Chapter 5

Li Laotai stroked the neatly folded quilt and patted it.

“Xuewu, is the quilt dirty? Should Grandma take it apart and wash it for you?”

“Grandma, it’s not dirty—I washed it before I left, and kept it wrapped in the outer cover the whole way.”

“Good, good, as long as it’s not dirty.”

Li Xuewu took out all his spring, summer, and autumn clothes, unfolded them, and refolded them neatly—some new, some old, all arranged in perfect order.

Finally, he pulled out his documents and the handkerchief-wrapped JG medals, laid them on the table for his grandmother, grandfather, and mother to see—they were for reporting to the street office and factory.

Watching Li Xuewu organize the items he’d brought back, Liu Yin wiped her hands and sat on the kang’s edge, staring at the three JG medals wrapped in the handkerchief, tears silently falling—whose son wasn’t cherished?

These tiny JG medals were won at the cost of his life, heavy as stone in her palms.

Li Xuewu wiped his mother’s tears and patted her back.

“It’s all behind us now—I’m back home, aren’t I? I’ll stay here and take good care of you.”

Liu Yin’s tears flowed even more.

Li Laotai leaned forward, shuffled to the edge of the kang, and patted Liu Yin’s shoulder.

Da Lao smoked his pipe hard twice.

After a long pause, Liu Yin looked up at Li Xuewu organizing the documents and asked: “Do you know where you’re assigned?”

Li Xuewu: “I don’t know. Before I left, they said there’d be placement—I was told to bring my letter of introduction, documents, and proof to the street office.”

Liu Yin wiped her tears: “Then go today—don’t delay.”

“Yes, I’m going right now.”

Li Xuewu packed his documents and JG medals into his shoulder bag, put on his military overcoat and winter cotton cap, and stepped out the door.

Outside, he carefully studied the courtyard—it matched what he’d seen in the future: a standard sihe courtyard, each household with cotton door curtains and small glass windows, shabby by today’s standards, yet brimming with the warmth of daily life.

Li Xuewu stepped toward the inner gate. Along the way, he nodded to elders older than him. As he crossed the threshold, a thin figure ahead struggled to move a broken bicycle out; Li Xuewu quickly helped lift it.

The man turned, sensing help, and thanked him: “Thank you, sir!”

“Hey! You’re? Li Xuewu? Wow, you’ve changed! Why are you back?”

Li Xuewu looked bewildered.

The man wore medical white tape around his glasses, squinted tiny eyes, and stared at him with a crooked gaze.

This man looked so familiar—he was Uncle Yan Fugui from the TV drama.

“I’m Xuewu, Uncle Yan.”

Li Xuewu greeted him.

“Hey, you’ve really made something of yourself! Your dad said you got promoted—why’d you come back suddenly?”

This old man had chased him away and cursed him that morning—yet he’d already been boasting about him.

Li Xuewu stepped aside to let the man pass, then walked out through the gate.

“I got injured, transferred out, so I came back. Uncle Yan, are you going fishing?”

Seeing Yan Laoxi holding two fishing rods and a white iron bucket, it was clear he was off to do his “free-of-charge” “legitimate business.”

Few fished in the moats around Jingcheng, as they were full of catfish, and rumors said that during the chaos, many unclaimed corpses were dumped straight into the river—the fish grew fat on human flesh, and gradually no one dared eat fish from the moats.

But Uncle Yan was different—he’d moved here from the south, and if it was free, he’d do it.

“Ah, just this one little hobby. No class today, can’t sit still at home. How about it? Come along with me?”

Li Xuewu had no patience for this. Besides, such polite invitations were just empty formalities—he quickly declined: “I don’t have your patience or skill. Wish you luck and plenty of catches! I’ve got things to do—I’ll be off.”

Truthfully, Li Xuewu didn’t believe those rumors—if you were starving, you’d peel trees for bark. Besides, which river or lake hasn’t drowned people? But he had no interest in spending an afternoon wrestling with fish—he’d find a better way later and fish farther out.

Ha ha—he didn’t believe it, but hearing the rumors still made him uneasy.

Yan Fugui muttered after Li Xuewu’s back.

“Hey, two years gone, this little rascal’s learned to talk polite! The great furnace really does change people—why’d he transfer out? What injury? Could it be his face got scarred… can’t serve anymore…? Or did he cause trouble again? Probably—most likely…”

Is he dead or alive? Who cares?

Li Xuewu had no idea Uncle Yan was muttering behind him. Thinking of this as the Sihe Courtyard world, he sighed inwardly, then strode toward the street office. After asking a few passersby, he entered the compound.

Similar to the sihe layout, he offered a cigarette to the gatekeeper, who carefully inspected his documents before accepting it.

“Old man, I’m from Courtyard 95, returned from military service to report in—where should I go, and who should I see?”

The old man took the cigarette, studied Li Xuewu’s face, and sensed the righteousness in it—he pointed to an office inside.

This guy must’ve had bad eyesight—otherwise he wouldn’t be guarding the gate.

“There—third room. See Director Liu. Go.”

“Thanks, sir!”

Li Xuewu nodded and walked toward the office. He knocked. A man’s voice called “Come in,” so he opened the door.

The office was small. A balding man in his forties, wearing glasses, looked up at him.

“Director Liu, hello. I’m Li Shun’s second son from Courtyard 95—my name is Li Xuewu. I left from here two years ago, and this year, due to injury, I’ve been transferred out. As per the resettlement plan when I left, I’m to report to the street office first.”

Director Liu studied Li Xuewu carefully: “Ah, you’re the doctor’s son—yes, his second son. Two years ago, your father came here to transfer your files. Recently, someone from the yard and department mentioned you—there was indeed a record. Sit down, have some water.”

Li Xuewu smiled and pulled two bottles of Fenjiu from his shoulder bag, placing them on the desk.

“My father was busy leaving today, so I came myself. He arranged this in advance—he said you’re his good friend, and asked me to pass along his regards.”

Director Liu smiled and pushed the bottles back.

“Oh, Doctor Li is too kind! This is such a small thing—we sit together all the time. This is unnecessary, please take it back.”

Li Xuewu wouldn’t take it back—the wine wasn’t his father’s; he’d bought it at the gate’s supply store. You never show up empty-handed when asking for favors—this rule never changes.

“Uncle Liu, I can’t take this back. My father said it was for his friend. If you want to return it, you’ll have to wait until he comes back—hee hee.”