The wooden door creaked shut, sealing the noise of the alley outside.
He recalled the brokerage office earlier. The clerk had only asked for his name, addressing Zhao Tie as "Master Zhao" at every turn and assuring him everything would be handled.
The household registration papers, travel permits, and guarantors required to rent a house—procedures as difficult as climbing to heaven for ordinary refugees—had not even been mentioned.
Everything had gone far too smoothly.
That was the advantage of having connections, of having someone to lead the way.
If he were still that lone refugee who had just fled Fang Family Village, let alone renting this small blue-brick courtyard,
he probably would not even have crossed the threshold of the brokerage office. He could only have curled up in a shack in the most chaotic corner of the Outer City.
His gaze swept across the little courtyard.
The stone rim of the well had been worn smooth and hollow, clearly used for many years.
The window paper in the main house was brand-new, glowing with a warm softness beneath the setting sun.
Though the kitchen lean-to was small, it had a clay stove and water vat, everything it needed. In one corner were several bundles of firewood left by the previous tenant, neatly stacked.
Liu Wanwan gently pushed open the door to the main house, and a faint cry of pleasant surprise came from within:
"Husband, this table... it's camphorwood."
She managed the household and knew something about the quality of materials.
Little Bean Sprout had already run two gleeful laps around the courtyard. Finally, she squatted by the well,
curiously trying to peer into its pitch-black mouth, only to be softly scolded by Liu Wanwan.
The Purple Sable crawled out of the basket on his shoulder, its little nose