Rebirth 1977 Great Era

Chapter 1000 Night Tour of Shanghai's Bund: A Magnificent Landscape, Next Stop Guangdong (Bonus Chapter for Monthly Tickets: 4K Chapters)

Having seen quite a few nice things, Fang Yan immediately recognized that what the other person was handing over was a string of agate beads.

Compared to the gifts he received in the capital, this item was indeed not particularly valuable.

But whether or not to accept it is not up to him alone.

He glanced at Director Liao discreetly; in this situation, one had to wait for the leader's instructions to gauge the appropriate conduct.

Director Liao nodded slightly, his eyes showing tacit approval.

Fang Yan then smiled and took the bracelet, saying to the middle-aged man:
"You're too kind. I'll gladly accept your offer."

Seeing this, the other party smiled and nodded.

At this moment, Old Chen, who had picked up the passenger at the airport that morning, glanced at his watch and called out loudly, "It's almost time, everyone, please take your seats and start your meal!"

Director Liao looked around at everyone with a gentle smile: "Everyone saw Fang Yan's diagnosis just now. If anyone needs help in the future, please contact me anytime. I will act as your liaison!"

Everyone responded and took their seats.

Fang Yan was still pulled to the same table by Director Liao, even though, frankly, he wasn't qualified to sit there:

My tablemates were all older colleagues; even the current city leaders were seated at a different table.

Just as Fang Yan was about to get up and go to another table, Director Liao pressed him down to his side.

He was somewhat dazed, feeling uncomfortable as everyone around him turned to him.

Seeing this, the others all had a meaningful look in their eyes.

The banquet began, and amidst the clinking of glasses and the sounds of laughter and conversation, the atmosphere was lively.

Director Liao continued to drink tea instead of wine, but Fang Yan, who was sitting next to him, became the focus of attention.

The veteran comrades and incumbent city leaders took turns raising their glasses, for a variety of reasons:

"It's fate that we're sitting here together, let's have a drink!" "How could I not know the youngest renowned doctor in the capital?" "Someone whom Old Liao values ​​is bound to achieve great things!" "I'll inevitably encounter trouble when seeking medical treatment in the capital in the future, so let's be friends first!"...

This was the first time in Fang Yan's two lifetimes that he had experienced such a scene, so he could only bite the bullet and accept all the invitations, deliberately adopting a humble attitude every time he raised his glass.

Fortunately, he had an amazing alcohol tolerance; he drank for a long time without changing his expression, as if he could drink a thousand cups without getting drunk.

Seeing this, everyone became even more interested, and even the overseas Chinese businessmen around them came over to get closer. Unexpectedly, the dialect became the focus of the banquet.

It wasn't until Director Liao couldn't stand it anymore and told everyone to tone it down that the crowd stopped bringing over the drinks.

At this point, Fang Yan was finally able to free up his mouth to eat a few bites of food.

Tonight's banquet was of a higher standard than the one at noon, and he guessed that the head chef had been changed: after all, city leaders, distinguished old men, and overseas Chinese businessmen who had returned from abroad were all present.

With Director Liao in charge, no one dared to frequently urge others to drink, but people still came in droves to "make an appearance".

She handled the dialect with ease and could readily spout polite phrases. From initial awkwardness to current fluency, it all happened in the time it takes to eat a meal.

Director Liao was secretly amazed, even suspecting that the boy's nervousness earlier was an act. If it weren't for his genuine skill in traditional Chinese medicine, Director Liao would have wanted to recruit him to work on overseas Chinese affairs. His energy and dynamism clearly made him a good candidate for diplomacy.

By the end of the banquet, Fang Yan had become quite familiar to everyone.

The city leaders also learned about Fang Yan's situation. It turned out that Fang Yan had a second older sister who was a freshman at Fudan University in Shanghai.

It seems that dialects will inevitably spread here in the future.

After the event, the old men were even more energetic than Fang Yan, and they all wanted to go out for a stroll, saying that Shanghai at night was even more charming. The city leaders were delighted and invited everyone to go together, and Fang Yan was forced to go out with them as well.

After going downstairs, everyone got into the car and set off.

Because there were so many people, everyone was crammed into one vehicle.

Fang Yan was with a few relatively young overseas Chinese businessmen.

Then the convoy set off and drove into the night.

As the convoy drove out of the Jinjiang Hotel, the clock tower on the Bund had just struck eight.

Director Liao's Hongqi sedan led the way, with Fang Yan squeezed into the back, the faint scents of cologne and tobacco emanating from the overseas Chinese businessmen filling the air.

Our first stop was the Bund.

The car stopped at the end of Nanjing East Road.

As everyone got out of the car, the old men were all in good spirits, their leather shoes making a crisp sound on the granite pavement.

The clock tower of the Customs House gleamed bluish-gray in the moonlight, the sound of the pendulum mingling with the waves of the Huangpu River, and the dialect once again evoked a sense of temporal displacement.

Looking up into the darkness, Pudong was still a field of rice paddies!

In twenty years, the tallest cluster of buildings in all of China will stand there.

At this moment, the young overseas Chinese businessman behind him took out an imported camera and snapped a picture of Fang Yan looking across the river.

"Dr. Fang, shall we take a picture together?" someone said to Fang Yan with a camera in hand.

"Sure!" They accept any dialect.

After wandering around for a while, the group got back on the bus and moved to another location.

The convoy then arrived at Nanjing East Road.

At this moment, the windows of the state-run stores had been boarded up, but the side door of the First Food Store was still open, and the sales clerk was weighing peach shortbread for the last few customers.

An old man in the queue stopped in front of the Hengdeli Watch Shop. The Shanghai brand watch in the glass case gleamed coldly under the lights.

He said, "The first watch I bought in 1956 was this model. It cost three months' salary, but the quality was really good!"

Upon hearing this, a businessman from the overseas Chinese community nearby immediately offered to buy one for the old man, but was refused by being waved off.

"Oh, I was just expressing my feelings!" The old man was also afraid; these overseas Chinese businessmen were quick to jump to conclusions.

At that moment, Fang Yan heard a conversation in soft Wu dialect coming from the shoe repair stall on the street corner.

Two elderly women wearing traditional Chinese jackets were haggling over a price in Shanghainese:

"You want five cents just to mend your shoe sole? It was only thirty-five cents last year!"

"Sister-in-law, pigskin is so expensive now! Look, I'm using a cowhide pad..." The last syllable was sticky and soft like a glutinous rice ball, making it hard to understand the dialect from the north at first.

Then, the group continued forward, and as they passed the Shanghai First Food Store, a rich, dark aroma of soy sauce wafted out from inside the glass doors.

Fang Yan turned his head and saw the salesperson stirring the pickles in the large pot with a long-handled copper ladle. The pot was bubbling and the dark brown sauce coated the cucumber strips, which glistened under the incandescent light.

It was past 8 p.m., and most stores in Beijing had already closed by now. On this street in Shanghai, all kinds of shops were still open. The customs of the two cities presented a completely different picture in the face of dialects.

Of course, this only applies to busy areas; other places are also closed.

As I passed by Fuzhou Road, the sound of the clappers from the Tianchan Stage was very loud.

An old man in military uniform suddenly stopped and put his ear close to the crack in the door: "Mu Guiying Takes Command, this tune is perfect!"

As she spoke, she even began to hum softly.

He must be a theater enthusiast.

The city leaders accompanying him smiled and said they would arrange a special performance, but the old man waved his hand and said, "Back in the day, listening to the radio in the alley was much more enjoyable than this. I wouldn't dare trouble them." Hearing this, the leaders had no choice but to give up.

The old men looked at the bustling crowd on the street with deep emotion in their eyes. What they had traveled through mountains and rivers to see was not some grand spectacle, but the beautiful land after the world had been transformed, the relaxed smiles on the faces of the people, and the aroma of food wafting from the alleyways.

Hidden within these everyday scenes of life are the fruits of their life's work.

The last stop was the City God Temple.

Dewdrops clung to the stone railings of the Nine-Bend Bridge. An auntie selling fermented rice balls lifted the lid of her pot, releasing steam carrying the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms.

An overseas Chinese businessman took out Hong Kong dollars to buy sugar paintings, but the stall owner waved his hand and said, "I only accept ration coupons, comrade." In the end, it was the others in his entourage who took out their coupons and were able to buy the goods.

On the return trip, the overseas Chinese businessmen chatted about the neon lights abroad.

Fang Yan gazed at the street scenes rushing past the car window, the street signs under the streetlights flickering on and off.

As the car passed the Bund, the Customs House clock struck nine. To the strains of "The East Is Red," ferries on the Huangpu River moved slowly forward with their searchlights on, making Fang Yan feel a little dazed for a moment.

Shaking his head, Fang Yan realized that he had indeed drunk a bit too much today.

Back at the hotel, everyone prepared to rest.

Secretary Zhou told Fang Yan to get up at 6:30 tomorrow morning, have breakfast at 7:00, and then go to the airport. The flight is at 9:00, departing from Shanghai Hongqiao International Airport and arriving at Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport in about two hours.

After getting off the plane, I was still received by local city leaders.

Fang Yan agreed and then went back to her room.

As soon as I entered, I noticed another package next to my own; it must have been a souvenir prepared by the locals.

It was a beautifully packaged tote bag containing souvenirs.

Fang Yan untied the ribbon tied with a bow, opened the bag, and the first thing that caught her eye was a book with a gold-embossed cover, "Shanghai Local Customs and Scenery". Turning to the title page, she saw neat handwriting in fountain pen that read, "To Comrade Fang Yan, may your trip to Shanghai be as beautiful as the brocade in this book, and may you always remember it with fresh memories."

Underneath the book was a set of six hand-drawn postcards, featuring old photos of the Bund Clock Tower, the Nine-Turn Bridge in Yu Garden, and time-honored shops on Nanjing East Road, with a commemorative postmark from the City God Temple on the back.

Further down was a square object wrapped in cotton paper. When unwrapped, it turned out to be a small glass paperweight, with gold foil sealed inside the blue-purple glass.

Next to the paperweight lay a tin box, which, when opened, contained half a pound of White Rabbit milk candy.

At the bottom was a piece of dark brown fabric, which unfolded into a silk handkerchief with white magnolias embroidered on the edges. The stitches were so fine that the threads were almost invisible, suggesting the work of an old tailor.

The handkerchief also contained a bronze Bund commemorative medal, with the Customs House embossed on the front and "Shanghai 1978" engraved on the back, gleaming with a warm luster under the light.

This is the trend these days. Fang Yan smiled, put his things away, and then went to take a shower.

After coming out, Fang Yan gave herself two injections to sober up and avoid headaches the next day. After the needles had been left in for the required time, Fang Yan finally lay down on the bed and fell asleep.

When Fang Yan woke up again, she looked at the watch next to her pillow in the dim light of the bedside lamp; it was 5:50.

As expected, my biological clock is fixed at this time.

After getting out of bed and practicing standing meditation in the room, Fang Yan washed up and then went out.

Stepping into the restaurant, the rich and mellow aroma of food wafts over you, instantly whetting your appetite.

In the food pick-up area, steaming bamboo steamers were lined up in a row, and next to them, shumai wrappers were wrapped with glistening glutinous rice, garnished with diced shiitake mushrooms and savory ham.

In the congee section, the white congee in the large pot is thick and creamy, with a fragrant aroma of rice and an enticing layer of rice oil floating on the surface; the red bean congee next to it is bright red, with each red bean cooked until soft and tender, the red bean paste and rice grains blended together, exuding a sweet aroma.

Fang Yan served himself a bowl of plain porridge and a small dish of the restaurant's special refreshing side dishes.

Further ahead is the hot food section.

There's the rich, dark soy sauce of Shanghai-style braised pork, its bright red color and perfectly square shape making it look tender and flavorful; and stir-fried seasonal vegetables, with tender greens and crisp bean sprouts, exuding a refreshing aroma in the glistening broth.

The locals don't have the habit of eating braised pork early in the morning; they just picked out some green vegetables.

The beverage area is equally well-stocked, with steaming hot soy milk exuding the aroma of soybeans, and coffee nearby with a rich fragrance. Several large insulated containers also contain fragrant red date and longan tea, chrysanthemum and goji berry tea, for people to take as needed.

Fang Yan poured a cup of soy milk here.

Not far away, there were also chefs making noodles and wontons on the spot.

A group of big shots from the north were lining up over there.

The chef skillfully rolled the dough into a paper-thin sheet, then cut it into noodles of uniform thickness, and tossed them into boiling water. In no time, a steaming bowl of Yangchun noodles was ready, sprinkled with bright green scallions and topped with a spoonful of fragrant soy sauce broth.

On the other side, the wonton maker's fingers moved nimbly, and in the blink of an eye, one small and exquisite wonton after another filled the tray. After being cooked in the pot, they were served in bowls, drizzled with bone broth, and sprinkled with seaweed, dried shrimp and egg crepe strips, making them look mouthwatering.

Fang Yan didn't join in the fun. He took his tray and found an empty seat. The retired cadres next to him ate while greeting him.

He responded in dialect one by one, and then started eating himself.

After finishing breakfast, I went back to my room and picked up my luggage.

Pushing open the door, I bumped into Director Liao and Secretary Zhou.

"The car is already waiting downstairs. We need to get to the airport before the morning rush hour!"

Fang Yan glanced at his watch and asked Director Liao:
Have you had breakfast yet?

Director Liao nodded:
"I ate it; they brought it to my room."

Fang Yan was taken aback. Sure enough, the leaders were treated differently!

Then the group went downstairs, where a motorcade was already waiting. Other elderly comrades also came down one after another, and city leaders were also seen off at the door.

Old Chen, who came to pick them up, bid a reluctant farewell to Director Liao.

Once everyone had arrived, they all got into the car, and the Hongqi sedan drove out of the Jinjiang Hotel, heading towards the airport.

Fang Yan was at the head of the convoy. Outside the car window, besides the Hongqi sedan, there were two Shanghai-plated sedans and a Soviet-made ZIM. Although the police lights on the roofs were not turned on, they still exuded solemnity in the morning light.

They cleared a path and got them to the airport in an hour.

The terminal building is a three-story building in the Soviet style, with beige paint on the exterior walls and a red banner above the main entrance that reads "Warmly welcome distinguished guests from all over the world".

As soon as they got off the car, airport staff arranged for them to enter the VIP channel.

Of course, there are still checks before you go online.

After the check was completed, I was not taken to the waiting area, but directly led to the boarding gate.

At that moment, a sweet female voice could be heard coming from the radio:

"Passengers traveling to Guangzhou, please note that your flight CA1503 is about to board. Please take your belongings with you and board from Gate 2."

As I stepped out of the gate, the morning sun shone brightly on the Trident aircraft, and the number "B-266" under the wing was clearly visible.

This model is a fairly famous jet airliner.

As you continue walking, two flight attendants in white uniforms stand by the gangway, their smiles friendly.

Stepping into the cabin, the seats are made of dark green artificial leather, and there is a "Safety Instructions" booklet on the back of the front seat with a red five-pointed star printed on the cover.

Fang Yan was once again pulled to sit in the front by Director Liao.

The flight attendant also helped put my luggage in the overhead compartment.

As the cabin door closed, the cabin lights were adjusted to a warm yellow, and the flight attendants began demonstrating the safety instructions.

At nine o'clock, the roar of the engine gradually increased, and Fang Yan felt the seat vibrate slightly. The ground crew outside the porthole were waving signal flags, their yellow vests particularly eye-catching in the morning light.

Then he saw the concrete runway beneath the aircraft rapidly receding, and the navigation tower in the distance becoming smaller and smaller.

With a slight shudder, the aircraft's nose wheel lifted off the ground, and a feeling of weightlessness washed over it before quickly returning to normal.

As the plane gradually ascended, the Huangpu River stretched across the city like a silver chain outside the right window, while the Bund's buildings resembled a row of dominoes.

Director Liao said with a smile:

"Did you pack some light clothes? You'll need to wear something thicker when we get to Guangdong."

PS: I got another 100 monthly votes, so after finishing this chapter, I still owe everyone 80000 words.

That's all for today, please come early tomorrow.

Lao Feng is working hard to write tomorrow's code.

(End of this chapter)