In the fiery red era of the heavens, refrigerators are refreshed daily.

Chapter 100, Page 99: A Classmate's Low Point, Sincerity and Comfort
The morning sun shone brightly, blanketing the Hongxing State-owned Cotton Mill's factory area.

The air was sticky, and when you breathed it in, it carried a stuffy smell of cotton wool and dust mixed together, and there wasn't a breath of wind.

Yang Guangming put down the last page of the production report he had just finished proofreading, set down his pen, and let out a long sigh. His breath was particularly clear in the quiet office.

This sigh of relief felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

The intense and busy work since I started the job, like a taut string, has finally eased up a bit this week.

I'm becoming increasingly adept at document processing, and my communication with various workshops and departments is becoming smoother.

This rare moment of leisure, like bubbles rising from the bottom of the water, brought to the forefront a matter that had been buried deep in his heart—it was time to go find Lin Shunan.

The moment the name Lin Shunan comes to mind, a face that always wears a bright smile flashes before Yang Guangming's eyes.

They were classmates in junior and senior high school, spending their entire teenage years in the same classroom. Although they weren't best friends, their relationship was always pretty good.

In my memory, Lin Shunan was as warm and cheerful as a little sun, always talking and laughing, and especially obsessed with that violin.

After school, his clear piano music could often be heard in the empty music classroom, flowing out like a mountain stream, attracting passing students to stop and listen.

Back then, Yang Guangming was one of his most loyal listeners.

But last time I heard from my old classmate Wu Hongtao that Shu Nan had also gotten a job at the factory. Not because of any special skills, but because he took the place that his mother had left behind.

However, instead of taking his mother's former office position, he was assigned to the factory's most arduous and tiring loading and unloading team, a job that everyone avoided, where he had to carry heavy loads.

“He’s completely changed.” Wu Hongtao shook his head, his tone filled with regret. “He’s become a silent, withdrawn person. He doesn’t smile at all anymore. He walks with his head down, like…like he’s covered in a thick layer of dust.”

These words were like a small thorn, pricking Yang Guangming's heart.

He tried twice.

One time, I saw Lin Shunan coming out of the storage yard in the crowd of people leaving get off work. He was carrying a huge cotton yarn bag on his shoulder, his body was hunched over, and every step he took was heavy.

Just as Yang Guangming raised his hand, before he could even utter "Shunan," the other person, like a startled rabbit, suddenly veered off course and practically dragged his feet as he hastily disappeared into a side road piled with discarded parts, leaving behind only a dusty, rapidly vanishing figure.

On another occasion, he waited specifically outside the shed where the loading and unloading team took their lunch break.

Lin Shunan came out carrying a worn-out aluminum lunchbox and spotted him immediately. But her eyes didn't show surprise; instead, they showed instant panic and immense embarrassment.

He quickly lowered his head, as if there were gold on the ground, and stood a few steps away from the sunlight, with his back to him, preoccupied with fiddling with the hemp gloves in his hands.

The gloves were so dirty they were black, and the edges were frayed, revealing loose threads inside. He repeatedly twisted and picked at them, as if there were endless patterns on them worth studying.

Yang Guangming stood quietly for several minutes, drawing curious or inquisitive glances from the other loaders in the shed, creating an awkward and suffocating atmosphere.

In the end, he could only turn around and leave silently.

That deliberate, cold distance was like an invisible yet exceptionally sturdy high wall, forcefully separating them from their former intimacy.

Yang Guangming clearly understood that heaviness.

The drastic changes in her family—her father being taken away to work, her mother dying in fear and anxiety, and the lowly status she received as a substitute—all of this, like heavy lead weights, left an invisible but deep-seated mark on Lin Shunan.

He felt inferior, burdened by invisible shackles. In any place, especially in front of familiar faces who had once held a glorious past, he instinctively wanted to hide and shrink into the most inconspicuous shadows.

But the friendship we shared over the years, those days of playing ball together, listening to music together, and fooling around together, were genuine!
Yang Guangming couldn't bear to see someone who was once so vibrant sink deeper and deeper into this gloomy swamp, until they were completely submerged.

Even a tiny bit of comfort, a sliver of understanding without judgment, might be enough to keep him going through these difficult times.

This thought had lingered in Yang Guangming's mind for a long time. Today, this rare moment of leisure made him finally decide.

An hour before lunch, Yang Guangming deliberately took a long detour, passing through the noisy spinning workshop and the machine repair workshop that smelled of machine oil, and headed towards the easternmost part of the factory area.

The closer you get to the loading and unloading area, the stronger the smell of cotton wool becomes, mixed with the smell of dust and sweat, and an indescribable, stale smell unique to warehouses.

Huge, grayish-white cotton yarn bales, like small hills, were piled up haphazardly and silently in the open yard, almost obscuring half the sky.

The sunlight shone brightly on the rough burlap sacks, and you could see tiny cotton dust particles dancing in the beams of light.

Several workers, dressed in faded, dark blue overalls stained with oil and sweat, were shouting rough work chants: "Hey-ho! Give it your all!"

Together, they dragged a huge bundle of yarn off the ground and laboriously moved it onto a heavy wooden cart. The cart's tires sank deep into the soft mud.

Yang Guangming's eyes searched eagerly through the crowd. Soon, he locked onto that figure—Lin Shunan.

He and two other coworkers were standing with their backs to the bright sunlight, their backs bent, their shoulders pressed tightly against the bottom of a huge yarn bag, pushing it upwards with all their might.

The muslin bundle looked to be almost half his height.

His work clothes were also worn out, his back completely soaked with sweat, the dark blue turning almost black, clinging tightly to his rugged, protruding spine, outlining its clear contours.

With the exertion, the shoulder blades beneath the thin clothing heaved violently, like two butterfly wings struggling to take flight.

"rise--!"

With a muffled roar, the three men finally pushed the bundle of yarn onto the cart.

The moment the force dissipated, Lin Shunan felt as if her bones had been pulled out, and she stumbled forward. She quickly regained her balance, but her back hunched over uncontrollably.

He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently like a broken bellows.

He raised his arm and roughly wiped his forehead and cheeks with his stained sleeve. Sweat and dust mingled together, leaving several streaks of varying depths on his young but prematurely weary face.

A few strands of hair, damp with sweat, clung to his sweaty forehead, with one stubbornly sticking up, making him look particularly disheveled and vulnerable.

Yang Guangming's heart tightened, and he quickly walked over. His leather shoes made a soft sound as they stepped on the gravel.

"Shunan!"

He stopped a few steps away, his voice low, with a deliberately restrained, familiar smile that belonged to an old friend, trying to make his tone sound relaxed and natural.

Upon hearing this, Lin Shunan's body stiffened abruptly, as if he had been lashed by an invisible whip.

He looked up, still catching his breath, sweat trickling down his forehead and into the corners of his eyes, causing him to squint unconsciously.

When he saw that the person standing in front of him was Yang Guangming, who was dressed neatly and had a gentle smile, the bewilderment in his eyes was instantly replaced by great panic and embarrassment, like a frightened antelope.

Almost instinctively, he wanted to back away, to hide behind those huge bundles of yarn. But his feet seemed nailed to the spot, too heavy to move an inch.

He murmured a few times, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, but he couldn't make a sound. He just lowered his head even further, his gaze fixed on the gravel and dusty ground beneath his feet.

A rough, bony hand unconsciously picked at the frayed threads on the hem of his work clothes, as if that was his only support at that moment.

"Lin Shunan, who is this?"

A middle-aged man with dark, shiny skin and a stocky build, who looked like a team leader, stopped what he was doing and asked in heavily accented Mandarin.

He curiously observed Yang Guangming, who was well-dressed and had a completely different demeanor, his eyes carrying the straightforwardness typical of workers and a hint of scrutiny that was not easily detected.

Before Lin Shunan could give an almost impossible answer, Yang Guangming's face instantly broke into an extremely natural and warm smile.

He deftly pulled a freshly opened pack of "Da Qianmen" cigarettes from his pocket—the blue packaging and the three characters "Da Qianmen" on the cigarette box were very eye-catching in the sunlight.

He skillfully knocked out a few cigarettes and, with an almost generous air, handed them out to the several coworkers and the team leader who had gathered around.

"Thank you for your hard work, everyone! Come on, have a smoke and take a break!"

His voice was loud and clear, with a kind of approachable charm unique to factory office staff, able to blend into any situation. "My name is Yang Guangming, and I'm an old classmate of Shu Nan! We grew up together!"

He deliberately emphasized the words "old classmate," "grew up together," and "brother," his gaze sweeping over everyone before finally settling on the group leader's face, and he added:
"I haven't been working at the factory for long. I'm helping out in the secretariat of the factory affairs office, running errands and doing odd jobs. Now that it's almost lunchtime, I thought I'd come and ask Shunan to go to the canteen with me."

His words conveyed the information clearly, especially the phrase "factory affairs office secretariat," which carried significant weight for ordinary workers.

That's the place closest to the factory leaders, the place "above" them!
The team leader took the cigarette, lit it with a match lit in the bright sunlight, took a deep drag, and exhaled smoke from his nostrils.

His face immediately broke into a polite, even slightly ingratiating smile, and he nodded repeatedly to Yang Guangming:
"Oh my! It's a colleague from the factory administration office! My apologies for not recognizing you!"

He turned his head, his large, fan-like hand, with a touch of intimacy yet an undeniable force, slapping Lin Shunan's stiff shoulder.
"Lin Shunan, you little rascal! You have such a promising brother, and you're usually so quiet and reserved, you've really kept it all under wraps!"

His voice was loud and clear, with a hint of teasing, before turning to Yang Guangming, "Don't worry, we're all brothers in the same group, we'll definitely take care of you! Shu Nan is a hard worker, just a little quiet, a real taciturn guy! But he's an absolutely trustworthy person! Honest and reliable!"

The other workers who accepted the cigarettes chimed in with smiles, "That's right! Comrade Yang Guangming, don't worry!"

"Shunan works very hard!"

"We're all in the same boat!"

The hand that landed on his shoulder, the well-intentioned yet awkward teasing, and the noisy agreement from his coworkers, were like a gust of wind mixed with warmth and grit, impacting Lin Shunan's tense nerves.

His body remained as stiff as a piece of wood, but his shoulders, which were as taut as a bowstring, seemed to have loosened slightly, almost imperceptibly, under the impact of the team leader's pats and the words of his coworkers.

He quickly glanced at Yang Guangming, his eyes displaying a complex mix of emotions, like a spilled palette—the embarrassment of having their relationship exposed in public, gratitude for Yang Guangming's intervention, lingering inferiority, and a faint hint of melting, like the first thaw of ice water flowing beneath the surface.

"Thank you! Thank you, everyone!"

With a smile, Yang Guangming cupped his hands in greeting, took a step forward, and naturally reached out to put his arm around Lin Shunan's still stiff and even somewhat resistant shoulder.

Half affectionately, half gently pushing him away, she used an irresistible force to lead him away from the dusty pile of yarn bags. "Shunan and I are going to eat now. We'll talk later, we'll talk later!"

Lin Shunan was passively embraced by Yang Guangming, her steps faltering slightly, and she was almost half-dragged and half-pulled out of her coworkers' sight.

He kept his head down, his neck stiff, but the base of his ears involuntarily flushed red.

The staff canteen of Hongxing State-owned Cotton Mill was always the noisiest and most bustling place in the factory area. At mealtimes, it was so noisy that the roof seemed about to be lifted off the ground.

The air was filled with the rich steam from the food, mixed with the unique aroma of oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar from the large pot of stew, as well as countless other smells of sweat and body odor.

The long dining tables and benches were almost full, with workers in various work clothes crammed together. The sounds of aluminum lunch boxes and enamel bowls clattering, chewing, loud laughter, calls to companions, and even arguments over the last bit of soup blended into a noisy yet vibrant symphony.

Yang Guangming quickly prepared two meals: one was stir-fried bok choy with very little oil and a wilted appearance; the other was shredded potatoes, cut unevenly and with a pale color; plus four yellow, coarse-looking cornbread buns.

Holding his lunchbox, he searched through the crowded streets and finally found two empty seats in a relatively quiet corner against the wall.

"Over here, Shu Nan!" he called out.

Lin Shunan, carrying a lunchbox, kept her head down, like a silent shadow, following behind him, carefully avoiding the flow of people.

He sat down opposite Yang Guangming, his movements deliberately slow, as if he wanted to shrink himself into the wall.

He opened his lunchbox, and the dishes inside were exactly the same as those in Yang Guangming's, except that the cornbread seemed smaller and darker in color, making it look particularly unappetizing.

He picked up his chopsticks, not to pick up any food, but mechanically poked at the limp potato shreds in the bowl, without managing to put a single bite in his mouth.

All the noise and bustle in the cafeteria seemed to be shut out from their small dining table by an invisible, cold barrier.

Yang Guangming saw it all, and felt as if a stone was pressing on his heart.

He didn't speak immediately. Instead, he picked up a cornbread, broke it in half, and then picked up a slightly larger, oilier-looking potato from his lunchbox and placed it steadily on top of the pile of potato shreds in Lin Shunan's bowl.

"Try this." Yang Guangming said casually, as if chatting with someone. "The head chef in the cafeteria didn't shake his hands today. The shredded potatoes are cut pretty well, and the oil and salt are just right."

He picked up a piece of bok choy with his chopsticks, put it in his mouth, chewed it a few times, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and then relaxed.

Lin Shunan's gaze fell on the extra potato in the bowl. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he squeezed out a low, almost indistinct "hmm" from his throat, before remaining silent.

The chopstick tip hovered above the potato, trembling slightly, but never fell.

Yang Guangming wasn't in a hurry, eating as if the person sitting opposite him was just an ordinary coworker.

He chatted about trivial matters at the factory: the newly installed spinning machines in Workshop 3 were said to be much more efficient, but the operators were still getting used to them; Old Wang from the union was busy making arrangements to organize a movie screening in a few days, but it was still undecided whether to show "Tunnel Warfare" or "Mine Warfare"; and the logistics department was complaining again about the rising vegetable prices at the market...

His tone was flat, his voice neither loud nor soft, as if he were talking to himself or to the air.

Lin Shunan kept his head down, occasionally uttering one or two extremely vague and meaningless syllables from deep in his throat as a response.

He never really raised his head; his vision was limited to the lunchbox in front of him and a small, greasy area on the table.

The potato that Yangming had given him was eventually carefully moved to the edge of his bowl with his chopsticks and remained untouched.

The meal was eaten in unusual quiet, and with an unusually heavy atmosphere.

The air seemed to freeze, with only the surrounding cacophony constantly crashing against this small, silent island.

Yang Guangming knew perfectly well that the person before him had a tightly shut heart, covered in frost and iron locks. It might take a meal, or even ten, to pry open even a crack. But he had to try.

After finishing their meal, Yang Guangming didn't let Lin Shunan return to the loading and unloading team immediately. He picked up their empty lunchboxes and gestured for Lin Shunan to follow him.

The two walked silently, one after the other, through the still noisy cafeteria hall, and out of the huge space filled with mixed smells.

The hustle and bustle of the factory gradually faded away behind us.

Yang Guangming led Lin Shunan away from the main road and instead turned into a relatively quiet path lined with tall plane trees.

The July sunlight filtered through the dense sycamore leaves, casting dappled, shimmering spots of light on the ground.

The cicadas chirped tirelessly, one burst after another, like an invisible net enveloping the afternoon's stillness.

They eventually reached a more secluded corner behind the factory area.

Here stand several taller paulownia trees, their branches and leaves spreading out like giant green umbrellas. Scattered beneath them are a few discarded precast concrete slabs, their edges jagged, their surfaces covered in cracks and moss; few people usually come here.

Far from the hustle and bustle of crowds and the roar of machines, only the rustling of leaves in the wind and the incessant chirping of cicadas remain, making it exceptionally quiet and even carrying a sense of desolation that seems out of place with the factory.

Yang Guangming sat down on a relatively flat cement slab and patted the spot next to him.

Lin Shunan hesitated for a moment before slowly and carefully sitting down on the edge, as if afraid of getting Yang Guangming's pants dirty.

He kept his head down, his hands on his knees, his fingers unconsciously twisting over and over again a thin, almost translucent piece of fabric at the knee of his work pants, as if it were the only thing he could hold onto.

Silence spread between the two, with only the cicadas singing tirelessly.

"Shunan." Yang Guangming finally spoke, his voice not loud, but exceptionally clear, with a gentle yet firm penetrating power that broke the silence, "I know you're suffering."

This sentence is like a pebble thrown into stagnant water.

Lin Shunan's body trembled almost imperceptibly, and her fingers, which were twisting the fabric, stopped instantly, her knuckles turning slightly white from the force.

Yang Guangming didn't look at him; his gaze was fixed on the silhouettes of the massive factory buildings standing silently in the afternoon sun in the distance. His tone was calm and composed, as if he were stating an objective fact:
"No one could have predicted what would happen in the family. This is not your fault."

He paused, as if carefully choosing his words, "But life goes on. You got this job to take over Auntie's place. It's a legitimate job, the foundation for your livelihood in the factory, and something you can hold onto right now."

He turned his head, his gaze falling on Lin Shunan's drooping, dusty nape, and his tone became more serious:

"Don't underestimate stevedores. It looks rough, it's tiring, and people look down on it."

But think about it, without your loading and unloading team, unloading cotton and yarn bag by bag from the train cars and carrying them into the warehouse, what would the machines in the workshop use to spin yarn?
Without you carrying out the finished yarn bales one by one and loading them onto the truck, how would the factory sell its products and make money?
The entire factory, from raw material intake to finished product output, relies on your loading and unloading team for its main operation!
Without you, no matter how hard this machine spins, it's all for nothing!

Tell me, is this job important or not?
The importance of standing tall and upright!

Lin Shunan's breathing seemed to become a little heavier. Although her head was still lowered, her shoulders no longer slumped down as completely as before.

Seeing that he had taken it to heart, Yang Guangming added a touch of encouragement in his tone and continued:

"Look at Old Zhang from the boiler room, Master Zhang, do you recognize him?"

That skinny, small old man who spends all day circling around the boiler.

He figured out how to burn less coal and how to control the water temperature more steadily by figuring out that small return valve.

Hey! It saves the factory over 300 tons of coal a year! A real contribution, calculated in black and white!
At a factory meeting, Secretary Tian personally praised him, saying he was a model of "loving the factory like home"!

There is no such thing as a noble or lowly job; the key is how you perceive it and how you do it!
In the loading and unloading team, make a real difference, even if it's just carrying a little more, carrying a little faster, or stacking a little neater than others, so that everyone respects you and gives you a thumbs up, saying, "Lin Shunan, that's the kind of guy who does the job!"

Then who would dare to look down on you?
Even with your current status, you'll still be able to live with your head held high! Upright and respected!

He paused, allowing these words to settle in Lin Shunan's mind, before shifting his tone, adding a touch of practical consideration:

"With achievements and recognition from everyone, you've established yourself and may have the opportunity to be transferred to a more suitable position in the future. The workshop also needs hardworking and reliable people."

But if you trap yourself right now, bury your head in the sand, don't want to do anything, dare not do anything, feel hopeless, and give up on yourself, then you really have no hope at all.

You'll find your life more tiring and stifling, like being tightened a rope, won't you?

Lin Shunan's Adam's apple bobbed violently, as if something was blocking it.

He still didn't look up, but his body began to tremble slightly, as if something inside him was churning violently.

"besides."

Yang Guangming's tone became even gentler and softer, carrying a sincere warmth that touched people's hearts:

“Shunan, you have to believe that not everyone in this world looks at people with prejudice. Not everyone is only focused on your family’s past or your current identity.”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice not loud, but each word clear, "At least in my Yangguangming, you are still that old classmate Lin Shunan, with whom I studied, played ball, and played the violin for me."

My attitude towards you is exactly the same as before!
You don't need to avoid me, and you don't need to feel ashamed in front of me. We're friends, we used to be..."

He emphasized each word, speaking slowly and deliberately, "Now, still!"

These words, like a key tempered in fire, carrying scorching heat, finally clicked precisely into the rusty, cold lock on Lin Shunan's heart, prying open a crack.

Lin Shunan suddenly raised her head!
Yang Guangming saw that face—sallow, thin, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes.

The stains left by sweat mixed with dust are still there.

But at this moment, those eyes, which had long been veiled in gray and darting about, were now completely red!
His eyes were brimming with tears, like a flood before a dam breaks, swirling wildly in his eyes.

His lips trembled violently, stammering as if a thousand words, countless grievances and pains were about to burst forth, but were pressed down by an invisible boulder, preventing him from uttering a single word.

The heavy burden that had been weighing on my heart for so long—the broken family, the death of my mother, the unknown whereabouts of my father, the cold stares of my neighbors, the subtle distance between my coworkers, and the double crushing on my body and dignity from carrying heavy loads day after day.

All the grievances, inferiority, loneliness, and despair dissipated at this moment, in the face of Yang Guangming's words, "We are friends, and still are."

Unable to contain itself any longer, it was about to break through his last line of defense and surge forth like a dam bursting!
He turned his head away quickly and almost awkwardly, not wanting Yang Guangming to see him lose control. He raised his rough, dirty hand and rubbed his eyes hard, trying to force back the surging tears.

However, his shoulders continued to heave violently and uncontrollably.

Yang Guangming's heart felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand, both aching and throbbing.

He didn't say anything, offered no comfort, and didn't even offer a handkerchief; he knew that would only make the other person more embarrassed.

He simply sat quietly, his gaze gentle yet firm as he watched Lin Shunan's violently trembling back, patiently waiting.

(End of this chapter)