Life in siheyuan era

The afterglow shrouded the capital, and the city's temperature began to drop. Mid-March in Beijing welcomed the footsteps of spring, a season of alternating warmth and cold.

The flow of bicycles surged through the streets, a dark tide of people rushing in all directions. Five o'clock in the evening was the time when the city fully sprang to life.

A green train pulled into Beijing Railway Station and slowly came to a halt. Streams of people poured out of the carriages, quickly merging into a torrent that surged towards the platform.

At the ticket barriers, the flow split into three streams. Those who passed through quickly dispersed, their figures seemingly sprouting wings as they swiftly merged into the street's torrent, flowing in all directions.

In the bustling station square, two tall figures in grass-green uniforms stopped. One leaned against a telephone pole to rest, while the other extended his left hand to support him.

Their grass-green cotton overcoats and the cotton army caps, devoid of cap badges, identified them as two young demobilized soldiers.

The burly figure was weak, having walked slowly all the way from the train. The slender figure constantly offered his left hand for support.

After resting for a while, the two slowly moved forward. After crossing the road, Shen Lanbo leaned against another telephone pole, gasping for breath.

Zhou Zhiyuan glanced at the passing buses, seeing the carriages packed with passengers, then turned to Shen Lanbo and said softly, "You've exhausted your strength on this journey. Let me carry you."

Shen Lanbo gently shook his head, and after his breathing calmed down, he replied in a low voice, "I must recover my strength as soon as possible."

"The doctor told you to rest," Zhou Zhiyuan brandished the doctor's orders.

Shen Lanbo gave a wry smile and slowly replied, "The doctor wants me to rest for at least a year, but I don't want to be a useless person."

Ignoring the advice, he insisted on walking forward. Ten minutes later, he had no strength left. Zhou Zhiyuan carried him on his back and strode forward, reaching a bustling street half an hour later.

Yong'an Street had a strong commercial atmosphere. Although the streetlights were not yet lit, the lights of more than a dozen shops, restaurants, and hotels shone brightly in the dim environment. The street was filled with people, and there was also an army hospital and a library.

Shen Lanbo gave a brief introduction, and Zhou Zhiyuan nodded gently, carrying him forward.

After passing the army hospital, they turned onto another road. After walking another five hundred steps, they saw soldiers standing guard in the distance, knowing that this compound was the army compound.

Reaching a short distance from the gate, Zhou Zhiyuan crouched down and put Shen Lanbo down, taking off his own military rucksack from his back and carrying it himself.

Shen Lanbo landed and steadied himself, slowly saying, "Call me before eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Zhou Zhiyuan agreed. Shen Lanbo nodded, straightened his back, and strode through the gate.

During the self-defense counterattack on the plateau, Shen Lanbo led the sharp knife platoon to rush out of the border first. In the final battle, he was struck by two bullets, one of which hit his lung.

After emergency rescue, Shen Lanbo's life was saved, but his weak body required long-term recuperation.

The unit leader wanted him to be a staff officer in the military headquarters, but he was unwilling to be a burden to the unit. Unable to serve as a commander, he resolutely applied for a transfer to civilian work, going to the local area to work hard if he couldn't fight.

With this idea, Shen Lanbo transferred home, preparing to join a military industrial enterprise with Zhou Zhiyuan. If he couldn't hold a gun, he would make guns.

But Zhou Zhiyuan had his own ideas. His goal was the subdistrict office, entering the government's grassroots management department, which was very close to society.

The two discussed it all the way, and his ideas were recognized by Shen Lanbo, who reconsidered the path he wanted to take, unaware of Zhou Zhiyuan's true intentions.

His real goal was to prepare for the reform and opening up fifteen years later, accumulating contacts from the grassroots level and looking for opportunities to make money during this period.

But this idea could not be said. Was the dream that night at Mount Z a dream, or a fantasy? The facts of the self-defense counterattack on the plateau proved it.

But the path of the dream could not be repeated. Faced with this unfamiliar road, he had to first find his own roots.

He walked along Yong'an Street, asking for directions to Jixin Road. On this road was a hutong called Ping'an Hutong, and the courtyard house in the hutong was his home, his roots.

He asked for directions all the way, heading in that direction, finally finding Ping'an Hutong after eight o'clock.

Walking into this hutong, he suddenly felt a darkness before his eyes. By the light of a sliver of moonlight, he could only see the high walls on both sides.

His impression of courtyard houses came from the script of "Full House of Love," only knowing that courtyard houses were divided into three courtyards: the front yard, the middle yard, and the back yard. Each yard would elect an elder: the first elder in the middle yard, the second elder in the back yard, and the third elder in the front yard.

At this time, he knew that the courtyard house was a closed space, and the inverted houses were the walls of this row of courtyard houses.

Seeing a glimmer of light ahead, he quickened his pace. Reaching the light, he suddenly saw a black shadow speeding towards him.

His reaction was extremely quick, quickly shifting one step to the left, only to find that the black shadow was aimed at him.

He then shifted one step to the right, discovering that the black shadow actually had an automatic tracker. The front of the vehicle was crashing over quickly and accurately.

Sliding his feet again, he reached out his left hand and grabbed the handlebars, firmly pinning the oncoming bicycle to the ground.

Immediately, he heard a scream, and then heard a burst of rapid footsteps behind him. A fist as big as a bowl smashed towards his right face.

Raising his right arm, he blocked the punch, and with a side kick from his right foot, using thirty percent of his strength, he kicked the other person in the stomach, causing him to retreat a few steps.

Then, releasing his left hand, he turned to look, using the glimmer of light to see the person who had punched him.

This was a young man with a square face, broom-like eyebrows, and triangular eyes, wearing a grass-green cotton coat, carrying a net bag in his left hand containing two lunch boxes. Staring at Zhou Zhiyuan, his eyes revealed surprise, and he shouted, "You hooligan, you dare to fight back?"

The young man shouted and put down the net bag in his hand, rushing over again, punching towards his nose.

Zhou Zhiyuan once again extended his right arm to block the punch, stepping back to avoid the kick, replying, "I'm not a hooligan."

"If I say you are, then you are," the other party said stubbornly, stepping forward to throw another punch.

Turning his eyes to look at the old man, he glanced at the row of houses. This inverted house had a door and two windows, and the light from inside the house spilled out through the doors and windows. The plaque on the door was engraved with the words "Ping'an Hutong Convenience Store."

Seeing him observing the house, the old man asked suspiciously, "What's your honorable surname, comrade?"

"My surname is Zhou."

Zhou Zhiyuan announced his family name, turning his gaze back to the old man, listening to him ask lightly, "You are Zhou Zhining's brother, right?"

"I am his younger brother."

Hearing his reply, the old man looked him over again and smiled, "You two brothers look quite alike, but your spirits are different."

The old man's words spoke of the differences between the two brothers.

Zhou Zhining liked literature, with a burly figure and a refined temperament. He looked more like his father.

And Zhou Zhiyuan liked martial arts, with a slender figure and a heroic face. He looked more like his mother.

The two brothers did have five or six similarities in appearance. The old man had a deep impression of Zhou Zhining, saying lightly, "I am the person in charge of this convenience store, my name is Zhao Ping. Your brother calls me Uncle Zhao, you can call me Uncle Zhao too."

"Uncle Zhao," Zhou Zhiyuan followed suit.

Zhao Ping nodded, turning to the young man and saying, "Sha Zhu, take him back."

The young man named Sha Zhu was looking at him in surprise. Hearing Zhao Ping's arrangement, he bent down to pick up the net bag on the ground and casually called out, "Zhou family's second son, follow me."

Hearing his address, Zhou Zhiyuan frowned. Sha Zhu's address had a taste of revenge.

The address "son" implied closeness from an elder, but between peers, this address showed contempt.

Zhao Ping gave a low shout: "What are you saying?"

"Heh..." Sha Zhu laughed and walked forward.

And Zhou Zhiyuan gently took a breath, suppressing the urge to retort, thanking Zhao Ping and following behind Sha Zhu, but in his heart, he was recalling that TV series in his dream.

The two walked one after the other for more than a hundred steps. Sha Zhu stopped, pointing to the door and saying, "This is the courtyard house. Don't go to the wrong place in the future."

His voice had a mocking tone.

At this time, Zhou Zhiyuan no longer cared about his attitude. He was about to see his parents and brother. They had been separated for nearly five years, but it felt like they had been separated for more than half a century.