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

Chapter 87, Section 86: May Each Be Well
He clearly drew a line: "It's good to be friends and classmates. From now on, we'll go our separate ways, take care, and wish each other well."

He spoke the four words "May everyone be well" with exceptional clarity, like a nail marking a boundary.

Hearing Yang Guangming clearly agree to the "friend" label, a fleeting, elusive emotion flashed across Shen Meiyu's eyes, like a long-held burden finally being lifted, bringing a complex sense of relief after everything had settled.

A bright smile quickly spread across her face, as if a heavy burden had been lifted off her shoulders, making them feel lighter.

She nodded vigorously, her voice becoming lighter: "Yes! It's settled! We'll still be friends, old classmates!"

The term "old classmate" carries a deliberate emphasis, implying a retreat to a safe distance.

She took another deep breath, as if she wanted to inhale and carry away the twilight atmosphere and the scent of farewell in the alley.

Then, she stepped aside to make way, her movements swift and decisive, and waved to Yang Guangming with a rare air of nonchalance: "I'm leaving! I have to get up early to travel tomorrow! Goodbye, Yang Guangming!"

Before she finished speaking, she turned around resolutely, without any hesitation, straightened her thin back, and walked firmly into the gradually thinning, hurried crowd outside the alley.

Her short hair swayed slightly in the cool evening breeze, like a small, stubborn flag. Her figure was quickly swallowed by the twilight and disappeared around the street corner.

Yang Guangming remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the direction where Shen Meiyu had disappeared, his eyes as deep and unfathomable as an ancient well. The wind blowing from the alleyway carried an even deeper chill, brushing against his cheek.

Did they change their minds? Absolutely.

The depth of his self-reflection, the courage to confront the unpleasant situation, and the adaptability to quickly adjust his strategies all far exceeded his initial expectations.

Her growth rate, or rather, the speed of her "evolution," was astonishing, and even made him feel a little uneasy.

Vigilance? That nerve had never relaxed; on the contrary, it tightened even more after her "insightful" performance.

The more profound, honest, and understanding she appeared, the louder the alarm bells rang in Yang Guangming's heart.

He knew all too well that the definition of this "friendship," and this belated and weighty "awakening," were inevitably underpinned by realistic considerations and shrewd calculations to pave the way for the future.

Her "goodness" and "truthfulness" always carried a clear purpose, like a pill coated with sugar.

Countless beautiful memories? Those belong to the unknown whereabouts of "Sunshine Brightness," to that pitiful soul who was deceived, exploited, and ultimately disappeared without a trace.

For him, the transmigrator who had usurped the throne, those fragments of memory were like watching someone else's tragedy or comedy through frosted glass, unable to evoke any real resonance.

From the very beginning, his relationship with Shen Meiyu was destined to have only clear boundaries, cold assessments, and a necessary distance.

Friend? Sure. Just a safe, generic term.

Ordinary friends? Perfect. Not too close, not too distant.

Maintaining distance at all times? Absolutely. This is the clearest understanding in my heart.

He withdrew his gaze, as if he were also withdrawing all his thoughts about the "evolved" Shen Meiyu who had disappeared into the twilight.

Then he took a step and continued walking deeper into the Shikumen.

The gravel path underfoot made a monotonous sound.

As dusk settled, it descended like a giant gray net.

The aroma of dinner wafted from every household in the alleyway, while the long, desolate whistles of factory sirens signaling shift changes echoed faintly in the distance. These sounds mingled with the soft clatter of pots and pans nearby, and the laughter of children echoing from the depths of the alley, creating the most ordinary yet authentic backdrop of everyday life in this fiery era's twilight. The familiar black lacquered gate of the Shikumen (stone-framed gate) drew closer, the carvings on its lintel appearing somewhat blurred in the dim light.

Yang Guangming pushed open the half-closed courtyard gate with a creak, shutting out the hustle and bustle of the outside world and the farewell that had just ended, still carrying complex lingering emotions.

In the courtyard, Granny Chen was taking in the clothes that had been drying in the sun, the bamboo poles clanging together with a crisp sound.

Everything was as usual, as if the scene at the alley entrance just now was merely a brief silhouette in the twilight.

He took a deep breath of the slightly damp air, temporarily sealing away that straight, receding figure, along with her profound self-reflection and possible calculations, in the twilight at the alley entrance.

Life must go on.

……

The afternoon sun shone through the tall glass windows of the factory affairs office's secretariat, casting slanted patches of light on the ground. The edges of these patches were sharp and clear, and they gradually lengthened as the shadows moved westward.

Han Mingqian pushed open the door and entered, his steps steady yet carrying a subtle hint of solemnity.

He held a thin document in his hand, and his usually calm face appeared more solemn than usual.

Instead of exchanging pleasantries as usual, he went straight to the table by the window, piled high with documents and newspapers—Zhou Bingsheng's seat.

"Old Zhou." Han Mingqian's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a metallic penetrating power, clearly reaching everyone's ears and instantly drowning out the tapping of Zhang Yuqin's bamboo needles and the rustling of Li Weidong flipping through reports.

He gently placed the document on the only uncovered wooden area on the corner of the table. "This is the speech draft that Director Zhao specifically requested. It will be used at the city-wide textile system technology innovation experience exchange meeting the day after tomorrow."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Zhou Bingsheng's eyes behind his thick glasses, and emphasized his tone:

"Secretary Tian also personally inquired about it, emphasizing that we should highlight our factory's strengths in equipment upgrades and technological innovations, which carries significant weight."

"What Director Zhao means is..." He paused again, making sure each word landed heavily, "This manuscript should still be written by you; he trusts you the most."

The office fell silent instantly.

Zhang Yuqin's bamboo knitting needles were suspended in mid-air, and a small section of fine yarn slipped from between her fingers.

Li Weidong suddenly looked up from a pile of numerical reports, his eyes filled with complex emotions, a hint of confusion, and a deeper sense of gloom.

Even Yang Guangming, who had been writing furiously at his desk, paused on the paper, leaving a tiny ink dot.

Zhao Guodong called roll!
The weight of this trust is like a boulder thrown into a calm pond, creating a silent yet violent tremor.

Zhou Bingsheng put down the well-worn copy of "Reference News" in his hand, and behind his thick reading glasses, his gaze fell precisely on the document cover like a probe.

He didn't take it immediately, but instead stretched out his weathered fingers and gently stroked the edge of the document, as if weighing its weight.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he picked up the document, his expression almost solemn with focus, quickly and steadily reviewing the requirements, his sparse hair gleaming in the setting sun.

He nodded, his voice low and resolute: "Yes, Director Han. I understand, I'll make the most of it."

(End of this chapter)