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

Chapter 26. Chen Weihong's Plea
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Yang Guangming carried his things upstairs and returned to his small cubicle.

He had just carefully hung up his new shirt and neatly placed his shiny leather shoes under the bed when he heard very faint footsteps coming from the hallway outside, which hesitated and stopped at his door.

"Mingming...Brother?" It was Chen Weihong's voice, tinged with a hint of timid hesitation, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Sunlight shone through the thin door panel.

Chen Weihong stood awkwardly in the dim light, her hands tightly clutching the faded hem of her clothes, her cheeks slightly flushed, her eyes darting around, never daring to look him in the eye.

"Wei Hong? Come in and sit down." Yang Guangming stepped aside.

Chen Weihong hurriedly shook her head, her body almost shrinking into the shadow of the door frame: "I won't sit down... I just want to say a few words."

She took a deep breath, as if using all her strength to lift her head. The earnestness and barely concealed nervousness in her eyes were like a faint but persistent candlelight in the dark night: "Brother Mingming, you...you're going to work at the Red Star Factory on Monday, right?"

"Yes, that's right." Yang Guangming nodded.

"You'll definitely be dealing with more people in the future, like factory director Zhao Guodong, and you'll definitely hear more information than I have..."

Chen Weihong's speech suddenly quickened, with the urgency of a drowning person grasping at a piece of driftwood, "I...I just wanted to ask you, if you hear any news about factories hiring, or...or any connections that allow me to stay in the city without having to go to the countryside...could you...could you...tell me as soon as possible?"

She finished speaking in one breath, her cheeks flushed red as if they were about to bleed, her eyes fixed on the sunlight, her gaze filled with a desperate hope mixed with the anxiety of being shattered by reality at any moment.

The words "going to the countryside" hung like a heavy, cold leaden cloud over the head of this girl who had just graduated from school.

The bright sunlight's sudden rise to power undoubtedly tore a dazzling crack in her dim vision, letting in a sliver of light—a light she could desperately grasp.

Yang Guangming looked at the girl next door, whom he had grown up in the same Shikumen house since childhood. Although they didn't have much contact due to the difference between men and women, he knew her inside and out.

Chen Weihong has always been quiet and unassuming, like moss quietly growing in the corner of a wall. At this moment, the deep anxiety and helplessness in her eyes are so real that they make one's heart clench.

He did not immediately make any empty promises.

He understood better than anyone how scarce and precious job opportunities were in this era.

He softened his tone, his voice carrying an almost heavy sincerity:

“Wei Hong, I grew up here. Don’t worry, if I hear any reliable news about job opportunities or ways to stay in the city, I will definitely find a way to tell you.”

The candlelight in Chen Weihong's eyes suddenly flickered and brightened a bit.

"but……"

Yang Guangming abruptly changed the subject, his tone becoming realistic and sober, as if stating a cold, hard fact:

"You also need to be mentally prepared. You know how tight job openings are right now. Filling in for others or going to the countryside are the paths most people take."

My own job was also a stroke of luck; I met Director Zhao. This kind of fortune is something you can only hope for.

I'm a newbie at the factory, with absolutely no connections. The chances of me hearing any inside information are slim... I'm the youngest.

His words were blunt, almost cruel.

He didn't want to create a bubble of illusion for her; he hoped it could exist, but he had to face the harshness and coldness of reality.

The light in Chen Weihong's eyes dimmed slightly, like a candle flame weakened by the wind, but her humble plea was not extinguished.

She nodded vigorously, her voice filled with gratitude and a barely perceptible sob: "I know, I know, thank you, Brother Mingming! I'm so grateful that you're willing to keep an eye out for me!"
In the end... there are always more options, right? It's better than having no hope at all..."

The last words were as soft as a sigh, more like a comforting remark to oneself.

"Yes, I've got it." Yang Guangming solemnly assured him again.

"This...this, I'll go downstairs first." Chen Weihong seemed to have just finished a life-threatening negotiation, and with a sigh of relief and a touch of embarrassed shyness, she hurriedly turned around and went downstairs.

That slender figure blended into the dimly lit corner of the staircase, exuding a silent loneliness and heaviness.

Yang Guangming gazed in the direction where the figure disappeared and sighed softly.

He could see her fear and understand her sense of powerlessness in the face of fate.

However, in this vibrant and grand era, individual joys and sorrows, and the ebb and flow of life, are often nothing more than a speck of dust swept along by the torrent of the times.

All he could do was "pay attention".

***
As evening fell, the Shikumen (stone gate) gates, like ants in an anthill being filled with boiling water, instantly came to a boil.

The workers, exhausted but with a slightly lighter step due to the upcoming day off, returned home one after another.

The sounds of bicycle bells, the warm greetings between neighbors, and the grumbling of people complaining about work fatigue, all mingled with the pungent smoke rising from the coal stoves of each household and the gradually spreading aroma of food, weaving together a rich and vivid picture of everyday life in the city.

The news that Yang Ming had a watch on his wrist spread like wildfire throughout the small town, carried by the flow of people returning home.

Following Zhang Xiuying, Yang Yongkang and his son Yang Guanghui entered the room together.

As soon as Yang Yongkang stepped across the threshold, Zhang Xiuying happily patted her apron and went to greet him, pulling her husband to look at their son's wrist:

"Old man, look! Mingming's classmate gave it to him cheaply! Thirty-five yuan, and he can even pay on credit! Isn't that clever?"

Yang Yongkang stopped in his tracks. His hands, covered in grease and the marks of time, carefully lifted his son's wrist and brought it close to the dimming light in the courtyard. He squinted and carefully examined the gleaming silver watch from Shanghai.

A rare, almost tender, look of satisfaction flickered across his usually silent, iron-like, serious face.

His rough thumb unconsciously reached out and gently rubbed the cold metal case, only one heavy word rolling out of his throat: "Good."

Yang Guanghui stood behind his father, his gaze falling on the object on his younger brother's wrist, a symbol of "decency" and "punctuality," with a complex expression.

It's natural to feel envious; this watch is far superior to the old "Zhongshan" on his wrist.

But more than anything, there was a sense of distance from them, a sense of re-examination, and a hint of helpless relief—my younger brother had indeed embarked on a completely different path from theirs.

He gave a muffled "hmm," which was his response to his mother's barely contained excitement.

Teacher Feng Yunliang pushed his gleaming bicycle in, and his wife immediately shared the "news" with him with a smile.

Teacher Feng pushed up her glasses, her gaze sweeping across the courtyard to Yang Guangming, who was helping his mother tidy up. Her gaze lingered on his wrist for a moment before she nodded gently.

"Yes, it's necessary for work, so it's what I should do."

His tone conveyed the unique understanding and implicit approval characteristic of intellectuals.

(End of this chapter)