Life in siheyuan era

Sixteen-year-old Zhang Quanyi had become the leader of this group of teenagers with his superb martial arts skills.

It wasn't really his fault that he didn't get into technical secondary school. His parents were both ordinary workers, neither of them understanding math, physics, or chemistry. Besides, he often dozed off in class, and the exams were so difficult. It would have been a miracle if he had passed; it was normal that he didn't.

He thought it was perfectly normal, and with that sense of normalcy, he felt his grandfather was abnormal. His grandfather's thinking was off, actually telling him to seek refuge with Zhou Zhiyuan.

He didn't think much of it. "What's so great about Zhou Zhiyuan? So he beat up Hu Biao, and fought Xu Lao Er and Xu Lao San? They didn't provoke me; if they did, I'd beat them up too."

Today, he was preparing to implement this plan. Around ten in the morning, he convened the Quanyi Gang's meeting in this small park, where eleven teenagers held a seminar.

Before the meeting, Zhang Quanyi set the theme of the seminar: "Defeating Zhou Zhiyuan is my business. You guys can brainstorm what methods we should use to defeat him."

As soon as Zhang Quanyi finished speaking, one of the teenagers immediately suggested, "Let's send him a challenge and have a ring fight."

This suggestion was good, and Zhang Quanyi nodded, but then he heard Liu Guangfu say in a low voice, "Boss, think about it. When my dad swung a stick at Zhou Zhiyuan, Zhou Zhiyuan just raised his arm to block, and that stick, as thick as a teacup, snapped in two."

Yan Jiekang immediately added, "I can confirm this. My younger brother is一心 (yīxīn, single-heartedly) wants to learn martial arts from Zhou Zhiyuan."

Hearing this, Zhang Quanyi continued to nod, but his eyes shone with excitement as he said, "That's horizontal martial arts! I've practiced it too. I can chop that stick in half with one palm."

He was being truthful when he said this, but someone nearby actually said, "Old Dong, listen to that, that kid's bragging."

This voice entered his ears, and a flame instantly ignited in Zhang Quanyi's stomach. He turned to look and saw two middle-aged men standing to the side, looking at them with mockery in their eyes. They even continued, "Let it go. What's so strange about a kid bragging?"

After saying this, the man turned and walked away, the other middle-aged man following him, laughing and saying, "That little brat hasn't even grown all his hair yet, but he's already blowing such a big horn."

The words of the two men turned Zhang Quanyi's flame into a raging fire. He shouted, "Stop!" and chased after them.

The teenagers all followed, catching up and surrounding the two middle-aged men. Zhang Quanyi was about to reason with them when he heard one of the middle-aged men shout loudly, "They're hitting people!"

This shout confused the teenagers. "What does this mean?" Then they heard a loud roar from a distance: "Who's hitting people?"

Hearing this roar, the teenagers turned their heads and saw figures in blue police uniforms surrounding them.

They were surrounded by more than twenty policemen, and they couldn't run even if they wanted to.

At noon, the eleven teenagers of the Quanyi Gang were taken into a room in a large compound. It was lunchtime, and each of them was given two cornbread buns and a bowl of cabbage soup.

While the teenagers were gnawing on their cornbread buns and drinking their cabbage soup, Yuan Shi had already finished his lunch. He wanted to use his lunch break to work a little longer, as the grain depot paid wages based on the number of grain sacks carried.

Among these laborers, he was the thinnest and shortest, but also the strongest and earned the most. With that strength alone, no one dared to provoke him.

Yuan Shi didn't have the opportunity to display his martial skills. As a descendant of the Thief Sect, he couldn't just know how to steal; he had to have a martial art to protect himself.

Since he started his career, he had never been caught, relying on his superb stealing skills and his martial arts. Sometimes, if he miscalculated and encountered a master, he could still escape unscathed.

But soon after he started, he encountered a year of famine. The Thief Sect had a rule: "In a year of famine, you are not allowed to steal from the common people."

Yuan Shi had to abide by the rules, and then he discovered a sad problem: there was no one to steal from. He looked around and couldn't find any rich people eating big fish and meat. Everyone, from top to bottom, ate the same food, and no one was full.

At that time, society only had a few categories of people: cadres, workers, farmers, students, and housewives. Even the cadres didn't have as many food stamps as the workers, and the workers were definitely common people.

So, the depressed Yuan Shi became unemployed and had to run to the grain depot to work as a laborer, moonlighting by reselling food stamps. After three years, he felt that the famine was over and he could resume his old profession, but as soon as he made a move, he encountered Zhou Zhiyuan.

He was unlucky enough to encounter Zhou Zhiyuan and re-entered a state of depression. He returned to the grain depot to continue working as a laborer, using his lunch break to earn a little more money, but he was notified that there were two people looking for him outside the gate.

Yuan Shi was puzzled. He came to the gate and saw two middle-aged men. When one of the middle-aged men showed his credentials, Yuan Shi was stunned to see the words "People's Public Security."

The middle-aged man put away his credentials, and the other middle-aged man said in a low voice, "Will you come with us voluntarily, or will we handcuff you and take you away?"

They gave him a multiple choice question, and Yuan Shi replied without hesitation, "I'll go with you."

He didn't want to run away. This society was supposed to be reasonable, and he hadn't stolen a single item in the past few years.

But he had a request: "Can I make a phone call? Just to tell my mom, so she doesn't worry."

Yuan Shi made a request, and the middle-aged man actually agreed. "You can make a phone call when we get there."

So, Yuan Shi got into the jeep and was also sent to this large compound in the suburbs.

The buildings in this large compound consisted of three rows of bungalows. A sign reading "People's Police Training Base" hung at the entrance, and an armed policeman stood guard.

Getting out of the jeep, Yuan Shi looked around and saw a shooting range and various training facilities, so he wondered, "Are they going to train me?"

With this puzzled heart, Yuan Shi walked into the gate of this row of bungalows. The two middle-aged men handed him over to a young policeman, who led him into a room to make a phone call.

The middle-aged men kept their word, which relieved Yuan Shi a little. He picked up the phone and dialed the public phone in his neighborhood, asking the person who answered to tell his mother that he would be working late tonight and wouldn't be able to go home, so she shouldn't worry.

Putting down the phone, he followed the young policeman down the corridor. Along the way, he could hear muttering coming from the rooms: "How do I write it?"

Then someone responded: "I don't know, think for yourself. You can leave once you've written it."

Hearing this exchange, Yuan Shi was puzzled by the lax exam discipline.

He was genuinely puzzled. He had been inexplicably brought here, inexplicably followed a young policeman into this room, and then inexplicably sat at a table, inexplicably looking at the paper and pen in front of him, pondering a sharp question, "How do I write it?"

He had to write an essay. The young policeman's question was very simple: "Write down your main problems over the years and conduct a thorough self-criticism."

Then the young policeman walked out of the room, and Yuan Shi entered a state of deep thought. His main problem was stealing, but could he write about that?

As a descendant of the Thief Sect, his education was at the elementary school level, so writing a self-criticism was no problem. The problem was that he couldn't talk about the problem, even though this problem was an internal conflict among the people, it was absolutely not something he could say.

At this time, he couldn't help but consider a question: "How much do they know?"

This question had to be figured out, as it involved the issue of "leniency for those who confess" versus "severity for those who resist."

This question was not easy to answer. If the other party knew something he didn't say, that was resisting and would be dealt with severely.

If the other party didn't know something but he said it, he would face imprisonment. Leniency for those who confess would only reduce the sentence.

Faced with such a sharp question, Yuan Shi couldn't put pen to paper, but Zhang Quanyi didn't have this concern. His problem was just a fight, nothing more. He hadn't stolen, robbed, or acted like a hooligan. A fight was no big deal.

Without hesitation, Zhang Quanyi wrote three pages of letter paper in a flamboyant style. He put down his pen, got up, walked to the bed, and with a thud, fell onto the bed. He closed his eyes and quickly met the Duke of Zhou, completely unaware that the sun was slowly setting.

He was awakened by hunger. Opening his eyes, he saw a tall figure standing in front of the table, looking through his "self-criticism."

The tall figure wasn't wearing a police uniform, but a plain green military uniform without collar tabs. Hearing the movement, he turned his face to look over. Seeing him sit up, he coldly asked, "Did you write this?"

Hearing him ask, Zhang Quanyi impatiently replied, "So what?"

"So what?" The tall figure retorted, then coldly said, "Three pages of letter paper, less than a thousand words, sixty-four spelling mistakes, twenty-three grammatical errors. The whole 'self-criticism' is incoherent nonsense."

Hearing him deny the 'self-criticism,' Zhang Quanyi jumped up and reached out to grab the letter paper, shouting, "Who are you? What right do you have to criticize me?"

He wanted to take back the "self-criticism," but he saw the tall figure roll up the letter paper and raise his hand. Then, the rolled-up letter paper knocked him on the head.

In an instant, he was struck. Zhang Quanyi's internal organs also instantly ignited with a raging fire. He clenched his right fist and punched out, but then felt a pain in his stomach. His punch retracted before it was even halfway out.

His stomach hurt too much, and he couldn't help but cover his stomach with both hands and squat on the ground. Then, he felt the rolled-up letter paper knock him on the head again, and heard the tall figure scold, "How did you go to school? I told you not to goof off in class."

The tall figure scolded as he repeatedly struck with the rolled-up letter paper.

Zhang Quanyi gritted his teeth and endured, still having the energy to think, "It's none of your business if I goof off in class. Just you wait."

He regretted it. He shouldn't have thrown a punch just now; he should have given him a palm strike.

But he still had a chance. Once this pain passed, he would give him a palm strike. He had been too polite just now; this time, he would definitely not be polite.