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

Chapter 94, Section 93: Deep Affection and Earnest Expectations

Yang Guangming did not directly embark on that familiar road leading to the Shikumen alleyway home.

He paused briefly at the fork in the road, then turned and headed towards the deeper, narrower alleyway where Zhou Bingsheng's house was located.

Both for his own sake and for his own, he should visit Zhou's little treasure.

Gong, Master Zhou is a senior master craftsman in the factory and a veteran in the secretariat. If he has an "urgent matter" at home, as a colleague and junior, it is only right that I care.
Privately, this opportunity to write on behalf of someone was given to me by Master Zhou in a way that was almost like entrusting me with a task.

That heavy feeling of affection, like a warm stone, weighed on his heart. He couldn't feel at ease until he saw Xiao Bao's condition with his own eyes.

However, the "meaning" behind this visit gave him quite a bit of thought. In times of scarcity, the art of navigating social relationships and striking the right balance was especially delicate and important.

A few days ago, he managed to "supplement" two kilograms of life-saving milk powder for the Zhou family—which is a truly precious thing these days.

Last time Master Zhou hosted a dinner party, he gave us a big bag of White Rabbit milk candy, which was quite a rare treat.

These two things should not appear too frequently, as it seems too deliberate and could easily arouse unnecessary suspicion.

Thinking that the Zhou family must have spent a lot of money to make up for their already tight grain and oil coupons for those two kilograms of milk powder, Yang Guangming felt even more reluctant.

He subconsciously touched his satchel, which was empty. There was some peanut oil in the refrigerator, golden and fragrant—a rare treat only seen during holidays. But taking it out would be too conspicuous, and explaining its origin would be troublesome, so he decided against it.

After a moment's thought, he had an idea.

We walked into a secluded, deserted dead-end alley—a place piled with old, broken baskets and discarded coal ash, rarely visited by pedestrians throughout the year.

He looked around warily, making sure there wasn't a cat in sight, before calming himself and focusing his mind on the strange refrigerator space deep within his mind, which emitted a soft, cold white glow.

Under the soft, cool white light, the "treasure" sat still, with each item available for him to choose from, and he quickly made his selection.

He had already accumulated a considerable amount of some common foods from that era over two or three days.

Four jin of dried rice noodles, tightly wrapped in thick, rough yellow straw paper into a robust cylindrical shape, are heavy and exude the pure, dry fragrance unique to southern rice.

Two jin of walnut kernels, each with distinct edges and square shapes, were wrapped in strong kraft paper. The kernels were plump, the shells intact, and they exuded the unique, sun-kissed, oily aroma of nuts.

These two items are substantial and highly practical.

Rice noodles are an excellent staple food; add some green vegetables and scallions, and you have a decent meal. Walnuts are good for the brain and are especially suitable for families with children and the elderly.

In this day and age, it is considered a "etiquette" that is both respectable and practical, without being too flashy or conspicuous.

Most importantly, their source can be vaguely explained as "friends helping to adjust the supply" or "shared from family," without causing too much of a stir.

He took out the rice noodles and walnuts that he had wrapped in his mind, and their heavy weight instantly weighed down his hand.

He carefully stuffed them into the worn military satchel, which immediately became bulging and full, the fabric stretched taut.

Following the route in his memory, Yang Guangming meandered through the alley where Zhou Bingsheng's house was located.

The bluestone path underfoot has been worn smooth by time, and it gleams with a warm glow in the afternoon sun.

The air was filled with the smell of smoke from the coal stoves burning in each household, the fresh scent of soap on clothes drying in the sun, and the faint fishy smell of moss in the damp corners of the walls, all of which together created the unique atmosphere of life in the alleyways.

He knocked on the familiar black lacquered wooden door. Much of the lacquer on the door panel had peeled off, revealing the dark wood grain underneath.

"Who is it?" came Mrs. Zhou's slightly hoarse voice from inside.

"Mrs. Zhou, our sunshine is bright."

The door creaked open.

Mrs. Zhou's petite body was wrapped in a faded blue cloth blouse, its original color almost unrecognizable.

Seeing Yang Guangming standing outside the door, a clear look of surprise flashed across her face, which was etched with the hardships of life. This was quickly replaced by a warm yet slightly reserved smile, and the fine wrinkles around her eyes smoothed out.
"Oh my! Comrade Xiao Yang? What brings you here? Please come in, please come in!"

As she stepped aside to make way, she called out into the house with undisguised joy, "Old Zhou! Old Zhou! Xiao Yang is here!"

Sunlight streamed as he stepped into the small courtyard. The courtyard wasn't large; in one corner sat several old earthenware pots, with a few wilted scallions and garlic plants growing inside.

Before he even reached the door of the living room, he heard a baby's clear, cheerful laughter, full of energy and innocent vitality like that of a small animal, without any sign of sickly weakness.

He paused involuntarily.

Zhou Bingsheng was standing in the center of the living room, holding his grandson Xiaobao.

He was slightly hunched over, his fingers, marked by years and calluses, clumsily and carefully teasing his grandson in his arms.

Xiao Bao was wearing a clean little jacket, his little face was rosy like a ripe apple, and his big, dark eyes were darting around curiously.

The little arms and legs swung powerfully as he tried to grab his grandfather's rough finger that was teasing him.

He was babbling in a language only he understood, full of energy, radiating a healthy and vibrant vitality.

There is not a trace of any sign that he has been seriously ill, had a seizure or coma, or needed to be hospitalized for life-saving treatment.

Yang Guangming felt a sudden shock, as if he had been struck by a heavy hammer!
All the vague guesses and the slightest doubts in my heart that I dared not delve into were confirmed at this moment in the most direct and irrefutable way!
A surge of hot emotion rushed from the depths of my heart to my eyes, making me feel incredibly sore and uncomfortable.

He subconsciously took a deep breath, barely managing to suppress the complex emotions surging in his throat, a mixture of immense gratitude and heavy pressure.

"Master Zhou, Mrs. Zhou." Yang Guangming quickly put on a gentle and polite smile, as if he hadn't noticed Xiao Bao's overly energetic state at all.

He walked into the living room and placed the heavy satchel on the square table against the wall, making a slight thud.

"Your family has been dealing with a lot of things lately, so things might be a bit tight for you."

We happened to have some extra rice noodles and walnuts at home, so we just left them there anyway.

My mother said it would be good to supplement the baby's nutrition or add some food to the house, so she asked me to bring some over as a small token of her appreciation. She hoped I wouldn't mind.

His tone was natural and fluent, carrying the casualness and concern common when neighbors visit each other. He deliberately emphasized the two meanings of "something spared from home" and "my mother asked me to give it to you," cleverly dispelling the abruptness of the gift, making it seem like just an ordinary act of mutual assistance. Mrs. Zhou's gaze fell on the two large rolls of rice noodles tightly wrapped in yellow straw paper on the table, which looked quite substantial, and the bulging kraft paper package that exuded the aroma of nuts. Her eyes instantly reddened again.

She nervously rubbed her rough hands together, thanking him repeatedly, her voice choked with emotion:

"Oh my! Comrade Xiao Yang, you're too kind! You've gone to so much trouble!"

I haven't properly thanked you for the milk powder incident yet, and now you've brought so many expensive things... How can I keep accepting your gifts!
"How could I possibly accept this..."

She kept saying "I'm sorry," feeling helpless, her simple gratitude and unease almost overflowing.

Zhou Bingsheng held Xiaobao, looking at Yang Guangming with complicated emotions, then at the real "heartfelt gift" on the table.

His eyes, behind his thick glasses, remained sharp, but now held a hint of barely perceptible emotion, and a slight embarrassment at having his intentions completely seen through.

He gently patted the babbling, restless baby in his arms, his voice deep and carrying an unprecedented solemnity:
"Xiaoyang... thank you. I'll remember this kindness."

Every word seemed to be drawn from the depths of his heart, heavy with meaning.

Little Bao seemed to sense the warmth flowing between the adults. He opened his big, bright eyes curiously, stretched out his chubby little hand towards the sunlight, and babbled even more happily.

Yang Guangming stretched out his finger, and the little guy immediately grabbed it tightly with his soft little hand, giggling. The force from his little hand was quite strong.

"Xiao Bao is in great spirits."

Looking at the child's rosy, full face and bright, spirited eyes, Yang Guangming smiled sincerely, his tone filled with unspoken warmth and a hint of understanding.

The words "in good spirits" carried a special weight in the ears of the elderly Zhou couple at that moment.

Mrs. Zhou was busy going to the kitchen to pour water when the sound of clinking cups and saucers came from there.

Zhou Bingsheng gestured for Yang Guangming to sit down on the well-worn bamboo chair next to the square table.

The two chatted for a few minutes about everyday things, nothing more than the afternoon's events at the factory and the weather. Yang Guangming carefully avoided any topics related to the manuscript or the office.

Mrs. Zhou brought over two glasses of plain water and placed them on the table. The glasses were very clean, with water droplets still clinging to the sides.

She insisted that Yang Guangming stay for dinner, her tone earnest: "Xiao Yang, it's rare for you to come, have dinner before you leave!"
I bought some fresh bok choy today; it's so green and crisp, perfect for cooking with the rice noodles you brought! It'll be ready in no time!

Yang Guangming quickly stood up and waved his hand firmly yet politely:

“Mrs. Zhou, please don’t be so polite! I really have some things to take care of later and need to go back early.”

Next time, I'll definitely come and bother you again; I absolutely must try your cooking.

His tone was gentle, but his refusal was very clear.

Mrs. Zhou was about to persuade him again, but Zhou Bingsheng glanced at her and shook his head slightly, indicating with his eyes that she didn't need to force herself.

Then, he turned to Yang Guangming, his voice lowering slightly: "Xiao Yang, come with me to the inner room."

With the hand that was holding the baby, he pointed to the door next to him that led to a smaller, darker room—his and his wife's bedroom.

Yang Guangming understood immediately and got up to follow Zhou Bingsheng inside. Mrs. Zhou then took Xiaobao from him and stayed in the slightly brighter living room, gently patting her grandson's back.

The inner room was small, low, and dark. A heavy, old-fashioned four-poster bed took up most of the space, and next to the bed was an old, peeling dresser piled with odds and ends and an unmarked milk powder can.

The only small window, with old newspapers pasted on one of its panes, allowed light to filter through with difficulty, making the room seem even more gloomy.

Zhou Bingsheng gently closed the door behind him, shutting out the sounds from the living room outside.

He took off his heavy reading glasses and rubbed his temples hard with his rough, cracked fingers. The deep wrinkles on his forehead appeared even more ravine-like in the dim light, as if they carried an unspeakable weight.

He put Xiao Bao on the bed temporarily, and the little guy curiously looked around the dimly lit room.

Zhou Bingsheng didn't look at Yang Ming immediately. His gaze seemed to fall on the unmarked milk powder can on the dresser, and he remained silent for a few seconds.

Only the baby's babbling and the old man's slightly heavy breathing remained in the room.

"The manuscript..." Zhou Bingsheng finally spoke, his voice low and tense, as if afraid of disturbing something, "Director Zhao... what do you say after reading it?"

He looked up and put his glasses back on. Behind the thick lenses, his gaze was like two searchlights, locking onto Yang Guangming's eyes.

His gaze was extremely complex, a mixture of deep concern, strong expectation, and a hint of tension he himself might not have been aware of—a fear of hearing bad news.

That heavy sense of entrustment almost materialized, pressing down on the bright sunlight.

Sunlight streamed into his sharp, pressure-filled gaze, clearly revealing the unmistakable anxiety and hope deep within the old man's eyes.

He straightened up, nodded solemnly, and spoke in a low voice, yet each word was clear in the small space, like pearls falling onto a plate:
"Director Zhao inspected it personally, for a long time, very carefully."

He paused, making sure each word carried weight, then said, "He said...it's well written!"

He clearly repeated Zhao Guodong's evaluation: "The structure is solid, the core is strong, the cases are vivid, the data is solid, and the language is also up to standard."

He emphasized the part about "the process of developing the automatic doffing device in the bobbin winding process and the part about Old Zhang's utilization of waste heat from the return water, saying that it truly captured the wisdom and hard work of the workers."

Finally, he clearly uttered that crucial sentence, "Director Zhao said it was done exceptionally well!"

As Yang Guangming repeated each word clearly and forcefully, Zhou Bingsheng's tightly pursed lips, which looked like they had been carved with a knife, gradually relaxed.

His thin shoulders, which had been slightly hunched due to tension, silently relaxed.

When he heard the words "done exceptionally well," the tension that had been building up deep in his eyes finally vanished completely, like thin ice under the sun. In its place came a great sense of relief and heartfelt joy, like a long-frozen river suddenly being broken open by the spring tide, with warm currents gushing out.

He let out a long, silent breath, a deep and resonant sigh that carried the utter relief of having lifted a heavy burden.

"Good...good! Good!" He said "good" three times in a row. His voice was not loud, but it was full of the weight of a rock and the excitement from the bottom of his heart.

(End of this chapter)