A Tale of Two Cities Supporting Xinjiang

On the screen, Ali sent a picture of a mountain of cotton bales, barely covered by a makeshift tarpaulin, with ominous yellowish-brown spots already appearing on the edges.

In the voice message that followed, Ai Li's voice was choked with sobs, mixed with the noise of the rain: "President Zhai, it's raining again, and our makeshift tarpaulin is no match for it!"

Zhou Mingyu sat opposite Zhai Hongjun, watching his increasingly grim expression, and put down his teacup: "What happened?"

Zhai Hongjun handed over the phone and said with a wry smile, "Look at the plight of the cotton farmers."

The new air route is a long-term solution, but it's not a quick fix for immediate needs. Wait...

"By the time the air route was approved and opened, tens of thousands of kilograms of cotton had already rotted in the fields."

Zhou Mingyu scrolled through the screen, each photo more heartbreaking than the last: cotton farmers huddled in a circle around piles of moldy cotton, their eyes filled with despair.

Water dripped continuously from the cracks in the roof of the makeshift warehouse, leaving large, dark stains on the cotton bales.

Eric's calloused, rough hands carefully cradled a handful of discolored cotton.

"We need to get this out of here quickly!"

Zhou Mingyu looked up. "What about the railway? Isn't there a freight route?"

"I applied, but it was rejected."

Zhai Hongjun sighed heavily: "They said the scheduling was tight and they couldn't add any extra trains at the last minute."

I went to the railway bureau three times, and I practically wore myself out talking, but they just kept saying the same thing: "Go with the plan, there's nothing we can do."

Zhou Mingyu was silent for a moment, then suddenly remembered something, looked up and asked, "You just said that the approval of the new air route was a good thing, and you also mentioned my influence. What did you mean by that?"

Zhai Hongjun rubbed his face, his tone full of sincerity: "Director Zhou, you have a wide network of connections in the autonomous region and know many people."

We grassroots workers have run ourselves ragged trying to figure this out, but to no avail. Can you help us think of a solution?

The cotton farmers really can't wait any longer!

Having said that, Zhou Mingyu instantly understood.

He stared at the photos, recalling the scenes he had witnessed years ago when he worked at the grassroots level, where farmers' harvested crops rotted in the fields.

He understood all too well that kind of despair that seeps into your bones.

Send me all the information.

Number of cotton farmers, total cotton production volume, mold situation, and current storage conditions—the more detailed the better. I'll give it a try.

"I'll have someone prepare it right away, and it'll be sent to your email within half an hour!"

Zhou Mingyu waved his hand, took out his phone, and quickly started scrolling through his contacts.

A day later, in the corridor of the railway bureau's freight dispatch center, Zhou Mingyu, carrying an inconspicuous cloth bag, stopped in front of the door marked "Dispatching Director's Office".

The door opened, and a man in his forties, dressed in uniform, saw him and paused for a moment: "Director Zhou? What brings you here? Didn't you say we could just talk on the phone?"

"Director Li, it's hard to explain over the phone."

Zhou Mingyu walked into the office and, without any formalities, took out several packets of cotton samples sealed in transparent bags from his cloth bag and lined them up on the desk. "Take a look at these first."

Director Li took a closer look, and his expression changed slightly.

The first bag of cotton was white and soft, still smelling of sunshine; the second bag had yellowed edges and lost its original luster; the third bag had turned brown in large areas, with the cotton fibers clumping together severely; the fourth bag even had gray-black mold spots, and a faint rotten smell could be smelled when you got close.

"This is the cotton harvest from the farmers in Beishan Township."

This year is a bumper year for the 127 cotton farming households in the township, with a total output of over 800,000 jin.

Due to continuous rain and limited storage conditions, thousands of kilograms of cotton are becoming moldy every day.

"Director Zhou, we understand the situation. But freight scheduling is no joke. The national schedule is packed, and adding extra trains at the last minute is really..."

"I'm not here to request an additional special train."

Zhou Mingyu interrupted him and took out a stack of photos from the bag. "I'm here to ask you to take a look at these."

An elderly cotton farmer with white hair trembles as he touches the moldy cotton; a woman stands in front of a pile of cotton, holding her child, her face full of confusion and helplessness; a young man, tanned dark by the sun, prays to the gloomy sky that it will never rain again.

In the last photo, dozens of cotton farmers are gathered outside the village's only small airport, some squatting on the ground, some even kneeling, all staring longingly at the tightly closed iron gate.

In the corner of the photo, a familiar figure made Director Li's pupils shrink; it was Ai Li, his old instructor from ten years ago when he was training at the grassroots level.

Now, Ali is twenty years older, his face deeply lined with wrinkles, and he is secretly wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"Instructor Aili..." Director Li murmured.

"You know him?" Zhou Mingyu keenly noticed the change in his emotions.

"My instructor when I trained in Beishan Township ten years ago."

Director Li picked up the photo. "How...how could he do this?"

"He is one of the cotton farmers, and also one of the farmers most severely affected by this disaster."

Zhou Mingyu lowered his voice, "Director Li, I'm not here to make things difficult for you."

I know that railway dispatching has strict discipline, and the whole country operates as one. But look—”

He pointed to the moldy samples: "It only takes seven days for it to go from slightly yellow to completely moldy. It's already the fourth day. What does it mean if all this cotton rots in the ground?"

More than a hundred cotton farmers have worked for nothing all year, and some may even be burdened with heavy debts. Many families depend on this one season of cotton for their livelihood.

Director Li stared silently at the photos and samples; the only sound in the office was the low hum of the air conditioner.

After a long silence, he finally let out a long sigh: "Director Zhou, we really can't add another special train. But..."

He walked to his desk, turned on his computer, and pulled up a spreadsheet: "Next Wednesday, a freight train traveling from the northwest to the east is scheduled to have 15 carriages of temporary storage space, originally intended for emergency supplies..."

Zhou Mingyu's heart skipped a beat.

"I can try to allocate eight of the carriages to Beishan Township."

Director Li turned around, his expression serious. "But this requires a special procedure. We need you to provide complete supporting documentation, including an official assessment of the cotton farmers' damage, an explanation of the urgency of the transportation, and..."

Zhou Mingyu immediately replied, "Yes, we have both."

I have prepared emergency reports for the Beishan Township government, the county agricultural bureau, and even the city.

Director Li was taken aback for a moment, then suddenly laughed: "Director Zhou, you came prepared."

"Cotton farmers can't afford to wait."

Zhou Mingyu also laughed, "I've visited three departments in the past two days and prepared five plans."

This is the only potentially feasible option.

Director Li sat back down and started typing. "Okay. I'll draft a special dispatch application now. Please send me the materials."

But Director Zhou, let me be clear from the start, this is just an application, and it's not guaranteed to be approved.

"I understand. As long as there is a glimmer of hope, we will give it our all."

Two more days passed, and every minute and every second was unbearable.

Zhai Hongjun's phone was ringing off the hook with calls from cotton farmers.

In the photos that Ali sent every day, the area of ​​mold on the cotton was getting bigger and bigger each day.

The makeshift rain shelter erected in the village collapsed halfway after another night of rain. A dozen cotton farmers braved the rain to salvage the cotton, getting soaked to the bone, but could only watch helplessly as more cotton bales were soaked by the rain.

Zhou Mingyu was also busy.

He stayed at the management committee and went to the railway bureau every day to keep track of the application progress.

Director Li has done his best, but the approval process at each level takes time, and cotton simply cannot wait.