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

Chapter 63. Summer Night Ukiyo-e

The moonlight, like water, flowed quietly through the maze-like alleyways, washing the bluestone pavement until it shimmered with a faint light.

After saying goodbye to Han Mingqian, Zhang Yuqin, and Li Weidong at a familiar intersection, Yang Guangming embarked on his journey home alone.

He subconsciously touched the worn military satchel on his shoulder—it was now flat and stuck to his side.

I walked into a familiar dead-end alley, completely swallowed by the shadows of tall, abandoned factory buildings, and made sure no one was around.

He stopped, closed his eyes, and let his mind sink into the strange refrigerator space deep within his mind. Under the soft, cool white light, the "treasures" that were updated daily were displayed like a still life painting.

With a slight thought, several items quietly appeared in his satchel.

Four catties of dried rice noodles: tightly wrapped in two rolls of thick, rough yellow straw paper, heavy in the hand, exuding the clean, pure, and dry fragrance unique to southern rice. This was a quantity he had specially accumulated over two days.

A one-pound bottle of peanut oil: a transparent glass bottle, the clear, golden oil shimmering alluringly in the light. The brand-new cork seal is perfectly tight, locking in its powerful, rich aroma without a trace escaping.

A pound of White Rabbit milk candy: classic red, blue and white striped wax paper wraps the milky-scented hard candy, which is also carefully wrapped in thick kraft paper and sits at the bottom of the handbag with its sharp edges.

The handbag instantly became fuller and heavier, with a substantial feel.

Yang Guangming weighed the matter in his hand, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He carefully adjusted the flap of his satchel, making sure that there was no abnormality in its shape from the outside, before taking steady steps toward the heavy black lacquered gate of his family's shikumen house.

Before even entering, the unique hustle and bustle of a summer night in a Shikumen neighborhood immediately hits you.

The sweltering air seemed to solidify, and only this small courtyard, with its cross breeze, became a natural "salon" for the residents to escape the heat.

The dim yellow glow of the streetlights barely pierced a corner of the night, outlining the crowds seeking respite from the heat.

Several worn-out bamboo couches, creaking stools, and even a few heavy door panels that had been removed were scattered along the walls and passageways of the courtyard, creating a temporary resting place.

The men are the main subjects of this scene depicting people enjoying the cool evening air.

Most of them had bare, sweaty, bronze-colored backs, or wore brightly washed, ripped tank tops, and without exception, they were waving large palm-leaf fans, making rhythmic "plop, plop" sounds.

The core area is a street lamp that hangs a little high. Under the lamp, a small circle of people are gathered together, their heads close together, fighting on a homemade wooden chessboard by the dim light.

The chess piece landed with a crisp "thud," accompanied by short, low shouts of "Knight!" and "Checkmate!" and suppressed laughter or sighs from the onlookers.

In the shadows further away, groups of three or five whispered and chatted, the red glow of cigarette butts flickering in the darkness like fireflies on a summer night.

The topics were nothing more than the factory's newly set production targets that were suffocating, or rumors of a minor accident in a certain workshop, occasionally interspersed with the most cautious speculations about the current situation. The voices were kept extremely low, as if afraid of disturbing the night.

The women formed their own space, gathering on the other side of the relatively well-ventilated passageway. Granny Chen lay half-reclined in her gleaming, creaking old rattan recliner, her eyes half-closed. On a small stool beside her sat a small transistor radio, playing a segment from the Shanghai opera "Luohan Qian" in a low, creaking tone.

Her thin fingers tapped lightly on the armrest in time with the music.

Mrs. Feng sat upright, her fingers flying across the paper in the light shining through the doorway. The fine cotton thread and crochet hook seemed to come alive in her hands as she skillfully crocheted an exquisite openwork tablecloth pattern.

Her movements were elegant and serene, forming a strangely harmonious composition with the surrounding noise.

Li Guihua was undoubtedly the "loudspeaker" of this area. She sat cross-legged on a small bamboo chair, fanning her thighs with a palm-leaf fan, and was excitedly discussing with several other women the newly arrived ribbonfish at the grocery store:
"...With tickets? Of course with tickets! What do you think this is? But to be honest, the price is a penny cheaper than last time! It's just that the lines were so long my legs were about to give way! I'll go line up before dawn tomorrow, I have to grab a couple of these to treat my little one to some meat..."

Her voice was so powerful that it drowned out the singing on the radio.

Grandma Chen's eldest granddaughter-in-law, Zhang Chunfang, held her youngest daughter, who was already fast asleep in her arms, and leaned against the cold brick wall, gently rocking her back. Occasionally, she would interject a gentle comment or two between Li Guihua's impassioned remarks.

Chen Weihong quietly curled up on a small stool at her mother's feet, and in the dim light, she looked down at a dog-eared copy of "People's Literature".

Her gaze, however, did not seem to be focused on the words. Every now and then, it would rise and drift quietly toward the black lacquered door, carrying a hint of barely perceptible expectation.

The air was filled with a complex and pungent odor:

The pungent smell of floral water and mosquito coils tried to repel the annoying mosquitoes. The sweat on the men's bodies, the tar smell from burning cheap tobacco, and the cheap soap smell emanating from the clothes drying on bamboo poles and not yet fully taken down all steamed and fermented together, forming a vivid and real summer night scene in Shikumen, full of the aroma of everyday life.

"Oh my! Our cadre comrade is back!"

The sharp-eyed Li Guihua was the first to spot Yang Guangming stepping into the courtyard gate. She immediately reacted as if she'd discovered major news, her voice rising eight octaves in an exaggerated display of pride and excitement:

"How was the 'thank-you feast' at Master Zhou's house? Did you enjoy the food? Did you bring back any oil or grease for us?"

She teased him half-jokingly, but her gaze had already precisely swept over the bulging military satchel on Yang Guangming's shoulder.

That shout was like water dripping into boiling oil, instantly drawing everyone's attention in the courtyard. People playing chess, chatting, listening to opera, and doing crafts all turned to look at it.

Zhang Xiuying was whispering to Mrs. Feng about the amusing things Zhuangzhuang was doing lately, when she heard this and immediately stood up, her face instantly lighting up with a mixture of pride and concern:
"Mingming, you're back! How's things at Master Zhou's house? How's Xiaobao? Is he in good spirits?"

She hurried forward, as if she wanted to check on her son's condition immediately.

Grandma Chen also paused the rhythm of her fingertips, opened her squinting eyes, and asked with a kind smile, "Sister-in-law Zhou, are you feeling any better? Is your back still hurting?"

Zhang Xiuying had already spread the word about Yang Guangming's visit and the difficulties the Zhou family was facing, and the neighbors were all aware of it.

(End of this chapter)