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

Chapter 3.3. Kicking the Green Tea Girl Away
Shen Meiyu felt even more aggrieved, and subconsciously moved closer to Yang Guangming, almost touching him, her voice soft and sweet:

"What do you mean? We agreed yesterday! You were going to have breakfast with me at 'Green Willow Estate' and then go register! Have you forgotten?"

She deliberately emphasized "registering," keeping her eyes fixed on his face to observe his reaction.

"Green Willow Village?" Yang Guangming twitched the corners of his mouth, revealing a cold smile. "I've already had breakfast. As for registering?"

He raised his eyelids, his sharp gaze fixed on Shen Meiyu, "When did I ever agree to let you register?"

Shen Meiyu's coquettish expression froze instantly, like a cheap New Year's painting that had been splashed with water.

Her big eyes widened in disbelief: "You... what did you say? Yesterday afternoon, at the alley entrance, you clearly said..."

“Oh, yesterday afternoon.” Yang Guangming interrupted her, his tone carrying a mocking realization, though his voice was not loud, it was enough for the neighbors who were listening intently to hear him clearly.

"I was probably too sleepy yesterday afternoon, my mind wasn't clear, but I'm fully awake now."

He paused, then spoke clearly, each word distinct: "If you want to go, you should register yourself."

After saying that, he didn't even look at Shen Meiyu's pale face and her expression slightly distorted by shock and shame. He walked straight past her and strode towards the alley entrance.

Shen Meiyu was left standing on the steps, like a punctured balloon, filled with shame and anger, her body trembling slightly.

The subtle, inquisitive, and knowing glances from the surrounding neighbors felt like needles pricking me.

"Yang Guangming! You...you scoundrel! You liar! You tricked me!" Shen Meiyu's sharp, furious, and tearful curses finally came from behind, her gentle tone completely gone after her voice broke.

Yang Guangming didn't stop walking, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

A scammer? Who's scamming whom?

These words, "scoundrel" and "liar," completely shattered the veil of hypocritical warmth and severed the laughable illusions of the past.

Good!

He stepped out of the narrow alleyway and found himself in a bright and open space.

The morning air in Shanghai in early summer of 1969 was damp and refreshing.

Yang Guangming stood on the somewhat empty street corner, feeling a little dazed for a moment.

The scene before me was like a faded old photograph, both familiar and strange.

The streets were narrow, and the paving stones were mostly broken and dented. The buildings on both sides were mostly low brick and wood structures with mottled gray walls and wooden doors and windows.

There are a few buildings with a Western style, but they are covered with the dust of time.

The bicycle is the main character.

People dressed in blue-gray overalls or military green uniforms, riding "Forever," "Phoenix," and "Flying Pigeon" motorcycles, their bells jingling, gathered together to form a flowing stream of vehicles.

The occasional bus that passes by is an old-fashioned "Giant Dragon" articulated bus, painted red and white or blue and white, rattling and emitting black smoke.

There were almost no cars on the street; the occasional passing vehicle was a grass-green Jeep or a square-headed "Shanghai" license plate, exuding an unquestionable air of authority.

There are very few shops on the street.

A long queue formed outside the grocery store, where sales clerks in white aprons were busy working with expressionless faces.

The counter of the tobacco and paper shop (small general store) displays a limited number of daily necessities.

On the wall, huge red slogans stood out: "Dig deep tunnels, store up grain, never seek hegemony," "Prepare for war, prepare for famine, serve the people," and "It is very necessary for educated youth to go to the countryside to receive re-education from poor and lower-middle peasants!"

The bright red painted lettering stands out against the gray urban backdrop, bearing a strong mark of its era.

Yang Guangming took a deep breath. The air was filled with the smell of coal smoke, the fresh scent of sycamore leaves, and the aroma of food wafting from somewhere.

This is no longer footage from a documentary; it is the real land beneath his feet.

A wave of novelty washed over me, washing away the unpleasantness of my confrontation with Shen Meiyu.

He started walking aimlessly along the sidewalk, his eyes greedily scanning his surroundings.

He walked past a small shop with a sign that read "People's Barber Shop," where a barber in a white coat was holding clippers, making a buzzing sound.

Walking past the breakfast stalls filled with the aroma of fried dough sticks, there were seven or eight people queuing in front of the simple stalls, their eyes fixed on the golden fried dough sticks bubbling in the pot.

Walking through the small park in the middle of the street, under the towering statue of the leader waving, several elderly people wearing red armbands were practicing Tai Chi.

I also saw a group of primary school students dressed in green military uniforms and wearing red armbands, marching proudly through the streets singing rousing revolutionary songs, attracting the attention of passersby. Everything felt so "retro," both real and distant.

Yang Guangming, like an intruder, coldly observes this era that is both fiery and oppressive, carrying the soul of the future.

His short-sleeved shirt and plastic sandals allowed him to blend into the crowd, but the sense of alienation he felt lingered.

After wandering aimlessly for half a day, the novelty gradually subsided, and more realistic anxieties took over.

Work, that sword hanging over our heads, has once again clearly resurfaced.

Wandering around won't solve the problem!
He discerned the direction and headed towards his high school. The school was a hub of information; perhaps he could glean some news there.

The red brick walls of my alma mater remain unchanged, and a school sign with white background and black lettering hangs at the entrance.

Stepping inside, the atmosphere was vastly different from when I was a student. Graduation season was over, and the campus felt empty and deserted.

The bulletin board was covered with mobilization orders and honor rolls, with the names of students heading to various places listed densely, including the names of the second brother, Yang Guangyao, and the second sister, Yang Xiangmei.

Under the shade of trees by the playground, several boys who, like him, had just graduated and were still in Shanghai gathered together, looking gloomy as they smoked cheap cigarettes, the smoke pungent and acrid.

"...Sigh, my father has run himself ragged, asking around in the neighborhood and the factory, but it's all to no avail!"

"They say the spots are so tight this year, there's no chance for me at all!" the tall, thin man sighed, exhaling a smoke ring.

“It’s the same in our family!” the short, chubby boy chimed in, indignant. “My mother said that unless someone in our family is willing to retire early and give up their position, don’t even think about it! But what will happen to our family if our retirement pension is reduced?”

"That's right! These days, a job is more precious than gold!" The tall, thin man took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Either you grit your teeth and go to the countryside, or you stay at home eating for free and waiting for the local authorities to come and urge you to leave every few days."

"I doubt it! Look at that Indian guy in the alley next door, he graduated a year ago and he's still stuck at home. Even his dad, who's a government official, can't get him to cooperate!"
"What can we do? There are too many monks and not enough porridge. Either our parents retire and take over their jobs, or..."

The short, chubby boy lowered his voice and made a money-counting gesture, "I heard that an old worker at the coal briquette factory is retiring. He has no children and plans to find someone to take over his job, but he wants this much!"

He held up two fingers and made an eight gesture.

"Eight hundred?!" The tall, thin man gasped. "Robbery!"

“Eight hundred? That’s cheap. It depends on the factory! For a good factory, it’ll cost at least a thousand!” Another boy who had been silent interjected sullenly.

Yang Guangming stood not far away, pretending to look at the slogans on the wall, but he heard every word of the conversation. His heart sank little by little.

The situation is more serious than we imagined!
In this era, paying someone to take over is almost the only legal shortcut.

Money! Lots of money!

He subconsciously touched his nearly empty pockets. His family couldn't possibly come up with this "huge sum." Even if his parents were willing, his older brother and sister-in-law would absolutely refuse.

The only hope...

Sunlight flickered in his eyes, and deep in his consciousness, the large-capacity double-door refrigerator, crammed with "treasures," floated silently.

Money? He didn't have any cash.

But the things in the refrigerator... especially that box of 100 grams of edible gold leaf! In this era where even basic needs must be carefully budgeted, that's his current source of confidence.

A bold and crazy idea, like lightning, cleaved through the gloom in my heart, instantly making it clear and burning!
Paying to take over the business!

Try to use the "hard goods" in the refrigerator to exchange for a job opportunity to stay in Shanghai!

Yang Guangming abruptly stopped, standing on the bustling yet somewhat desolate street.

The warm breeze of early summer in June ruffled the stray hairs on his forehead, which were damp with sweat.

He squinted, his gaze fixed on the distant, hazy horizon, but deep within his eyes seemed to be two dark flames ignited, leaping with a do-or-die determination and an uncontrollable excitement.

The heavy box of edible gold leaf in his portable refrigerator, enough to dazzle everyone in this era, became the only thought swirling in his mind.

As for how to exchange it? Who to exchange it with? The risks and intricacies... Yang Guangming's lips slowly curled into a cold, sharp arc.

He took a deep breath, the air, mixed with coal smoke and city dust, rushed into his lungs, yet it seemed to carry a cool, gold-leaf-like scent.

Stay in Shanghai!

He pressed the tip of his tongue against his palate, his eyes sharp as an eagle's.

He's determined to take this hand!

(End of this chapter)