Solemn declaration: Every development in this book strictly follows the ironclad laws of the era! If you see anyone in the Quadrangle Courtyard raising chickens, fishing, hunting, or treating a letter of repentance as a get-out-of-jail-free card... or staging dramatic tropes like house-grabbing disputes or dancing after thought-reform labor—make no mistake, your eyes must be playing tricks on you! Every single plot point in our story has to pass the security inspection of the government's iron fist first!
If you find yourself hooked and unable to stop reading, you are welcome to camp out in the comment section as a class representative picking out the fine details. Finally, I humbly beg all you patrons—who provide my food and clothing—to toss me a meal by dropping likes and leaving comments! In return, this author will put on a performance of chewing up propaganda posters raw to show my sincerity!
***
In the Beijing evening of March 1955, the wind had a stubborn edge to it, stinging fiercely against people's faces.
The multi-courtyard blue-brick walls of the No. 95 Nanluoguxiang Courtyard still held onto lingering traces of late winter, capped with a layer of frost. Inside the compound, the commotion was hardly small; cooking smoke mingled with booming voices, painting a vivid portrait of gritty, everyday human life.
Dragging a pair of legs that felt barely his own, Su Changshun wobbled three steps for every two as he shuffled inward from the mouth of the alley.
He had just finished his porter duties for the day—acting as a human conveyor belt for the Supply and Marketing Cooperative at the street corner.
The pay? A pitiful handful of small change! The fatigue? That genuinely outpaced the grueling rowing machines from his past life's gym! For three months, the starting routine of this down-and-out time traveler had boiled down to a single motto: staying alive is all that matters.
"Yo, Changshun, wrestling with those burlap sacks again?" a hearty voice asked, carrying a hint of a Shandong accent.
Li Qingxiang, the undisputed heavy-hitter of the Back Courtyard, came pedaling back on his Flying Pigeon bicycle. Just off the late shift, his work overalls still carried the lingering scent of workshop machine oil—a combination that, when colliding with the sour stench of Su Changshun's sweat, proved quite refreshing.
"Brother Qingxiang," Su Changshun steadied himself against the base of the wall, wiped his face, and squeezed out a smile. "Ah, just scraping together a living. You... just stepped down from the anvil?"
He thought to himself: This big guy really looks like a humanoid Gundam. He's fired guns, repaired tanks, and now he beats iron... That stamina bar of his must be bottomless.
Li Qingxiang parked his bicycle and responded with a laugh: "You bet! Let me tell you, Changshun, what's the use of a big, strapping young man just hauling sacks all day? Got nowhere to spend that strength? The Rolling Mill is hiring right now—how about getting in there to learn a proper trade?"
His tone was brimming with the straightforwardness of a veteran soldier and a natural sense of superiority—the mental image of a state-owned factory's formal employee delivering a dimensional reduction strike against a rootless drifter.
Inside, Su Changshun rolled his eyes so hard it felt like Nezha churning the seas.
Give it a try? Where's the introduction letter? Has he ever laid eyes on that Judge Bao face of Director Wang at the Sub-district Office? Without a legitimate reason, you couldn't even set foot past the gates of the Rolling Mill!
Yet on the surface, he piled on his signature lazy smile, mimicking Li Qingxiang's tone: "Ah, I don't have that kind of good fortune! Unlike you, a decorated hero straight out of a hail of bullets, holding down an iron rice bowl with a golden rim! I'll just trudge along slowly—maybe one day smoke will billow from my ancestors' graves?"
While spouting nonsense aloud, the CPU in his head was running at full throttle.
Three months had been more than enough for him to map out the intelligence network of this miniature martial arts world within the Quadrangle Courtyard. An opportunity? It existed! And it was hidden right inside that stubborn blockhead of the Middle Courtyard—Shazhu, He Yuzhu!
That punk had managed to become the head chef of the Rolling Mill's back kitchen by the age of twenty, holding down a greasy, lucrative post! His culinary skills were solid, and his mouth was filthier than an outhouse—though he primarily targeted Xu Damao—yet his heart... well, he could barely pass as a decent component.
Most importantly, he had free access to the Rolling Mill and was easily manipulated!
"Saving the nation by a roundabout path!" Since he couldn't get through the front gate himself, he would just make Shazhu his courier boy! Delivering what? Propaganda posters, of course! This happened to be one of his old areas of expertise. In his past life, he had written scripts for drama clubs and knew stage design and publicity inside and out.
What kind of enterprise didn't need to slap up slogans and post bills in this day and age? When the factory held meetings and launched political movements, could they afford to lack that kind of pomp? Slap a few visually striking propaganda posters right onto the factory's bulletin board...
A calculating smirk crept up the corner of Su Changshun's mouth—this job was respectable, easy, close to the leadership, and had hidden potential!
While he was happily plotting how to rope Shazhu into his scheme, the shouting from the direction of the Middle Courtyard erupted like a boiling pot!
"Shazhu! You itching for a beating or something?" A voice sharp enough to puncture an eardrum exploded. One could tell immediately it was Xu Damao, the trash-talk king of the Back Courtyard. The kid was only seventeen this year, still serving as an apprentice learning to be a film projectionist.
"Xu Damao, you son of a bitch! Want to try spewing that sewer water out of your mouth one more time?" Shazhu's cracked-bronze roar followed right after, burning with fury.
Su Changshun instantly snapped to attention! Every trace of sleepiness vanished. His biggest form of entertainment over the past three months had been watching this bickering pair perform cross-talk; it was definitely more invigorating than the comedy shows on the radio!
His waist stopped aching and his legs stopped hurting in an instant. Like an old cat catching the scent of fish, he broke into a swaggering gait and sauntered toward the Middle Courtyard, wearing an expression that practically begged for a handful of sunflower seeds.
By the time he reached the Middle Courtyard, the good show had already begun!
Shazhu was rolling up his sleeves, looking ready to pick Xu Damao up like a helpless chick.
Cowardly as Xu Damao was, he couldn't lose the dignity of a trash-talk champion. Crouched on the steps of the rear-warding house, he put on a brave front: "Try me then! What kind of big shot are you pretending to be, Shazhu? Every single day you've got 'sister-in-law this, sister-in-law that,' cozying up right next to Qin Huairu. You bring her food and drinks with such burning enthusiasm—do you think everyone in the courtyard is blind? Jia Dongxu is still around, you know! What do you call this? This is acting like a hooligan, trying to poach your brother's wife!"
"I'll screw your ancestors!" The accusation of acting like a hooligan undoubtedly poked right at Shazhu's sore spot. His face flared to the color of a monkey's backside, his eyes bulged wide, and he took a step forward, ready to throw hands.
"Stop it! Both of you, stop it!" The door to the Yi family's house in the Middle Courtyard swung open, and Yi Zhonghai made a brilliant entrance.
This senior bench fitter wore blue work overalls washed to a pale white. His face bore the standard expression of a fair-judgment scale—stern and impartial.
"Look at the two of you! What do you look like? In broad daylight, swinging arms and moving legs—do you have even a sliver of working-class consciousness left? Neighbors need to live in harmony!"
The moment Xu Damao laid eyes on this moral benchmark, he instantly transformed into a dramatic actor, putting on a bitter melon expression: "First Uncle! You've finally come! You have to seek justice for me! Look at this Shazhu, relying on the fact that he's a rough cook with brute strength, he's trying to hit me! Everything I said is the truth! The feelings he harbors for Sister Qin are practically carved onto his forehead..."
"Xu Damao!" Yi Zhonghai abruptly raised his volume, shooting a look that screamed *no spreading rumors* straight across the space, cutting off the spellcasting mid-chant.
"What do young kids know about anything? Neighborhood harmony and unity come first! Chewing the fat like this is pure sabotage of unity! You aren't a child anymore either, Zhuzi, why are you bickering with a kid?" Shifting his tone instantly, he brushed the matter aside with a light touch, "Scatter, scatter! Everyone go home! Zhuzi, shouldn't you hurry up and cook dinner for Yushui? Don't let the child go hungry!" The old routine: shifting the focus and beating both parties with fifty boards each.
Sticking his neck out while suppressing a vicious ball of fire, Shazhu knew better than to openly disrespect the lofty standing of Yi Zhonghai in front of everyone. With a cold huff, he backed down unwillingly.
Right at that moment!
Leaning casually against the moon gate the entire time, Su Changshun slowly opened his mouth.
His voice wasn't loud, nor was it high-pitched; it even carried a lazy drawl. Yet every single word landed like a tiny needle, piercing with pinpoint precision right into the ears of everyone in the courtyard.
"Hah, show's over?" He smacked his lips with a look of profound regret, "And here I just got my bench and sunflower seeds ready, thinking I'd get to watch a grand production."
He cast a gaze mixed with a hint of pity toward the fuming Xu Damao: "With a mouth like yours, it's a real waste you aren't over at the factory labor union performing crosstalk. Your lines flow smoothly enough, but not a single one hits the right note."
Then he turned to Shazhu: "Zhuzi, getting your knickers in a twist over a creature with a wagging tongue like that? Not worth it. It lowers your value."
He pivoted once more, his gaze settling on Yi Zhonghai, whose expression was beginning to darken.
"Though, come to think of it," Su Changshun plastered a teasing smile across his face, "Master Yi, your skill at muddling the waters and glossing things over—tsk tsk—is truly masterclass, reaching the absolute pinnacle! Look at this bowl of water held so level it doesn't even ripple; it's as steady and balanced as can be, fully displaying the fair and selfless backbone of our working class! It's just a pity..."
He deliberately paused for effect, "Whatever is sinking at the bottom of this water... are those just broken gossiping tongues, or something else... a bit more heavy with heartfelt intentions?"
As the words landed, the smile on Shazhu's face morphed into confusion. What kind of intentions could there be?
With a dark expression, Yi Zhonghai locked a sharp, piercing gaze directly onto Su Changshun, his jaw tightening visibly: "Su Changshun! Is that how you talk to your elders? Utterly lacking in respect! When did the rules of this courtyard ever turn into a platform for..."
"Aigoo! Stop right there, stop right there! Master Yi, please don't overestimate me!" Su Changshun hurriedly raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of obeisance, his lazy smile unchanged while his eyes flickered like a cunning fox's. "I was just a junior tossing out some idle chatter to liven up the atmosphere in our courtyard! Your old heart is broad enough to hold an aircraft carrier; please don't lower yourself to bicker with a good-for-nothing punk like me!"
Straightening up, he patted the empty pockets of his gray cloth jacket, "I still have to go back and figure out how to steam those two cornmeal flatbreads tonight so they don't choke me to death. You folks go on with your busy business!"
With that, he cast another meaningful, mischievous glance at Shazhu. Ignoring the several gazes behind him that practically wished to impale him on the spot, he ambled back toward the Front Courtyard as coolly as you please.
Back inside his room, he shut the door.
Leaning back against the wooden panel, Su Changshun let the lazy expression completely drain from his face, a cold smirk curling at the corner of his lips: "Hoh, the Paragon of Morality? Trying to put me through a psychological conditioning routine? In your dreams!"
The propaganda poster plan grew sharper and clearer in his mind. He nimbly fished a salvaged piece of cardboard out from under the bed, conjuring up half a tube of ink and a worn-out calligraphy brush as if by magic. His movements were so brisk they made the lazy loafer from just moments ago look like a completely different person.
As soon as he spread out the cardboard and dipped his brush into the ink, Shazhu's cracked-bronze voice exploded right outside the courtyard door: "Changshun! Su Changshun! Come out, come out! Emergency!"
The corner of Su Changshun's mouth curved upward. He had taken the bait.
Opening the door, Shazhu barged in like a young bull, his expression a complex mix of confusion: "What did you mean by running down First Uncle just now... what were you getting at? I know he always smooths things over, but what was that about what's sinking at the bottom of the water..." He scratched his head, radiating curiosity.
Instead of answering directly, Su Changshun reached behind him to pull the door mostly shut, lowering his voice into a mysterious register: "Zhuzi, let me ask you: Does Master Yi constantly tell you things like—'Zhuzi, the Jia family has it tough, a widow and orphans. You've got a good heart and real capability, you need to help look out for them'?"
"Huh? Yeah, he does!" Shazhu stared wide-eyed. "Qin Huairu with a kid isn't having an easy time of it..."
"Ah, I'm telling you, Shazhu, my boy, you really live up to your nickname," Su Changshun patted his shoulder, his tone carrying a mix of exasperated sympathy. "Did you ever stop to think? Jia Dongxu is his apprentice! A real one! If he helps the Jia family, won't Jia Dongxu remember his kindness down the road? Won't he be the one to bury him and tend to his grave when he's old? Then why doesn't he put his own back into helping them? Why does he always push you to the front lines? You're this obedient—are you his biological son or something?"
Su Changshun originally wanted to roast him by asking if he was Yi Zhonghai's pet dog. But upon second thought, that felt a bit too insulting, and he was afraid Shazhu might punch him right on the spot.
A buzzing sound echoed in Shazhu's head. No matter how dense he was, he could tell good from bad; that crack about a biological son was clearly mocking him, implying Yi Zhonghai's true spiritual son was Jia Dongxu. His expression stiffened slightly.
Striking while the iron was hot, Su Changshun offered a mischievous grin to change the subject: "Besides, just now when that grandson Xu Damao said you had your eyes on Sister Qin, why did your face turn red and your neck swell up like that? If you like her, you like her! It's human nature! It's not breaking any laws! What's there to be scared of? But you've got to keep a balanced scale in your heart!"
Leaning in closer, he dropped his voice even lower: "Does Sister Qin genuinely view you as a warm-hearted, good neighbor, or does she just treat you like... a convenient Shazhu who can spare a bit of grease and oil and be bossed around whenever she pleases?" He bit down hard on the last three words.
Shazhu's face flushed a brilliant crimson all over again, this time a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance: "You... cut the crap! I just think she's pathetic!"
"Fine, fine, you find her pathetic," Su Changshun raised his hands in surrender with a smile, dropping the teasing. He didn't have the energy to care what Shazhu wanted to do; what he needed right now was to use Shazhu to accomplish his own goals: "Let's talk business! Can you regularly get a look at the factory director while you're at work?"
"The factory director?" Shazhu curled his lip, his attention successfully diverted. "I'm just a cook wielding a ladle, how could I see him every day? At most, I catch a glimpse of him from afar during big meetings. Why, are you trying to get into the factory?"
"You bet I am!" Su Changshun let out a heavy sigh, pointing a finger at the piece of cardboard on the kang. "But brother here has some heavy currency right in his hands!" He picked up the worn brush, dipped it in ink, and dashed off a few rapid strokes across the blank space of the cardboard.
The image of a muscular worker with bulging sinews brandishing a sledgehammer sprang forth from the page. Although the lines were rough and bold, the sense of bone and muscle, alongside the explosive momentum of swinging that hammer, was the living embodiment of the sentiment: *We workers have strength!*
"Whoa!" Shazhu's eyeballs nearly popped out of his head. Leaning in close, he muttered, "Changshun! You punk, you're full of hidden depths! This looks incredible! It's way better than those stiff, lifeless things pasted on the factory's propaganda board!"
"Small matter," Su Changshun brushed off some nonexistent dust with deliberate grandiosity. "Brother has plenty of other skills! Let me ask you this: if I draw a few more punchy pictures like this with prominent themes that would make the leadership's eyes light up the moment they see them, do you think you could find a way to slip them into the hands of the bigwigs running propaganda at the factory? Or... just get some leader to lay eyes on them by coincidence?" He looked at Shazhu with an expression that screamed, *Isn't this simple?*
Shazhu found himself in a tight spot: "I... I'm just a cook, how am I supposed to hand them over? If I hand over a recipe, they might want it..."
"Who told you to hand them straight to the factory leadership?" Su Changshun rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Don't you know any errand runners or odd-job guys in the propaganda section? Even if you only know someone who sweeps the bulletin boards! When you're shooting the breeze with them..." He imitated Shazhu's casual tone, "'Hey, you know what? We've got a buddy in our courtyard who draws propaganda posters like an absolute wizard! Looks just like living people! I happen to have a piece he drew right here—want me to open your eyes right now?' Once you've done that, you just flash them my artwork!"
A sharp gleam flashed through Su Changshun's eyes. "Good wine needs no bush! As long as the stuff is good, are you worried nobody will take a fancy to it? When they start asking questions later on, won't everything fall right into place naturally?"
Gazing at the drawing, then shifting his eyes to Su Changshun's knowing countenance, Shazhu hesitated slightly: "This... could this actually work?"
"Zhuzi, how will you know if a steamed bun is filled with meat or sweet bean paste if you don't take a bite?" Su Changshun directly shoved the half-finished piece of cardboard he had just drawn right into Shazhu's arms.
"Just consider it helping a brother out! If it works out, from now on you're my sworn younger brother! Whoever you want to settle scores with... brother guarantees I'll design a masterstroke that leaves them swallowing bitter coptis without being able to complain, while making the whole courtyard roar with laughter at their expense!" He lowered his voice, sounding just like an underground operative at a secret drop.
"Can we settle scores with Xu Damao?" Dealing with Xu Damao precisely struck Shazhu's favorite nerve! Xu Damao's cheap mouth had been the greatest pain point of his twenty years of life! A heroic urge to rid the world of a pest instantly filled his chest!
"I'm in!" Shazhu slapped his thigh with a resounding smack. "Tomorrow I'm taking this straight to the factory! I'll camp out right by the workshop bulletin board. But..." Cradling the cardboard, he emphasized, "We need a few more of these drawings! The prettier, the better! Momentum! You understand?"
"Don't you worry!" Su Changshun patted his own chest. "I'll whip some up for you tonight! I guarantee they'll catch people's eyes even better than freshly steamed white flour buns!"
Clutching the drawing, Shazhu strode off in high spirits, already picturing the scene of Xu Damao kneeling and begging for mercy in the future.
Watching his retreating back, Su Changshun rubbed his chin: "Heh, step one is complete." Turning around to spread out his piece of cardboard once more, his eyes shone like lit searchlights, "Propaganda posters... what kind of spice should I add to make sure whoever looks at them freezes in their tracks..."
The faint sounds of a commotion drifted in from outside the window. "Tsk, this courtyard of ours really is a stage that never goes dark," Su Changshun muttered to himself.