Fusion System: Rebirth in a Courtyard - Bird Fighting Chronicles

Early summer nights come late. As the setting sun bathed the gray bricks and tiles of the Hongxing Courtyard in a warm gold, the dim glow of a kerosene lamp shone through the window paper of the Yan family's house in the front yard, accompanied by the crisp clatter of abacus beads. Lin Chen had just returned from working overtime in the workshop, carrying three pairs of thick canvas gloves—an extra technical innovation subsidy from the workshop. He had intended to leave two pairs for the Liu Guangtian brothers, but as he reached the middle courtyard, he was stopped in his tracks by the sounds of arguing coming from the front yard.

"Dad! Just five yuan! I've already talked to Director Wang from the neighborhood committee. I'll work as a temporary worker at the brick kiln. After three months, I can get a permanent job. This is a real chance for a secure job!" Yan Jiecheng's voice was choked with sobs, mixed with the dull thud of his fist slamming against the door. "Even if you don't love me, you have to think about how I'll get married in the future!"

"Getting a wife?" Yan Bugui's voice was like icy abacus beads, every word dripping with calculation. "I raised you for fifteen years, the delivery fee was three qian and seven fen, the full-month celebration gift money was equivalent to seven jin and two liang of grain coupons, the school supplies (pens, ink, paper, inkstone) totaled one yuan and thirty cents, even the half-cob you stole last year was recorded at market price. Now you owe me a total of twenty-four yuan and sixty cents! I haven't even asked you for interest yet, and you're already asking me for five yuan?"

Lin Chen leaned against the old locust tree in the middle courtyard. In the dim light filtering through the branches, he could see Yan Bugui's figure on the window paper of the Yan family's house—he was hunched over, pointing at the yellowed account book with his fingers, while his other hand gripped the well-worn copper abacus, clearly checking accounts with Yan Jiecheng. Yan Jiecheng's shadow, on the other hand, was taut, like a bowstring stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.

"That's my own father! And you're bringing this up with me?" Yan Jiecheng's voice suddenly rose, filled with the stubbornness unique to young people. "My brother Jie Kuang broke a soy sauce bottle last time, why didn't you ask him for compensation? My sister Jie Di lost three sewing needles, and you even wrote it down, saying you'd deduct it from her future dowry! You're not keeping accounts, you're keeping our lives in your ledger!"

"Slap!" A crisp slap echoed from inside the house, followed by Yan Bugui's angry shout: "You've gone too far! Who am I doing this for? Isn't it to let you know how hard life is! Even brothers should keep clear accounts. After you all start your own families, do you expect me to use all my savings? My salary as a mid-level teacher is only twenty-seven yuan and fifty cents. Do you think it's easy to raise four children?"

Lin Chen frowned slightly, the pay slip he had seen at the street office last time clearly appearing in his mind—Yan Bugui's actual monthly salary was thirty-eight yuan and fifty cents, and the subsidy for intermediate teachers was eleven yuan. He deliberately concealed his salary and pretended to be poor, not only to avoid borrowing grain from his neighbors, but also to create the image of a "poor foster father" in front of his children, so as to package his scheming behavior as "good at managing the household".

The commotion inside the house alerted many neighbors. Liu Haizhong came over with a chipped, rough porcelain bowl, which still contained a little less than half a bowl of thin porridge. He curled his lip and said, "Old Yan is so shrewd, he even calculates his own son so clearly. Who will be willing to take care of him in his old age?" He had just finished speaking when he was interrupted by a loud crash from inside the house—the sound of Yan Jiecheng slamming the door.

Yan Jiecheng rushed out of the house, his eyes red and swollen, a clear handprint still visible on his arm. Seeing Lin Chen and Liu Haizhong standing at the gate, his face flushed crimson, and he turned and ran out of the yard. Lin Chen instinctively tried to call out to him, but Yan Bugui chased after him and blocked his way: "Xiao Lin, don't mind him! This unfilial son is ignorant; he'll know to come home after a couple of meals!"

Yan Bugui's shirt collar was open, and his usually neatly combed hair was disheveled. He was still clutching the leather ledger in his hand, the four characters "Yan Family Finances" on the cover blurred by sweat. When he saw the work gloves in Lin Chen's arms, his eyes lit up, and his tone instantly softened: "Little Lin, just got back from the workshop? I heard you won an award for your technological innovation last time. You're really young and promising."