Fusion System: Rebirth in a Courtyard - Bird Fighting Chronicles

Chapter 134 The account book tears apart family ties; the teacher loses power and regrets it too lat

In April, Beijing was bathed in the warm glow of spring. A layer of fine poplar catkins covered the blue brick floor of the Hongxing Courtyard, swirling and drifting towards the corner of the yard in the breeze. The windows of Yan Bugui's house in the front yard remained tightly closed, from which came the faint rustling of turning pages, much like the soft, calculating sounds he made on his abacus, carrying an unmistakable air of calculation.

Yan Bugui sat at the octagonal table, a pair of old, broken reading glasses perched on his nose, held in place by thin hemp rope behind his ears. Two yellowed account books lay open before him, their covers marked with neat but rigid handwriting in calligraphy: "Family Income and Expenditure" and "Debts Owed by Children." He held a worn-out pen in his right hand, turning the pages with his left, muttering to himself: "Yan Jiecheng, borrowed three jin of cornmeal in March 1958, at a monthly interest rate of one percent, compounded to seventeen jin owed; Yan Jiefang, stole half a bottle of soy sauce in 1962, equivalent to three cents in RMB, accumulating a debt of seven cents..."

"Dad, you're bringing up these old, trivial matters again!" Yan Jiecheng's voice came from outside the door, filled with suppressed anger. He had just returned from work, still wearing his work clothes, clutching a notification letter stamped with a red seal in his hand. His face was ashen as he pushed open the door. "I've been promoted to a permanent position. The company has allocated me a dormitory-style apartment. I'm moving out this weekend!"

Yan Bugui glanced at him, his pen pausing on the ledger, his tone as calm as if he were checking accounts: "It's good that you've been promoted, your monthly salary has increased to forty-two yuan, right? According to the ledger, from the time you were born until now, the delivery fee was eight mao, the tuition was seventeen yuan and fifty cents, the dowry I gave you when you got married was twenty yuan, plus the grain coupons owed over the years, you owe me a total of one hundred and twenty-six yuan and thirty-seven cents. Now that you're moving out, this money has to be settled first."

"What do I owe you?" Yan Jiecheng trembled with rage, slamming the notification on the table with a crisp sound. "Back then, when you got me a wife, you only gave me twenty yuan as a bride price, which you borrowed from the neighbors! My mother-in-law gave me thirty yuan and a new quilt as a dowry, and you immediately sold the quilt to buy alcohol. Why don't you account for that? I've worked for five years, handing over thirty yuan of my monthly salary, and the pocket money you left me was less than ten yuan in total. How do you account for that?"

Aunt Yan peeked out from the inner room, wearing a blue cloth jacket with three patches, and clutching an unfinished shoe sole in her hand. She wanted to say something, but Yan Bugui glared at her, and she shrank back, only to secretly wipe away a tear as she looked at her eldest son's red eyes. Over the decades, she had long been accustomed to her husband's scheming, but every time she saw her children's aggrieved looks, her heart ached as if pricked by needles.

"Getting married is your own business. I've already done more than enough by giving you twenty yuan." Yan Bugui put down his pen, slowly stacked up the account book, and tied it with a red string. "It's a son's duty to hand over his salary, and it's a favor to leave you some pocket money. Now that you're moving out and becoming independent, you must settle the child support you owe me, or I'll go to your workplace and ask your superiors to judge, so everyone can see how ungrateful you are."

These words completely ignited Yan Jiecheng's anger. He recalled his childhood, when his younger brother Yan Jiefang stole half a sweet potato and was chased and beaten by their father for three blocks, and was finally forced to write an IOU for "half a sweet potato, with a monthly interest rate of one percent"; he recalled his younger sister Yan Jiedi being unable to afford a fountain pen when she was in school, crying and begging their father, who then took out an account book and said, "The fountain pen cost fifty cents, consider it a debt, pay it back after you graduate and start working"; he recalled when he got married, he wanted to buy his wife a piece of floral fabric to make a new dress, but his father insisted on calculating "the fabric cost one dollar and twenty cents, the labor cost three cents, totaling one dollar and fifty cents."

"Let's settle this!" Yan Jiecheng grabbed the account book and slammed it to the ground. The moment the book broke open, several grain coupons and small denomination bills scattered inside, like shards of glass. "You've been calculating with this damn account book every day, calculating away family ties, calculating and chilling our hearts! You teach students 'benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness,' but you've 'calculation' etched into your very bones! I'm telling you this today: I won't pay back a single penny, and don't expect me to take care of you when you're old!"

Yan Bugui was furious that his eldest son dared to smash his vital account book. He trembled with rage and pointed at Yan Jiecheng's nose, cursing, "You've gone too far! You've defied the heavens! I raised you all these years, and you dare to treat me like this? I'm going to Hongxing Elementary School to find your principal and let him see how his good students treat their father!" As he spoke, he went to pick up the account book, his fingers being cut by the rough paper, and blood seeping out, but he didn't even notice.

The commotion had already attracted the neighbors. Lin Chen had just returned from the workshop, carrying the new forging blueprints for Liu Guangtian, when he stumbled upon the scene. Qin Huairu from the middle courtyard also came over with a washbasin, followed by Jia Dang, who was holding a newly sewn cloth doll. Old Wang from the front courtyard stood at the door with his hands behind his back, his brows furrowed, clearly having been listening for quite some time.

"Teacher Yan, let's talk this out. Don't go to the unit all the time," Grandpa Wang advised. "Jie Cheng just got a permanent position and housing allocation; it's a joyous occasion. It's not good to make such a scene. How can family ties be settled with accounts?"

"Uncle Wang, you don't know, he owes me over a hundred yuan and won't pay it back, and he even threw my account book!" Yan Bugui picked up the account book, clutching it to his chest like a priceless treasure. "He's completely disgraced me, this 'district-level outstanding teacher'!"

"Outstanding teacher?" Qin Huairu put down the washbasin, wiped the water droplets from her hands, and spoke calmly but with weight. "The other day, I went to the school to deliver something to Jia Dang, and the principal told me that someone reported you for privately tutoring students and accepting eggs in return. The school is investigating. If the principal finds out that you caused a scene at your workplace because of your scheming against your son, I'm afraid you'll lose this 'Outstanding Teacher' title, won't you?"

Yan Bugui's face turned pale instantly. He had been keeping this a secret from his family, never expecting Qin Huairu to find out. He was secretly tutoring three students, charging five jin of eggs a month as "tuition." If the school found out, he would not only lose his job but also have his salary reduced. He forced himself to remain calm: "Don't listen to her nonsense, it's a rumor, a rumor!"

Lin Chen squatted down and helped Aunt Yan pick up the scattered grain coupons and small change. As he handed them over, he said softly, "Teacher Yan, account books record numbers, but family ties record the hearts of people. When you tell your students about 'Kong Rong Giving Up the Pear,' you can't just tell them 'You have to calculate how much the pear is worth before giving it away,' can you?" He paused, then looked at Yan Jiecheng, "Brother Jiecheng, moving out is a good thing, but between father and son, don't say things too harshly."

Yan Jiecheng, panting heavily, looked at the scattered account books and papers on the ground. His anger gradually subsided, but he still forced himself to say, "It's not that I'm unfilial, it's that he went too far. I'm moving out this weekend. I'll come back to see my mother during holidays, but I won't acknowledge his debts!" ​​After saying that, he turned and went into the inner room to pack his things.

Yan Bugui watched his eldest son's retreating figure, his lips trembling with anger, but he dared not mention going to his workplace to complain again. He gripped the account book tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, until Aunt Yan handed him a glass of warm water, which finally calmed him down. "Who am I doing all this for? Isn't it all for their own good, to let them know how hard it is to earn money, so they can have a good retirement!" he muttered to himself, his voice filled with grievance, unaware that the disappointment in Aunt Yan's eyes was growing deeper.

The news spread like wildfire throughout the entire courtyard. That evening, Yan Jiefang and Yan Jiekuang returned from school and, upon learning that their elder brother was moving out, both fell silent. Yan Jiefang recalled how last year, when he wanted to borrow five yuan to buy a bicycle, his father made him write an "IOU" with monthly interest, and he ended up borrowing from a coworker. Yan Jiekuang remembered the last time he had a cold and wanted his father to buy him two mao (0.2 yuan) of cold medicine, but his father pulled out the account book and said, "You stole a piece of candy last month, you owe me one mao, pay it back first before buying the medicine."

"Dad, my older brother is gone. I'll move out when I start working." Yan Jiefang put down his schoolbag, his tone calm but resolute. "I won't acknowledge your accounts. I'll give you five yuan a month from now on as a way of showing filial piety, but don't mention interest to me."

Yan Bugui was stunned, not expecting his second son to say the same thing. Just as he was about to explode, he saw Yan Jiekuang lower his head and say, "Dad, I'll be taking the college entrance exam next year. If I get into university, I'll work to earn my own tuition. I won't ask you for a single penny, and I won't owe you anything."

The successive statements from his three sons struck Yan Bugui's heart like three heavy hammer blows. Looking at the empty house, he suddenly felt the two account books become incredibly heavy, suffocating him. His wife, sitting beside him, silently wept, "Old Yan, look at you, you've chilled your children's hearts with your calculations. I advised you against this back then, saying that raising children to provide for old age required calculating costs, but people's hearts are made of flesh and blood, not abacus beads!"

But Yan Bugui still didn't realize his mistake. He felt that his children didn't understand his good intentions, and he thought that when he got old, they couldn't just abandon him. If things got really bad, he would go to the school and make a scene. With his status as a "middle-level teacher," he could force them to fulfill their filial duties. He locked the account book in the camphor wood box, took out the abacus, and began to calculate the family expenses for the month. He calculated every single expense clearly, even noting down the two cents that Yan Jiedi spent on needles and thread.

A few days later, the school's investigation results were released. The person who reported Yan Bugui for accepting gifts during tutoring was a student's parent. Because their child hadn't been admitted to a top-tier middle school, the parent was angry with Yan Bugui for his tutoring. They not only reported him for accepting eggs but also exaggerated his alleged practice of "keeping accounts for their children and calculating interest." When the principal spoke with Yan Bugui, his face was ashen: "Yan Bugui, as a 'district-level outstanding teacher,' you've already violated regulations by privately tutoring and accepting gifts, and you're even scheming against your own child! If this gets out, you'll ruin the school's reputation!"

"Principal, I didn't! That's a rumor!" Yan Bugui was sweating profusely, wanting to defend himself but not knowing where to begin. He remembered that every time he tutored students, he had to charge parents "tutoring fees," charging them either eggs or food coupons—these were all true. He also remembered that the neighbors in the courtyard all knew about him keeping accounts for his children; it was impossible to hide it from them.

"Whether or not it's done isn't up to you to decide." The principal slammed a disciplinary decision on the table. "After deliberation by the school committee, it has been decided to revoke your title of 'District-Level Outstanding Teacher,' demote you to a regular teacher, reduce your salary from thirty-eight yuan and fifty cents to twenty-seven yuan and fifty cents, suspend you from your duties for one month, and submit a profound self-criticism!"

Holding the disciplinary decision, Yan Bugui walked unsteadily out of the principal's office. The sunlight was blinding, yet he felt a chill run through him. His proud title of "Outstanding Teacher" was gone, his salary had been reduced back to the "twenty-seven yuan and fifty cents" he used to complain about to everyone, and he had even lost his dignity at the school. Colleagues who used to call him "Teacher Yan" now avoided him, pointing fingers behind his back and saying he "schemed against his own child, and that he had questionable character."

When he returned to the courtyard house, he ran into Yan Jiecheng moving things. Several coworkers were helping to carry the wardrobe. Yan Jiecheng saw him, but only nodded and didn't say anything. Yan Bugui wanted to say something, but seeing the indifference in his son's eyes, he swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue. He went into the house and saw Aunt Yan sitting on the threshold crying. The camphor wood chest was open, and the two account books were thrown on the ground, their pages crumpled.

"Old Yan, Jie Cheng is gone. He took all his things and didn't even leave a photo." Aunt Yan wiped away her tears. "I just went to the Intermediate People's Court and heard Yi Zhonghai say to Sha Zhu, 'You've reaped what you sowed. You schemed and plotted, but you've ruined your own future.'"

Yan Bugui picked up the ledger, dusted it off, and found that some of the writing was already blurred. He suddenly remembered when he was a child, Yan Jiecheng brought home his first award certificate, and instead of praising him, he calculated how much he had spent on pens, ink, paper and inkstones; he remembered Yan Jiefang helping him carry water for a whole year, and he never gave him a single piece of candy, but instead calculated the "water fee"; he remembered Yan Jiekuang staying up all night to help him copy lesson plans, and he never said a word of hard work, but instead complained that "the handwriting is bad and it's a waste of paper."

"What am I doing this for..." he muttered to himself, slumping into a chair, his reading glasses slipping down to the tip of his nose, revealing bloodshot eyes. The sound of children's laughter drifted in from outside the window; Jia Geng and Liu Guangfu were playing shuttlecock in the yard. Their clear laughter pierced his heart like needles. He remembered his own childhood; although his father was poor, he always gave his children the best, never calculating any "raising expenses."

At dinner that evening, a plate of pickled vegetables and four cornbread buns were laid out on the table, one for each person, no more, no less. Yan Jiedi took a cornbread bun, took a bite, and suddenly burst into tears: "Dad, I'm not going to school tomorrow. I'm going to work at the street factory to earn money to pay off your 'debt'."

Yan Bugui's heart clenched. He looked at his daughter's thin figure, dressed in patched clothes, and held onto the cornbread in his hand, even the crumbs falling out of it, not wanting to waste a single bite. He suddenly remembered that in all his years, he had never bought his daughter a single piece of candy, never cooked her a single meat dish, and hadn't even remembered her birthday. Yet he himself had hidden away half a pound of brown sugar, unwilling to eat it, wanting to save it for "value appreciation."

"What nonsense are you talking about? Go to school properly." This was the first time he had spoken so gently to his daughter. He broke his cornbread in half and gave it to her. "Daddy won't eat it, you eat it."

Yan Jiedi hesitated, not daring to take it, and looked at her mother. Aunt Yan nodded, and only then did she take the cornbread, eating it in small bites, tears falling onto the bread. Yan Bugui looked at his daughter, then at his two silent sons, suddenly pushed the abacus aside, picked up the account book, and tore it to shreds.

"From now on, I won't remember," he said, his voice hoarse. "Before, Dad was confused; from now on... Dad will change."

Aunt Yan suddenly looked up, her eyes filled with surprise: "Old Yan, are you serious?"

"Really." Yan Bugui nodded, looking at the shredded paper scattered on the ground, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. "Family ties are not an account book; they cannot be calculated, nor should they be."

But some things, once broken, can never be put back together. The next morning, Yan Jiecheng still moved out, leaving his mother ten yuan before leaving without saying a word to Yan Bugui. Although Yan Jiefang and Yan Jiekuang didn't mention moving out, they still kept their distance from him, rarely speaking to him during meals. When Yan Bugui went to work at the school, his colleagues still avoided him. He could no longer maintain his former "cultured" airs, and could only prepare lessons and teach with his head down, like a newly hired teacher.

That afternoon, Lin Chen ran into Yan Bugui in the courtyard. Yan was helping Grandpa Wang repair a stool, holding a hammer and moving somewhat clumsily. When he saw Lin Chen, he smiled, a rare occurrence, and said, "Little Lin, I was wrong before. All that scheming and plotting made me lose people's hearts."

"Teacher Yan, it's good that you've changed it." Lin Chen said with a smile, "Family ties will always come back if you treat them sincerely."

Yan Bugui nodded and continued hammering nails.