I feel right at home in the world of the courtyard house.

As dawn broke, the warm winter sun of Shanghai shone through the thin mist onto the main avenue of the Shanghai No. 1 Steel Plant. Director Yang, dressed in a crisp dark gray Zhongshan suit, walked steadily at the front, followed by a group of middle-level leaders from the steel rolling mill, with Li Jing'an sandwiched in the crowd.

Led by staff from a steel plant in Shanghai, the group passed through the office area and arrived at the entrance of a factory building with a sign that read "Hot Rolled Fine Products Workshop." The heavy iron door slowly opened, releasing a warm airflow mixed with a faint smell of machine oil.

"Comrades, please come in." The head of the technical department raised his hand and gestured for them to come in, his tone both warm and professional.

The moment they stepped into the workshop, everyone instinctively slowed their pace. The workshop was bright and clean. The tools next to the production line were neatly arranged and categorized into numbered toolboxes.

The workers, dressed in uniform light blue overalls, were clean and tidy, with their cuffs and trouser legs tightly fastened. Their movements were neat and orderly as they carried out processes such as steel rolling, quality inspection, and handling.

"Our workshop is a model workshop in the metallurgical system. It mainly produces high-precision special steel, which is supplied to national defense and key projects." The head of the technical department explained as he walked around, holding a megaphone.

The leaders of the steel rolling mill listened intently, nodding from time to time. Some took out their notebooks and quickly jotted down key information. Li Jing'an was no exception; he would sometimes nod slightly with a perfectly timed smile, and at other times furrow his brows in admiration.

In a corner of the workshop, two reporters carrying cameras were busy. Sometimes they would take pictures of the entire production line, and sometimes they would focus on the focused faces of the workers and the attentive expressions of the leaders. The shutter clicked incessantly, recording the important moments of this exchange and inspection.

When they reached a critical stage in the process, Director Yang would always deliberately stop and ask questions at the right time.

The accompanying personnel answered each question clearly and logically.

Occasionally, Director Yang would turn around and look at the deputy director in charge of production and the workshop director behind him, exchanging opinions in hushed tones.

The group continued forward, traversing the entire production area, until they arrived at a control room. Three workers sat behind the control panel, their fingers deftly moving buttons and turning knobs, their expressions focused and meticulous.

Factory Director Yang walked slowly to the side of an elderly worker who was operating the equipment and asked him a few questions in a gentle tone.

The veteran worker answered fluently and remained completely calm.

Director Yang nodded repeatedly, praising, "His professional competence is truly admirable."

The old worker smiled shyly, sat back down, and immediately placed his hands on the knobs on the control panel again.

Li Jing'an stood behind, his eyes fixed on the old worker's movements. He saw the old worker repeatedly turning the same switch button to cooperate with the reporter's filming, until the paint on the knob was almost worn off.

Li Jing'an couldn't help but think to himself: "Brother, stop turning that switch. Change the button. If you keep turning it, you'll unscrew the knob off."

Before we knew it, the visit was coming to an end, and the sun outside the window gradually rose to its zenith, just in time for lunch.

Deputy Factory Director Zhao, who was in charge of receiving the group, quickly stepped forward, clasped his hands in a fist and palm salute to the steel mill workers, and said with a smile, "Comrades, I'm really sorry. The country is currently going through a difficult period, and people all over the country are tightening their belts. As cadres, we can't make an exception for ourselves. So today at noon, I'm afraid you'll have to make do with the workers' meals in the canteen."

Factory Director Yang immediately waved his hand, his tone sincere: "Factory Director Zhao, you're too kind! We are all children of workers and peasants, eating from the same pot is our duty, there's nothing wrong with that. Now we advocate diligence and thrift, and resolutely oppose lavish eating and drinking, this arrangement is exactly in line with the requirements."

Other leaders nodded in agreement, chiming in with their own voices: "That's right, that's right. Only by eating with the workers can you truly understand the hardships on the front lines." "The food cooked in the communal pot is the best; it's much better than a banquet at a restaurant."

A reporter standing nearby immediately pressed the shutter, capturing this scene of "officials and the masses working together, practicing diligence and thrift".

The group followed Deputy Factory Director Zhao to a small canteen within the factory grounds. The canteen was small, able to accommodate about fifty people, and the tables and chairs were brand new and spotless wooden. Contrary to expectations of a bustling mealtime, the canteen was nearly empty, with only a handful of workers at a few tables.

In front of the canteen's food serving window, rows of enamel lunch boxes were already laid out, each containing a full bowl of white rice, with a large spoonful of bright red, fatty and lean braised pork next to it, emitting a fragrant aroma.

The group exchanged knowing smiles, picked up their lunchboxes without uttering a word, and sat down around the adjacent tables.

Factory Director Zhao walked over to Li Jing'an, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He looked around at everyone, his tone tinged with apology: "Everyone, these are the conditions. I'm truly sorry to have to make things difficult for you." As he spoke, his gaze finally settled on Li Jing'an. Everyone else looked over as well.

Li Jing'an couldn't let his words fall to the ground, so he had no choice but to put down the lunchbox, clear his throat, and stand up.

"Director Zhao, you're being too polite," Li Jing'an said in a loud voice that echoed throughout the canteen. "How can this be considered a grievance? Eating whatever comes our way is simply our duty as cadres. We Communist Party cadres serve the people, not like the high-ranking officials of the Kuomintang era, aloof and detached from the masses."

As he spoke, his gaze swept over the steel mill leaders present, then turned to the few workers silently watching from a distance. His tone grew increasingly impassioned: "We are all comrades, just with different roles. There is no distinction of rank or status. The fact that we can sit together with our worker comrades and eat the same meal today precisely reflects the superiority of socialism—no oppression, no exploitation, equality for all! Under such a system, with cadres and the masses united, there are no difficulties we cannot overcome, no undertakings we cannot accomplish!"

At the height of his excitement, Li Jing'an raised his hand, ready to raise his arms and shout the slogan "Down with Soviet revisionism! Down with American imperialism!", pushing the atmosphere to a climax.

Just then, Section Chief Gou at another table suddenly slammed his hand on the table and shouted, "Good! Well said!"

Before he could finish speaking, the other leaders joined in with applause and cheers, the thunderous applause instantly drowning out the slogan that Li Jing'an was about to utter.

Li Jing'an's movements froze in mid-air, like a rooster being choked, the slogan that was on the tip of his tongue stuck in his throat, unable to come up or down. His cheeks turned red from holding it in, and his chest heaved violently. He could only awkwardly lower his hand, coughing a few times before he could catch his breath.

He turned to look at Section Chief Gou, only to see the man winking and raising his eyebrows at him, as if to say, "Yes, I was the one who led the applause, no need to thank me."

Li Jing'an replied with an emoji that looked worse than crying, cursing Section Chief Gou a thousand times in his heart: That scoundrel! Why did he have to do it now of all times, ruining my plans!

He glanced instinctively in the direction of the reporters and saw them taking pictures of the applause. He felt a pang of regret: I wonder if they recorded my speech.

It feels like something's missing if we don't shout out slogans; it's a real shame.