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

Chapter 96, Section 95: The Foundation of Trust, The Dinner Invitation

The afternoon stillness seemed to weigh heavily on me, making my eyelids feel sticky and me drowsy.

Yang Guangming sat at the slightly old desk against the wall, his back ramrod straight as usual, like a small pine tree rooted in a crack in the rock.

On the table in front of him lay a newly drafted regulation on workshop safety production management.

The pen tip moved smoothly across the rough paper, making a soft scratching sound, leaving clear and neat lines of writing, like carefully engraved marks.

Since his speech at the city-wide textile system technology innovation experience exchange meeting received a "very excellent" evaluation from Deputy Factory Director Zhao Guodong, his status in the secretariat has been quietly undergoing a subtle change.

After Master Zhou Bingsheng's performance of "grandson's sudden illness," a tacit understanding seemed to have formed without needing to be spoken.

Whenever Director Han Mingqian encountered an important factory document that required his signature, Zhou Bingsheng would politely decline, citing reasons such as "insufficient energy" or "heavy workload," and the heavy manuscript would naturally end up on Yang Guangming's desk.

A summary report on improving the production efficiency of the spinning workshop, a factory committee study plan to cooperate with the latest instructions from higher authorities to "grasp life and promote production", and the safety production regulations that are being finalized in front of him... Yang Guangming accepted them all steadily.

He continued the style of his acclaimed speech: the structure was as solid as a steel skeleton, the data as detailed as readings on a precision instrument, the case studies so specific that you could smell the machine oil in the workshop, and the language was plain yet contained an inherent, undeniable power.

Every time Han Mingqian finished reviewing the manuscripts he submitted, a subtle yet genuine hint of approval would always appear on his usually stern face, which was as serious as if carved from stone.

He seemed to be nodding more frequently than before.

Sometimes, he would even take the manuscript, still warm from Sunshine's body heat, and walk straight into Deputy Factory Director Zhao Guodong's office.

When he came out again, Yang Guangming could always accurately detect a deeper and more reassuring affirmation in Director Han's seemingly calm and routine words, "Director Zhao has looked at it, no problem."

The other leaders in the factory would occasionally encounter him in the dimly lit corridor, and their gazes were no longer those of scrutiny or indifference that they had when he first arrived.

There was a newfound attention in his gaze, a subtle gentleness, like a ray of warm sunshine occasionally filtering through a window in winter.

These successive "chief writer" resumes are like several carefully polished and solid bricks, firmly placed under Yang Guangming's feet.

He is no longer the young man who was new to the city and needed his seniors to "give him" opportunities to stand out.

With his solid writing skills, he initially won the reputation of being "good at writing and capable of handling things" within the secretariat and even among several powerful factory leaders.

That initial recognition, stemming from a speech, is quietly fermenting and brewing in unseen corners, transforming into a more solid and substantial foundation of trust.

In the corner of the office, Li Weidong remained as silent as a rock.

He buried himself even deeper into the digital maze built of those mountains of labor protection supplies reports, as if those dense numbers could swallow up all sound and light.

The lingering gloom around him almost solidified into a physical form, weighing heavily on that small space.

Every time Yang Guangming received a new task from Han Mingqian, Li Weidong's head seemed to bury itself even deeper.
Every time Li Weidong heard Han Mingqian's calm yet powerful "No problem" response, his fingers gripping the pencil would unconsciously tighten until his knuckles turned white.

Those invisible signals, like sharp thorns, repeatedly pierced his already battered pride.

He would occasionally look up, his gaze sweeping across Yang Ming's focused profile like a searchlight, and over the ever-growing stack of documents on his desk, a symbol of approval.

His eyes churned with complex and unreadable emotions—jealousy, resentment, and disappointment.

Ultimately, they all turned into a deeper silence, sinking into the bottomless pool in the depths of the eyes.

Only the pair of bamboo needles in Zhang Yuqin's hands continued to click and tap, the sound light and rhythmic, like a tireless sericulture weaving the warm colors of life, forming a strange coexistence with the subtle atmosphere in the office.

On Saturday noon, the noise in the factory area subsided considerably earlier than usual.

The roar of the machines faded into the air, leaving only a few scattered footsteps and bicycle bells echoing in the open space.

Yang Guangming quickly ate a few bites of food at the factory canteen before returning to his office.

He planned to use this rare lunch break to finish the last part of the draft safety production regulations.

"Knock knock knock..." The slightly ajar office door was gently knocked on. The sound was not loud, but it was particularly clear in the quiet moment.

Yang Guangming looked up from his manuscript and was somewhat surprised to see a familiar face standing in the doorway—Wu Hongtao. His face showed signs of unease and travel-worn appearance.

"Hongtao?" Yang Guangming put down his pen, and a sincere smile immediately bloomed on his face, with a hint of surprise. "Why are you here? Come in quickly!" He stood up and greeted him warmly.

Wu Hongtao was still wearing the same faded blue work clothes, but the cuffs and collar were noticeably starched and crisp, clearly indicating that he had specially cleaned them before coming.

He walked in, rubbed his hands together somewhat awkwardly, and glanced quickly around the not-so-spacious but neat and orderly office with a look of novelty and undisguised envy in his eyes.

He glanced past Zhang Yuqin's curious and inquiring gaze and at Li Weidong's deeply buried, sculpture-like head.

Finally, his gaze was fixed on Yang Guangming's desk against the wall—piled with many documents and newspapers, yet possessing a reassuring sense of "territory."

"Guangming, am I bothering you?" Wu Hongtao lowered his voice, speaking with a heavy Shanghai accent. "My cousin... Tang Jianhong, asked me to come and find you."

He specifically emphasized "Let us come and find you," which conveyed a sense of solemnity.

"Oh? Section Chief Tang? What's the matter?" Yang Guangming's heart skipped a beat, but he remained calm on the surface. He casually pulled over a temporarily empty chair next to him. "Sit down, sit down and tell me slowly."

Wu Hongtao sat down as instructed, leaning slightly forward and lowering his voice to almost a whisper:

He said he wanted to invite you to dinner tonight and asked me to come over in advance to arrange a time and place.

He specifically instructed me to make the trip and meet with you to discuss this, to make it seem more serious.

He paused, and as if to emphasize his uncle's good intentions, added, "He also said that there are some things he wants to discuss with you, but it's not convenient to talk about them over the phone."

Sunshine Ming understood perfectly.

Tang Jianhong? Apart from that life-or-death rhinoceros horn transaction last time, the two have had almost no contact since.

The fact that he sent his nephew on such a grand occasion to invite him to dinner, emphasizing that "there's something to discuss" and "it's inconvenient to talk on the phone"... is almost certainly because he's after that "life-saving medicine" in his possession.

It seems that this Section Chief Tang, or the person behind him, is still after the rare and precious rhinoceros horn slices in his personal refrigerator.

"Section Chief Tang, you're too kind." Yang Guangming's smile remained unchanged, his tone cheerful and straightforward. "No problem. What time? Where to meet?" "He said, the usual place, 'Xinfeng Hotel,' 6:30 pm. He's already booked a private room." Seeing Yang Guangming agree so readily, Wu Hongtao visibly relaxed, his shoulders slumping.

"Okay, I'll be there on time." Yang Guangming nodded in agreement.

He looked at his slightly reserved old classmate, then glanced at the enamel mug on his desk—a freshly brewed pot of water, still steaming and untouched—and warmly invited him:

“Hongtao, it’s rare for you to come all this way. Please stay a while, have a cup of tea before you leave. My place is just so-so, please don’t mind.”

Wu Hongtao's eyes lit up; his curiosity to see his old classmate's "cadre" work environment instantly overwhelmed his restraint.

Although he felt a little uncomfortable sitting in someone else's office, he couldn't resist the temptation and quickly nodded, "Okay, okay, I'll sit for a while and won't disturb your work."

Yang Guangming pushed his cup of tea towards Wu Hongtao, then got up and poured water into another empty cup from the thermos. There was no more tea left, so Yang Guangming didn't bother arguing with his old classmate.

Wu Hongtao held the warm enamel mug in both hands, carefully blew on it to cool it down, and took a sip of the tea, which had a strong, bitter taste.

Then, as if drawn by a magnet, his gaze was fixed firmly on the brightly lit office environment, carefully examining every corner.

This office is not large; in fact, it could be described as somewhat cramped and old.

The terrazzo floor, worn smooth by countless shoe soles, reflected the light streaming in from the window.

The walls were simply white and gray, and several propaganda posters with slogans such as "Seize the opportunity to promote production" and "Learn from Daqing in industry" were hung high up.

Several old desks of different styles were pieced together, and the filing cabinet was crammed full, almost overflowing.

But in Wu Hongtao's eyes, all of this was shrouded in an indescribable and desirable halo of "respectability".

Especially Yang Guangming's table against the wall—although it was also piled with documents and spread out newspapers, it was his "personal" independent territory!
There were lockable drawers, an adjustable desk lamp, a pen holder with several pens and pencils, and even a black rotary telephone that symbolized some kind of authority, although it was just an internal line.

This was a world apart from his apprenticeship, where he stood on tiptoe behind the medicine cabinet at Jishetang, struggling to decipher the small print on the labels of medicinal herbs, always at his master's beck and call, and standing for the entire day!

A profound sense of loss was quietly gnawing at his heart.

“Guangming… this place is quite nice.” Wu Hongtao exclaimed sincerely, his tone tinged with undisguised bitterness. “You have your own table and your own little space. Unlike me, I’ve been standing all day, and my feet are killing me, and I can’t even straighten my back.”

Yang Guangming understood the envy and disappointment in his old classmate's eyes, and smiled to comfort him:
"At the beginning, it's all the same. You learn real skills at Jishetang, and you'll become a respected master in the future, with a promising future."

I'm just doing some writing and drawing here; there are so many trivial things to do, and every single one of them has to be done carefully, without the slightest mistake.

He pointed to the thick stack of documents on the table, his tone carrying just the right amount of "annoyance".

The two chatted quietly about their recent situations.

When Wu Hongtao asked Yang Guangming if his work was going well, Yang Guangming simply replied, "It's alright, but there's a lot to do and even more to learn."

Wu Hongtao, with a hint of grievance, complained a few times about the hardship of identifying medicines in the pharmacy and his master's strictness and unsmiling demeanor.

But the topic always quickly circled back to the environment. Wu Hongtao's gaze couldn't help but drift towards the desk that symbolized status and security, and towards the black telephone that symbolized some kind of "power".

After sitting for about fifteen minutes, the tea was gradually reduced to almost nothing.

Wu Hongtao also realized that there were other people in the office, especially Li Weidong in the corner who never looked up but was like a block of ice radiating coldness, which made him feel uncomfortable.

He reluctantly put down his cup, stood up, and said, "Guangming, I have to go. I have some things to do for my master at the pharmacy this afternoon. I won't keep you any longer."

Yang Guangming didn't linger, getting up to see him off: "Okay, see you at the hotel tonight."

"Okay, see you tonight!" Wu Hongtao glanced at the desk quickly, with a hint of greed, before turning and leaving.

His silhouette flickered briefly in the light at the doorway, carrying a hint of lingering reluctance and melancholy, before disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

After seeing Wu Hongtao off, the office returned to silence.

Yang Guangming sat back down, his gaze returning to the unfinished draft regulations, but his mind was already racing like a high-speed gear.

Tang Jianhong's renewed invitation was like a pebble thrown into a lake, completely confirming his previous suspicions.

It seems that the value and scarcity of the rhinoceros horn slices in his portable refrigerator are even more "hard" and more resilient than he initially anticipated.

The potential and risks of this unexpectedly opened secret channel need to be reassessed.

He needed to think carefully about how to handle tonight's meeting, how to respond to Tang Jianhong's offer of "something to discuss"... and how to more reliably and sustainably utilize this newly paved secret passage leading to wealth and certain special resources.

Every step must be taken with extreme caution.

At six o'clock in the afternoon, the closing bell rang precisely on time, like a bugle call, instantly shattering the tranquility of the factory area.

Immediately following was a surge of footsteps, bicycle bells, and the chatter of workers greeting each other, all converging into a vibrant torrent that swept across the entire factory area.

Yang Guangming carefully put away the last document that needed to be archived, locked the drawer, walked to Han Mingqian's desk, reported today's progress clearly, and confirmed that tomorrow was a day off and there was no need to work overtime.

After receiving a brief nod from Han Mingqian, he followed the surging crowd out of the heavy gates of the Red Star Textile Factory.

When we arrived at the "Xinfeng Hotel", it was just past 7:15.

The afterglow of the setting sun, like a golden veil, gently spread across the street, casting a warm halo over the silhouettes of pedestrians.

At the restaurant entrance, Wu Hongtao was indeed waiting there, head down, kicking a small, protruding pebble on the sidewalk with his toe, looking rather bored.

"Hongtao!" Yang Guangming called out from a few steps away.

"Guangming! You've arrived!" Wu Hongtao suddenly raised his head, a smile immediately spreading across his face, and quickly stepped forward to greet him. "My cousin has arrived and is waiting for you in the private room."

The two walked into the restaurant side by side.

A familiar aroma, a mixture of heavy cooking fumes, the fragrance of food, and a hint of alcohol, wafts towards you.

(End of this chapter)