night until eleven, writing the two characters 'cement' twenty times!"

Aunt Li swept the courtyard with her child, Uncle Wang climbed a ladder to repair the roof, He Yushui was mending the clothes‑drying rope. Er Lengzi, holding a small brush, crouched before the bulletin board, diligently brushing the dust off its frame.

Zhao Jianguo stood at the electrician's room doorway, a screwdriver in hand.

He bent down, aligned the screw he'd picked up from the dining table with the lock's hole, turned it two turns, tightening it.

"Jianguo!" Er Lengzi ran over, standing on tiptoe, "Is it locked?"

"Locked." Zhao Jianguo finished the final turn, stood up, "If anyone tries to pick the lock stealthily, the door won't open."

"What if someone tries to sneak in at midnight?" Er Lengzi's eyes widened.

"The lock makes a sound, and the courtyard dog barks," Zhao Jianguo smiled, "When the dog barks, Sha Zhu grabs the wok spatula."

Er Lengzi grinned, turned and ran back to the bulletin board, continuing to brush the dust.

After lunch, San Daye gathered a few people, set up a long table in the courtyard, and formally opened a council meeting.

The agenda was a single item: how to set the future management rules of the Siheyuan.

Zhao Jianguo didn't sit in the main seat, just on the side, a pencil clenched in his hand.

Sha Zhu was the first to speak: "The ledger must be public! Whoever is on duty records, at month's end we all reconcile together!"

Aunt Li added: "The secondhand supplies box also needs to be registered! Whoever borrowed the hammer, whoever used the wrench, must sign!"

Uncle Wang said: "The materials for the technical night school must be purchased uniformly by the supervisor; one person cannot decide alone."

They recorded each item one by one; Zhao Jianguo took a pencil and marked on the paper, finally summarizing into five points:

1. Accounts made public, announced every ten days;

2. Materials in and out, register and sign;

3. Supervisor duty rotation, anyone can sign up;

4. Night school expenses, collective purchase;

5. Major matters, decided by vote at the meeting.

After each item was read, everyone nodded.

San Daye finally tapped his cane: "That's settled. Whoever doesn't follow the rules, the whole group will manage together."

After the meeting dispersed, the sunset had already slanted west.

The courtyard was spotless, the roof repaired, the clothesline pulled taut, children chased a ball across the open ground, laughter continuous.

Zhao Jianguo walked to the bulletin board, reached out and touched the duty roster.

The edge of the paper was slightly curled; he pressed it down with his finger, then took out a piece of tape from his pocket and stuck it on a corner.

He did not leave.

He just stood there, looking at that sheet.

In the distance, the curtains of the East Room remained drawn, motionless.

On the wooden frame of the bulletin board, the trace of yesterday's black bar still remained.

He did not wipe it away.