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

Chapter 68. Despair and Decision

P.S.: One extra chapter today, bringing the total to three!
Old Shi has seen the issues raised by readers.

Regarding dialects: The use of dialects has been largely eliminated in the later parts of the writing. Although the preceding text has been revised several times, there may still be omissions, and it has not been completely corrected.

Regarding pacing ("water"): I will pay special attention to it in the later chapters and try to make the content more concise.

Why "follow-up"?
My current drafts have reached Chapter 131. If I were to make large-scale cuts and structural adjustments to the existing drafts now, it would lead to a chaotic overall plot – this is also a drawback of having too many drafts, making it difficult to respond to adjustments in a timely manner.

Therefore, I'm used to using up my drafts as soon as possible after publishing. This allows me to flexibly adjust subsequent content based on reader feedback and also prevents me from developing a dependency on my drafts.

I'm adding an extra chapter today as an apology!

Please rest assured, I will repay your support with continuous updates after the book is released!

……

Yang Guangming almost immediately and forcefully extinguished the nascent, illusory flame of hope in her eyes, his tone as heavy as a massive boulder weighing on a porter's shoulder, each word delivered with crystal clarity:

"It's not a good option; I only heard that there are two substitute positions available for transfer."

He held up two fingers, a gesture that appeared unusually cold in the dim light.

"One is in the transportation team, working as a dispatching apprentice, which sounds alright; the other is in the district printing factory, working as a bookbinder, which is manual labor."

He paused, and clearly saw the light in Chen Weihong's eyes dim rapidly with each word he uttered, like a candle flickering in the wind.

"They are all... transfers of substitute work slots."

He emphasized the word "transfer," conveying a heavy, almost morbid tone, as if revealing a dark secret.

The air was dead.

Yang Guangming could even hear Chen Weihong's breathing suddenly become heavy and suppressed.

He steeled himself, determined to deliver the fatal blow: "The price... is too high."

He could hardly bear to look at her face, and lowered his voice even further, but every word was like a hammer blow, "One... a thousand yuan. The other... also more than nine hundred."

The numbers themselves carry a cold, suffocating weight.

"One thousand yuan!" Chen Weihong gasped sharply, her voice becoming shrill and distorted, like metal scraping against glass.

The forced, sickly blush on her face vanished instantly, leaving only a deathly pallor.

She felt as if she had been struck hard in the chest with a hammer; her body swayed violently, her feet staggered, and almost instinctively she reached out and grabbed the door frame, which was covered with tiny cracks.

The enormous number, like an iceberg radiating cold air that appeared out of nowhere, crashed down with immense force, instantly extinguishing the faint flame that was desperately burning in her eyes, leaving not even a wisp of smoke behind.

One thousand dollars!

In this era, in this alley, in this world where even buying a block of tofu requires careful calculation, what does a thousand yuan mean?
Chen Weihong's father, Chen Le'an, earns no more than forty-five or forty-six yuan a month, even with all the subsidies and bonuses he receives.

With this little money, it's barely enough to support a family; every penny has to be stretched thin.

Nine hundred? One thousand?
This was almost all the savings the Chen family had accumulated over two or three years, by not eating or drinking, tightening their belts, and scrimping and saving! And it might not even be enough!

Grandma Chen's daily herbal decoction, without fail, and the tuition and book fees that Xiaonan has to pay every semester—aren't they all money?

This was simply an impossible task, a cold and cruel astronomical figure that could crush all illusions! Yang Guangming looked at Chen Weihong's face, which had instantly lost all color, and at her eyes, which had once been as bright as stars but were now quickly shrouded in a gray fog of despair.

He had gone through the same psychological process. He had also longed for a job that would allow him to stay in the city. He could clearly feel how heavy the pressure that number brought was!
He felt immense sympathy, but was powerless to help in reality.

His voice was very low, tinged with a deep sense of helplessness:
“I know that this price… is practically robbery! It’s simply unaffordable for ordinary families like ours.”

He shook his head slightly, his eyes filled with helplessness at reality. "The price is clearly marked, it's right there, but... it's just out of reach."

The phrase "out of reach" encapsulates the bitterness of ordinary people facing such opportunities.

Chen Weihong bit her lower lip tightly!
She suddenly lowered her head, as if unable to bear the weight of the bright sunlight or face the cruelty of reality.

Two carefully braided pigtails hung down, the red ribbons at the ends draped limply over her shoulders, like two congealed bloodstains.

Her long eyelashes trembled helplessly, like the wings of a wounded, dying butterfly, evoking pity.

The forced composure and carefully maintained hope that I had when I entered the room have now been completely crushed and stripped away by this cruel reality, leaving only a wretched vulnerability and bottomless despair.

The small cubicle was deathly silent.

The sounds of the alleyways and bicycle bells outside the window seemed to have faded away, isolated by an invisible barrier.

Only Chen Weihong's barely suppressed, faint, intermittent gasps sounded like the dying whimpers of a small animal with its mouth and nose blocked.

Time seemed to stretch out, thick as cooled syrup.

After a long time, so long that Yang Guangming almost thought she would not be able to withstand the cruel reality and might turn around and run away, or break down and cry.

He could understand whatever the girl in despair did.

Only those who live in the same era and face the same circumstances can truly empathize, and Yang Guangming precisely meets both of these conditions.

Chen Weihong raised her head very slowly, like a rusty machine.

Her face remained deathly pale, but the despair and sorrow that had almost torn her apart had miraculously vanished, replaced by a numbness and calmness that was almost deathly still.

That calm was not tranquility, but rather like the devastation and lifeless stagnant water left behind after a violent storm, where not even a ripple could be stirred.

She tried very hard to twitch the muscles at the corners of her mouth, attempting to force a nonchalant smile.

However, the curve of his lips was stiff and twisted, ten times uglier than crying, exuding a heartbreaking desolation.

"Brother Mingming, thank you! I...I understand."

Her voice was light and airy, like willow catkins that could be blown away by a gust of wind, hollow and devoid of any life.

The trembling and breathiness of the previous voice had disappeared, leaving only a dry calm.

"You found out about two substitutes so quickly. You must have asked around a lot. I'm sorry to have troubled you."

She paused, her gaze sweeping blankly over the brand-new label on Yang Guangming's chest. "The information is very useful, but the price is too high... I was... delusional."

She used the phrase "wishful thinking," which, like a dull knife, slowly cut away the last vestiges of her dignity.

(End of this chapter)