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

Chapter 160, Page 159: A New Year. Outstanding Party Member. Xianglan, Administrative Grade 23, Admitted to the Hospital.

The winter of 1969 passed quietly amidst the roar of the machines at the Hongxing State-Owned Cotton Mill.

The chill along the Huangpu River was gradually dispelled by the spring breeze, and time stepped into a brand new year—1970.

In April, the air in Shanghai is filled with the crisp scent of newly sprouted sycamore leaves.

The factory's Party Committee meeting had just ended in the morning when Zhao Guodong returned to his office. He took off his dark gray Zhongshan suit jacket and hung it on the coat rack behind the door, revealing a neatly pressed white shirt underneath.

He leaned back in his rattan chair, a half-smoked Pegasus cigarette between his fingers, a thoughtful expression on his face as if he had just finished a meeting.

He looked up at Yang Guangming, who had just entered through the door. Yang Guangming was dressed in neat blue overalls, stood tall and straight, and held a notebook in his hand.

"Guangming, sit down." Zhao Guodong pointed to the wooden chair in front of the table and casually flicked his cigarette ash into the enamel ashtray. The rattan chair creaked slightly beneath him.

Yang Guangming sat down as instructed, his gaze falling on the meeting minutes notebook spread out in front of Zhao Guodong. The notebook had a red plastic cover with a gold Party emblem printed on it.

"The factory's Party Committee just held a meeting and focused on the selection criteria for outstanding Party members this year."

Zhao Guodong got straight to the point, his voice deep and powerful, “Both politically sound and professionally competent, with impeccable ideology, that’s a hard and fast rule. Your speech at the factory-wide meeting last week on ideological reporting carried a lot of weight.” He exhaled a puff of smoke, which drifted into the office.

Yang Guangming nodded slightly.

In that report, he drew upon his own experiences after joining the factory, particularly his assistance in solving a warehouse theft case and his participation in equipment upgrades, to discuss how young cadres can take root in the grassroots, serve production, and hone their thinking.

He didn't just talk about theories; he shared his experiences from working in the factory, with examples, data, and clear logic, which received a very positive response.

He remembered the focused gazes from the audience and the affirmations from several veteran Party members after the meeting.

"The report is very solid and the logic is clear."

Zhao Guodong looked at Yang Guangming with expectation and a hint of warning in his eyes.

He is accustomed to pointing out a clearer direction after giving affirmation.

"I suggest you take the core content of the report, organize and polish it properly, and write it into a decent article." He tapped the table lightly twice with his index finger holding a cigarette, making a soft tapping sound.

He paused, then continued, "If possible, publish it in a city-level newspaper or magazine."

Zhao Guodong emphasized his words, each one clear and forceful, "Then the factory's selection of outstanding Party members this time is basically secured."

He emphasized the words "city level" and "stable".

A thought struck Yang Guangming, like a pebble being thrown into a calm lake.

Being an outstanding Party member is not only a political honor, but also an organization's recognition of his personal abilities and performance, and a solid stepping stone for future development.

He understood the weight and underlying motivation in Zhao Guodong's words. Zhao Guodong was paving the way for him and bringing honor to the factory. His hands, which were resting on his knees, tightened slightly.

“Secretary, I understand.” Yang Guangming’s voice was clear and steady, with a composure rarely seen in a young man. “I will sort it out as soon as possible.”

Zhao Guodong nodded in satisfaction, a barely perceptible smile appearing on his face: "Yes. This is a promising approach."

He changed the subject, adopting a pragmatic attitude, as if trying to bring expectations back down to earth, "Of course."

He leaned forward slightly and said, "If you encounter difficulties in publishing, don't be discouraged. You have to work harder in the period before May Day and try to achieve some solid results. There is less than a month left before the final list is finalized."

He looked directly into Yang Guangming's eyes, his gaze piercing. "I hope your name is on this list." This statement was both an expectation and a promise.

"Thank you for your trust and guidance, Secretary." Yang Guangming responded solemnly, his tone sincere and firm. "I will definitely do my best."

He knew that the words "do your best" carried a heavy responsibility.

After leaving the secretary's office, Yang Guangming returned to his seat by the window.

Compared to the various efforts that other colleagues in the factory might have to make to secure this spot—such as working overtime to boost production, taking on the hardest and most tiring "voluntary labor," or racking their brains to write self-criticism reports—the path of "publishing articles" that Zhao Guodong pointed out was indeed a clearer path for him and one that better suited his strengths.

This wasn't the first time he had published an article in a newspaper.

The articles published in the Workers' Daily last year praising Zhao Guodong's equipment and technology innovations, though part of a propaganda assignment, actually honed his writing skills and gave him some initial experience in dealing with editors.

This ideological report is well-founded and presents clear viewpoints. With a little revision and theoretical refinement, it is fully qualified to compete with municipal-level publications such as the Shanghai Daily or Branch Life.

He values ​​this opportunity. The road ahead is long, and every honor is a stepping stone on the path forward, not to be missed.

Yang Guangming picked up the enamel mug on the table, took a sip of warm tea, and composed himself.

Over the next two days, Yang Guangming devoted himself to revising and polishing the article in between his daily secretarial work.

Sending and receiving documents, arranging meetings, organizing records, coordinating with various departments... these trivial tasks did not disrupt his rhythm. He could always find a moment of peace and spread out his manuscript paper.

He unfolded his prepared speech and carefully considered each word.

He removed overly colloquial language, added more theoretically profound viewpoints, cited relevant arguments from "On Practice" and "On Contradiction," and incorporated concrete examples from the front lines of production—

How to meticulously investigate clues in a warehouse case, how to humbly learn from experienced technicians during equipment modifications, and how to resolve conflicts among workers—

By embedding it in a more universal and persuasive way, it becomes a powerful argument for demonstrating that "practice makes perfect" and "the mass line is fundamental."

He repeatedly considered the title, hesitating between several alternatives: "Refining Ideology in Grassroots Practice," "The Path to Growth for Young Cadres," "From Practice, to the Masses"...

Ultimately, he chose the title, "Rooted in the Fertile Soil of Grassroots, Forging a Red Heart—A Young Cadre's Ideological and Practical Report." This title not only highlights the theme but also carries a distinct contemporary character.

The handwriting on the manuscript paper became more upright and clear after repeated copying.

Yang Guangming read through the article and felt it had a solid structure and rich content, possessing both intellectual depth and a down-to-earth, practical relevance. The theoretical parts were not empty, and the examples were not trivial. He closed the manuscript with satisfaction. There was no need to delay any longer.

On the morning of the third day, he took some time to go to the post office near the factory.

The post office was bustling with people, with green counters and clerks in dark green uniforms.

He bought brand-new envelopes and eight cents worth of stamps; the envelopes were the most ordinary kind of kraft paper envelopes. He carefully folded the neatly copied manuscript and put it into the envelope.

In the upper left corner of the envelope, he neatly wrote his work address: Office of the Red Star State-Owned Cotton Mill. In the mailing address section, he even more neatly wrote: Editorial Department of the Shanghai Daily.

Then, a stamp was affixed, and the manuscript, carrying hopes and expectations, was solemnly dropped into the dark green mailbox. The mailbox made a dull "thump," and the manuscript embarked on an unknown yet hopeful journey.

The days of waiting were peaceful and uneventful.

Yang Guangming remains Zhao Guodong's efficient, composed, and thoughtful secretary.

The factory affairs office operates smoothly: coordinating meetings between various departments, processing circulating documents, conveying instructions from factory leaders, and compiling and summarizing production data reports.

He didn't mention the submission to Zhao Guodong much, and Zhao Guodong tacitly refrained from pressing him. A silent consensus seemed to have formed between them: some things, doing them is more important than saying them. Results speak louder than words.

About a week later, on a typical weekday morning.

Yang Guangming was hunched over his desk, organizing the factory's first quarter production data reports. The densely packed numbers on the paper needed to be carefully checked.

Xiao Li from the Party Committee office walked in carrying a copy of the *Shanghai Daily*, which smelled of fresh ink, with a hint of barely perceptible joy on his face.

"Secretary Yang, here's today's daily newspaper." Xiao Li gently placed the newspaper on the corner of the sunny table, his gaze sweeping across a certain page of the newspaper with a meaningful look, before turning and leaving, his steps seemingly lighter than usual.

Sensing something, Yang Guangming immediately put down his pen and picked up the newspaper, which still retained the warmth of printing.

The newspaper was a quarto size, and the front page usually contained important editorials and current affairs news. He quickly flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the headlines of each section: the main news section, the economic section, the cultural section... When he reached the third page, his gaze fixed on it.

In a prominent position on the third edition—under the “Ideological Forum” column—he saw the familiar title: “Rooted in the Fertile Soil of the Grassroots, Forging a Red Heart—A Young Cadre’s Ideological Practice Report.”

Below the title, it is clearly printed: Hongxing State-owned Cotton Mill, Yang Guangming.

A surge of heat welled up from the bottom of my heart and quickly spread to my limbs and bones.

He quickly scanned the clearly formatted printed text, which was his carefully revised article.

The article is prominently positioned, occupying nearly two-thirds of the column, and has not been abridged.

A restrained, relieved smile appeared on his face.

Success! This step has been taken steadily.

Without lingering, he immediately picked up the newspaper and walked steadily toward Zhao Guodong's office in the inner room, gently knocking on the door.

Tuk-tuk-tuk.

"Come in," came Zhao Guodong's voice.

Yang Guangming pushed open the door and walked to Zhao Guodong's large desk. He placed the open copy of the Shanghai Daily in front of him and pointed precisely to the article.

Zhao Guodong shifted his gaze from the documents in his hand to the newspaper headlines and author's name.

His eyes suddenly lit up, like sparks ignited. He didn't read the contents immediately, but instead looked up at Yang Guangming standing in front of the table, his face showing undisguised approval and a knowing "I knew it" expression.

He nodded vigorously, a smile playing on his lips, and uttered only two words, each carrying immense weight: "Very good!"

Needless to say, the weight and influence of this article published in the Shanghai Daily within a large state-owned enterprise like the Hongxing Cotton Mill were self-evident.

It not only represents Yang Guangming's theoretical level and intellectual depth, but also brings honor to the factory and proves the effectiveness of Hongxing Factory in cultivating young cadres.

This affirmation from a municipal-level party newspaper is more convincing than any internal evaluation.

Over the next few days, Yang Guangming could clearly sense the subtle changes in the atmosphere at the factory.

When you encounter leaders from other departments in the corridor, they will greet you with a smile and a nod, their eyes showing genuine recognition and appreciation.

The factory's publicity department came over to offer their congratulations, their words implying a desire to learn from their experience.

After a small meeting of secretaries, Zhao Guodong casually mentioned to the deputy secretary and several party committee members: "Xiao Yang's article published in the Shanghai Daily has a good idea and the response has been quite good."

The tone was understated, yet it was enough to set the tone.

The Party Committee members nodded in agreement, indicating that they had read it and that it was indeed well-written.

With this publicly released, highly authoritative and persuasive result, coupled with Zhao Guodong's clear support within the factory's Party Committee, Yang Guangming's selection as this year's outstanding Party member of the factory became almost a natural outcome.

The nomination, discussion, and voting process went exceptionally smoothly.

Yang Guangming's name was the first to land on the shortlist, a list that symbolized honor and recognition.

This was even faster than Zhao Guodong's initial expectation of "confirming it before May Day." Behind this efficiency was the strong endorsement provided by the newspaper.

Meanwhile, the administrative ranking adjustment work of Hongxing State-owned Cotton Mill in the first half of the year has also entered the final review stage in an orderly manner.

This process is usually completed by the end of April, and the results of the adjustment will be officially announced after Labor Day.

The adjustment of job level affects everyone's salary and future career development, and it is a major event that everyone in the factory is extremely concerned about.

Being recognized as an outstanding Party member carries significant weight in administrative rank adjustments. It represents high organizational recognition and serves as solid proof of being both politically sound and professionally competent.

With this honor, it seemed natural and indisputable that Yang Guangming's administrative rank would be promoted another level. This had almost become a consensus among the factory committee members.

On April 28th, a bright and sunny spring afternoon, the factory leadership meeting was held again.

This time it's the factory committee.

One of the important agendas of the meeting was to review and approve the final list of administrative rank adjustments for the first half of this year.

The meeting room door was tightly closed, and the thick door panel blocked out most of the sound. Only occasional muffled discussions could be heard, and occasionally fragments of Zhao Guodong's calm and composed remarks could be heard.

Meanwhile, Yang Guangming sat at his desk by the window, processing a notice about the pre-holiday workshop safety self-inspection.

He forced himself to focus on the documents at hand, the pen scratching on the paper, trying his best not to guess what was happening inside the door.

But the unconscious stroking of his fingers on the cool metal body of the "Hero" fountain pen, the feeling of the fine texture on his fingertips, still betrayed the barely perceptible anxiety in his heart.

Outside the window, the factory's loudspeaker was playing the rousing song "We Workers Have Power".

The meeting lasted for quite a while, about two hours.

When the heavy wooden door to the office was finally opened and familiar footsteps approached, Yang Guangming put down his pen, looked up, and calmly gazed at the doorway.

Zhao Guodong's tall figure appeared at the door, his face calm as if the meeting had ended, revealing no particular emotion.

He did not immediately return to his inner office, but instead walked straight to the brightly lit desk and stood there.

His gaze fell on Yang Guangming's face, carrying a calm and composed air. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly upward, forming a faint yet genuine smile.

“Guangming.” Zhao Guodong’s voice wasn’t loud, but it clearly pierced through the quiet of the office. “The factory committee has approved it. The list of administrative rank adjustments for the first half of the year is finalized.” He paused, looked into Yang Guangming’s eyes, and clearly uttered a few words: “Your rank has been raised from level twenty-four to level twenty-three.”

Yang Guangming's heart skipped a beat, as if struck firmly by a heavy hammer, and a muffled sound, audible only to himself, escaped his chest.

A surge of immense joy, like a warm tide, instantly coursed through his body and rushed to his head. But his strong self-control immediately kicked in, firmly suppressing this overwhelming emotion beneath a calm exterior.

He quickly stood up, the chair beneath him moving backward with a slight scraping sound.

His face showed genuine gratitude and solemnity, and his voice remained steady: "Thank you, Secretary! Thank you for the organization's trust!"

Zhao Guodong watched as Yang Guangming's eyes brightened instantly before quickly regaining their composure, a fleeting, almost imperceptible, admiration flashing within his own. He reached out and patted Yang Guangming's shoulder firmly with his broad hand. The force was considerable, conveying a heavy weight of expectation and recognition.

"Work hard! You deserve this."

He then added, lowering his voice, "The official documents still need to go through procedures, be stamped, and archived. They probably won't be officially posted until after May Day. Please be mindful of discipline."

"I understand, Secretary, don't worry." Yang Guangming nodded vigorously, his eyes resolute. He would never reveal a single word before the official document was issued. This was the rule, and also his basic professional conduct as a secretary.

Zhao Guodong nodded, said nothing more, turned around and went back to his office, closing the door to the inner room behind him.

The door closed gently, separating the inside from the outside.

Yang Guangming slowly sat back in his chair, leaned back, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled, as if trying to calm the surging heat in his chest.

Administrative Level 23, Level 5 Clerk!

This means that the basic monthly salary will increase from 43 yuan to 49.5 yuan.

Money is important; it can buy things for the family and ease Mom's burden. But more important is the significance of this step—he has steadily climbed another step up this path.

We're one step closer to that crucial "deputy section chief" level, a threshold that symbolizes a significant milestone.

He closed his eyes, and opened them a few seconds later, his gaze returning to its usual clarity and focus.

He picked up the pen on the table again and continued writing the security notice. Only the scratching sound of the pen tip across the paper seemed lighter and smoother than usual.

May slipped by quietly as we waited.

Brand new colorful flags were planted along both sides of the main road in the factory area. The red flags with yellow lettering read "Celebrating International Workers' Day" and "Seize the moment, promote production." They fluttered in the spring breeze, adding to the festive atmosphere.

The bulletin board has also been updated with new content, recognizing model workers and advanced producers.

May 6th, Wednesday.

The morning sun was already quite warm, dispelling the chill of the early morning. The bulletin board on the side of the factory building was much busier than usual.

The list of administrative rank adjustments for the first half of the year has finally been officially posted.

Two bright red sheets of paper were pasted side by side, with neat calligraphy on them, densely listing names and adjusted ranks, and stamped with the bright red factory seal at the end.

The crowd gathered, tiptoeing and craning their necks, their eyes carefully searching through the dense list of names and the subsequent changes in rank.

The sounds of discussion, congratulations, and occasionally a few indistinct whispers or soft sighs mingled together, forming a buzzing background noise.

Yang Guangming walked out of the office building with two documents that needed Zhao Guodong's signature in his hand, and walked towards the factory building as usual.

He glanced at the throng of people from afar and didn't push his way through.

He knew his name would be on it, and he knew what it represented.

He stepped onto the stairs, and after taking only a few steps, he heard someone call out to him from behind: "Secretary Yang! Secretary Yang!"

He turned around and saw Zhang Dali, the production team leader of the weaving workshop. He was a middle-aged man who didn't usually have much contact with him. He had a loud voice and his face always bore the marks of wind and sun.

The other person, with a warm smile on their face, strode over and spoke in a loud voice, offering sincere congratulations: "Congratulations, Secretary Yang! I saw it on the list, level twenty-three! Amazing! Truly a promising young man!"

Yang Guangming stopped, a perfectly measured, slightly humble smile on his face, and extended his hand to shake Zhang Dali's: "Thank you, Team Leader Zhang. It's all thanks to the organization's training and the leaders' care."

"You're too modest!" Team Leader Zhang waved his hand vigorously. "This rank is real! We've climbed up step by step! We'll have to ask Secretary Yang to take good care of our weaving workshop in the future!"

He exchanged a few more pleasantries with a smile before turning and leaving with a cheerful expression.

As Yang Guangming continued upstairs, he encountered several clerks from different departments, including Xiao Liu from the finance department and Xiao Wang from the labor union, who all smiled and congratulated him.

He responded politely to each question, his attitude calm and natural, neither overly enthusiastic nor arrogant in the slightest.

He knew that from this moment on, his position within the massive machine of the Red Star Factory, and his importance in the eyes of those around him, had subtly changed. This change was silent, yet undeniably real.

The news spread like wildfire, quickly reaching the bustling weaving workshop.

The huge loom roared, the shuttles flew back and forth, and the air was filled with the smell of cotton dust and machine oil. But the loud noise couldn't dampen the workers' enthusiasm for spreading the news.

"Master Zhang! Congratulations!"

A young female worker with two short braids approached Zhang Xiuying, who happened to be passing by, and said in a loud voice that drowned out some of the machine noise, "Your son Guangming! His administrative rank has been promoted again!"

What level was it again?

Anyway, you got promoted again! Your salary went up again! Now your family's life is even more prosperous!

Her face beamed with a proud smile.

Zhang Xiuying's face was initially blank, as if she hadn't heard clearly, but then she was overwhelmed with immense joy, her eyes instantly lighting up as if infused with light:

"Really? You leveled up again? If you leveled up once, then you should be level twenty-three... twenty-three?"

She repeated it unconsciously, her voice trembling with disbelief.

"It's absolutely true! It's posted on the bulletin board! A big, bright red notice! Stamped with a big red seal!"

Another female worker who was busy nearby also came over, her tone full of envy, "Sister Xiuying, you are so lucky! You have such a promising son! He's only so young, and he's already a level 23 cadre! He'll be amazing in the future! He's bound to have a bright future!"

“Exactly! Look at Guangming, he’s steady, capable, and educated! And look at my husband, all he does is run around all day…” An older female worker sighed, her tone tinged with bitterness.

For a moment, compliments, praises, and occasional sighs mingled and surged toward Zhang Xiuying.

Zhang Xiuying felt a surge of heat rush from her heart to her head, and her face involuntarily blossomed into a smile, smoothing out the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

She waved her hands repeatedly, saying "Not at all," "It's all thanks to the child's own hard work," and "Thanks to everyone's good fortune," but her voice trembled slightly with excitement.

All afternoon, she was surrounded by the sincere or slightly bittersweet congratulations from her coworkers, which made her stand up straight. Even the monotonous hum of the looms outside the office seemed to turn into a cheerful melody.

Her son has made something of himself! This brings her more joy and happiness than anything else.

She even started planning to go to the grocery store after get off work to buy some meat and have a nice meal to celebrate that evening.

It's 5 PM, an hour before I have to leave work.

After finishing the last document on his desk—a draft of post-holiday equipment maintenance arrangements—Yang Ming began tidying up his workspace and preparing to leave.

He put the pen back in the pen holder, tidied up the scattered documents, and put them in the drawer.

The office phone suddenly rang urgently, breaking the tranquility before the end of the workday.

He answered the phone: "Hello, who is this?" His voice was steady.

The voice on the other end of the phone was that of Yang Yongkang, the father, sounding slightly hurried. "Guangming? Is it Guangming?" Yang Yongkang's voice revealed a rare tension and urgency.

"Dad? It's me. What's wrong?" Yang Guangming's heart tightened, and he gripped the receiver slightly.

My father rarely calls the office at this time.

“Your eldest sister… Xianglan!” Yang Yongkang’s voice rose a little. “I just received a message from your brother-in-law’s mother through someone. She said that your sister is having severe abdominal pain, with each wave more intense than the last. She’s probably… probably going into labor! She’s already been taken to the hospital! The Sixth Municipal Hospital, which is the closest to their home!”

He spoke quickly, with an undeniable urgency.

Yang Guangming's heart sank suddenly.

“Jianjun and his dad are both at work, rushing to finish a batch of urgent work. The team leader is keeping a close eye on them, so they can't leave for a while! He came to tell me right away!”

Yang Yongkang spoke even faster, almost panting, "I'm also rushing to finish a batch of urgent work, the lathe can't stop, and the team leader is watching over me right now, he can't get away for a moment! Hurry! Go find your mother! You two need to ask for leave immediately and go to the hospital right away! Hurry!"

He urged him repeatedly, his tone anxious.

"Okay! Dad, don't worry! I'll go find Mom right away! We're coming right now!"

Yang Guangming immediately responded, his voice steady and strong, trying to soothe his father's emotions over the phone. With his other hand, he had already picked up his coat draped over the back of the chair.

"Okay...okay! Go quickly! When you get to the hospital, check on the situation and quickly...quickly find a way to send me a message!" Yang Yongkang finished speaking hurriedly, and then the phone rang with a busy tone, leaving a hollow dial tone.

Yang Guangming put down the phone quickly and methodically.

He glanced at the wall clock; there was still less than an hour until the normal end of the workday.

But at this moment, he had no interest in dealing with the remaining miscellaneous matters.

He quickly tidied up the things on the desk, picked up the navy blue coat, strode out of the office, and closed the door behind him.

He hurried to the office of the weaving workshop. His mother, Zhang Xiuying, was the labor relations officer in the weaving workshop. She usually stayed in the office when she had nothing to do.

Sure enough, Zhang Xiuying, the mother, was humming an off-key tune as she happily packed the aluminum lunchbox into a mesh bag, planning what delicious food to buy at the grocery store later.

Seeing her son rush in, her smile widened, filled with the joy of learning that he had just been promoted.

"Guangming! You're leaving get off work early? Perfect, I'll go tell the deputy director on duty, maybe I can leave a little early too..."

She thought her son had come to pick her up so they could go home together.

"Mom!" Yang Guangming interrupted her, his voice not loud, but his words were rapid and carried an urgent tone that left no room for argument, "My eldest sister is about to give birth! She was just taken to the Sixth Municipal Hospital! Dad called and told us to come over right away!" He was concise and to the point.

Zhang Xiuying's smile froze instantly, as if she had been frozen in place.

The net bag in my hand fell to the ground with a "thud," and the aluminum lunchbox rolled twice on the cement floor, making a crisp sound.

She seemed not to have reacted at all, her eyes wide open as she stared straight at her son, her lips trembling slightly: "What? Xianglan, is...is she going into labor? Now? At the Sixth Municipal Hospital?" A series of questions filled with astonishment and a sudden surge of worry.

Medical conditions were so poor back then that childbirth was like passing through the gates of hell for women. No matter how many children they had, their families would still live in constant fear.

"Yes! Dad said the situation is urgent, and he and my brother-in-law can't leave right now, so he wants us to go there immediately!"

Yang Guangming bent down and quickly picked up the lunchbox and net bag, stuffing them back into his mother's hands. "Don't bother cleaning up, Mom. Let's go! I'll go ask the supervisor on duty for leave. Wait for me at the factory gate! We'll ride our bikes over!" His tone was resolute.

Zhang Xiuying then suddenly realized what was happening, feeling both shocked and frightened, but even more worried about her daughter.

Her face was pale, and she hurriedly slung the net bag over her arm. Her voice was trembling, almost crying: "Oh! Oh! Okay! I... I'll go to the door right now! Go ask for leave quickly! Hurry, Guangming! Hurry!"

She practically pushed her son out, then staggered and ran towards the workshop entrance herself.

Yang Guangming turned and ran to the workshop office, quickly explaining the situation to the deputy director on duty. Upon hearing that it was a worker's family member in labor and being taken to the hospital, a matter of life and death, the deputy director immediately nodded in approval and added, "Be careful on the way."

When Yang Guangming arrived at the factory gate, Zhang Xiuying was already there, pushing her brand-new "Forever" brand bicycle. Her face was full of anxiety and unease, like an ant on a hot pan, constantly tiptoeing and peering into the factory area, her hand unconsciously clutching the net bag containing the empty lunchbox tightly.

"Mom, get on!" Yang Guangming took the bicycle from his mother, nimbly stepped onto it, steadied the bicycle, and put one foot on the ground.

Zhang Xiuying sat sideways on the back seat, gripping the metal frame under the seat tightly with one hand, while her other hand instinctively protected the net bag, as if it were the only tangible thing she could hold onto at that moment.

"Hold on tight!" Yang Guangming reminded him, then pushed off with his feet. The bicycle, carrying the mother and child, merged into the crowd.

The afterglow of the setting sun cast long shadows onto the cement road marked by the passage of time.

The celebration plans and the joy of the pay raise that had just been lingering in Zhang Xiuying's mind were now completely dispelled by her worry and concern for her eldest daughter.

She gripped the cold bicycle frame tightly, leaned forward slightly, and looked anxiously toward the Sixth Municipal Hospital, past her son's broad shoulders.

The evening breeze ruffled a few stray strands of gray hair across her forehead. She murmured softly, her voice broken yet devout: "May the Bodhisattva protect me... May the Bodhisattva protect me... May Xianglan have a smooth delivery... May she have a safe delivery... May both mother and child be safe..."

The wheels rolled over the road, making a soft, rustling sound.

The May evening breeze carried warmth, but it couldn't dispel the tension and chill in Zhang Xiuying's heart.

With a steady hand on the handlebars, Yang Guangming exerted all his strength to navigate the slightly crowded streets at top speed.

He bypassed the slowly moving "Jiefang" trucks loaded with goods, overtook the clanging trams, and sped along the tree-lined avenues on both sides towards the Sixth Municipal Hospital.

(End of this chapter)