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

Chapter 105, Page 104: First Day of the New Job

The power of the sweltering July heat is already evident in the early morning; the air feels heavy and oppressive on the skin, and even a single breath carries a premonition of scorching heat.

When Yang Guangming stepped through the mottled iron gate of the Hongxing State-owned Cotton Mill, the factory area was still immersed in a sticky silence that seemed to be half-awake.

The cicadas' chirping had not yet broken through the thick heat wave; only the faint rumble of the boiler room in the distance, one after another, sounded like the muffled snoring of the earth in its slumber.

He arrived ten minutes early on purpose, his footsteps echoing softly on the empty concrete ground.

The third-floor corridor was deserted, with only the sound of his slow footsteps echoing lonely on the terrazzo floor, clear and brief.

Standing before the dark brown wooden door that symbolized his new identity, he took out the brass key that Han Mingqian had solemnly handed him. The key was cold and heavy; he inserted it into the lock and applied slight pressure with his wrist.

A soft "click" rang out, sounding particularly crisp in the quiet corridor. The door hinges turned, sliding silently inward.

An air filled with the rich aroma of fine tobacco, the slightly astringent scent of old document ink, and the unique fragrance of solid wood furniture wafted towards him, carrying a cool, settled scent from the night before, instantly enveloping him.

The office of Deputy Factory Director Zhao Guodong has an east-facing window. At this moment, the not-yet-scorching morning light generously pours in, casting bright spots of light on the floor and illuminating the simple yet somewhat solemn furnishings inside.

The large, dark-colored desk, its lacquer as smooth as a mirror, reflects the windowpanes; a rattan-woven chair, its armrests gleaming with the warm luster of years of wear; and a row of sturdy green metal filing cabinets standing silently against the wall, guarding the core secrets of the factory's operation.

The outer office room, which used to be filled with documents, has been emptied and now has a simple hardwood square table and chair, which has become his little world.

Without delay, Yang Ming gently put down the faded military satchel with worn edges revealing the canvas underneath.

The professional habits ingrained in his bones from his past life as a life secretary to a top tycoon were instantly activated.

His eyes were calm, and his movements were swift and precise, like a well-programmed machine, with every step just right.

First, he needed ventilation. He walked to the window and, with both hands, pushed open the tall glass window.

The slightly hot morning breeze immediately rushed in, carrying the unique scent of the factory area and sweeping away the stagnant air that had been inside all night.

Next came cleaning. He took a clean, slightly worn white towel out of his bag—these days, a brand-new towel was too conspicuous and out of place.

I walked to the sink in the corner, turned on the tap, and the water gushed out, soaking the towel. I wrung it out, leaving just the right amount of moisture.

He bent down to wipe the table, his movements swift yet gentle, leaving no corner untouched by dust, ensuring that no unnecessary bumping or knocking sounds were made.

He carefully moved aside the documents, stationery, and the enamel teacup with the big red "Award" printed on it.

After wiping, it was returned to its original position accurately, and even the angle of the red and blue pencils in the pencil holder was almost exactly the same as before.

Then came the floor. He walked to the corner behind the door, picked up a broom and dustpan. His movements were quick and rhythmic, carefully sweeping away the dust and scraps of paper. The sound of the dustpan scraping against the floor was subtle yet clear.

Finally, there were the thermos flasks. He picked up two bamboo-shelled thermos flasks with the words "Safety in Production" printed in bright red and walked familiarly to the hot water room at the end of the same floor.

Boiling water poured into the inner liner of the bottle, making a dull "glug-glug" sound.
A cloud of water vapor rose up, instantly blurring his vision, carrying the scorching dampness unique to a midsummer morning, rushing towards him.

When he carefully placed the two thermos flasks filled with boiling water back on the small coffee table next to Zhao Guodong's desk, fine beads of sweat had already appeared on his forehead and slid down his temples.

The office has been completely renovated.

The air circulates, carrying the slight warmth from outside the window; the windows are bright and clean, spotless; hot water is readily available, with wisps of white steam rising from the thermos.

He raised his hand and glanced at the gleaming Shanghai-brand watch on his wrist—7:56. The time was perfect.

He walked to his own hardwood chair and sat down. His back was naturally straight, like a pine tree.

He took out the blue hard-cover notebook with the Red Star logo on the cover from his bag, turned to a blank page, and then took out the "Hero" brand fountain pen with the copper-colored edge of the cap worn off.

He needed to quickly sort out the possible tasks for the day, while quietly waiting for the arrival of the new leader.

At 7:58, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Steady and powerful, each step carrying a distinct pause, approaching from afar. It was a rhythm unique to soldiers, as if they had measured the distance themselves.

Yang Guangming immediately stood up, like a taut string, and silently stood to one side of the door, his posture respectful but not humble.

The door was pushed open.

Zhao Guodong's tall figure appeared at the door.

He was wearing a dark blue short-sleeved "Dica" shirt, with the top button of the collar fastened meticulously, and even the buttons on the cuffs were perfectly sealed.

He has a square face with a strong jawline, and his skin is a deep tan from long-term outdoor activities. He has a serious expression and an imposing presence between his brows.

His sharp gaze, like a searchlight, habitually swept across every corner of the room.

"Good morning, Director Zhao." Yang Guangming bowed slightly, his voice clear and steady, neither too loud nor too soft, just enough for the other person to hear clearly.

Zhao Guodong's gaze swept quickly across the newly renovated office, the steaming thermos, and Yang Guangming's upright posture, like a hawk skimming the ground.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, and spoke in clear, distinct Mandarin with a northern accent: "Good morning, Xiao Yang."

He walked straight to his desk, put down the slightly worn black faux leather briefcase with its four distinct corners, and it made a soft "click" sound.

Yang Guangming had already taken a half step forward at the opportune moment, pulling the rattan chair back slightly to make it easier for him to sit down, his movements light and silent.

He quickly returned to his seat, sat down quietly, opened his notebook, picked up his pen, and prepared to take notes.

The whole process was smooth and there was no delay at all.

Zhao Guodong didn't waste any time on small talk and went straight to work.

He opened the drawer, took out a document, making a rustling sound as he rubbed the paper. Then he picked up the old-fashioned black rotary dial telephone on the table, his fingers moving firmly and accurately to dial the internal number.

"Hello, is this the technical department? This is Zhao Guodong."

The voice was crisp and clear, carrying an unquestionable authority: "Have Engineer Wang come to my office at nine o'clock and bring the trial operation report of the new equipment in Workshop Three... Yes, all the detailed data must be complete, not a single one can be missing."

With a click, the phone hung up. He picked up another document, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he had encountered a difficult problem, his eyes quickly scanning the paper.

The only sound in the office was the rustling of papers turning over.

Yang Guangming held the pen tip above the snow-white paper, holding his breath and concentrating, like a sculpture waiting for instructions.

"Xiao Yang." Zhao Guodong didn't even look up, his gaze still fixed on the documents.

"Yes, Director Zhao," Yang Guangming replied immediately.

"Make a note of it."

Zhao Guodong's tone was commanding: "At nine o'clock this morning, Engineer Wang from the Technical Department will report on the trial operation of the new equipment in Workshop Three; at ten o'clock, meet with Lao Liu from the Finance Department to finalize the budget for the next quarter's technical upgrades; at two-thirty in the afternoon..."

He paused, finally lifting his gaze from the document to look at Yang Guangming. "Let's go to Workshop Two and see the actual operating efficiency of their automatic doffing process in the bobbin winding unit. You're coming with me."

"Okay." Yang Guangming quickly put pen to paper, the pen tip making a clear scratching sound on the paper, the time, matters, and requirements were all clearly stated.

"Also..." Zhao Guodong looked up, his sharp eyes falling on Yang Guangming's face, "Find out the city's notice from yesterday about the major safety inspection, highlight a few key requirements, and put it on my desk before lunch."

"Yes, Director Zhao." Yang Guangming's pen continued to move, his handwriting as neat as an engraving.

He didn't ask where the files were specifically located—when he cleaned the office in the morning, he had already memorized the basic classification areas of the filing cabinets, just like a scanner.

After giving his instructions, Zhao Guodong buried himself in the pile of documents again, his brows still slightly furrowed, as if he were pondering some difficult problem.

Yang Guangming immediately got up, his movements as swift as the wind, and silently walked to the metal filing cabinet against the wall.

He accurately opened the cabinet door labeled "Superior's Notice/Safety Production".

Fingers swiftly swept across the neatly arranged files, which exuded the mixed smell of ink and paper, precisely extracting the required document. The edge of the paper slid through the air with a soft "whoosh."

Back in his seat, he put down the documents and took out red and blue pencils from the pen holder.

I began to carefully read the mimeographed notice, the lead core rubbing against the paper, making a soft, rustling sound.

He drew a striking red line under the key terms, with surgical precision.

In the blank space next to it, a concise annotation was made in extremely small but exceptionally clear font, pointing directly to the core points of execution and any possible ambiguities.

In the office, only the rustling of Zhao Guodong turning the pages of documents, the soft sound of Yang Guangming's fountain pen gliding across the paper, and the increasingly loud cicada chirping outside the window, almost tearing the air apart.

Yang Ming was completely focused, utterly absorbed. His past life's ability to process massive amounts of information and precisely extract key points flowed naturally from his mind at this moment, almost instinctively. His efficiency and accuracy far surpassed the level expected of a newly appointed, ordinary secretary.

Nine o'clock sharp.

"Tuk-tuk-tuk."

The knocking sounded precisely on time, tinged with a hint of restraint.

Yang Guangming got up early and deftly brought the hardwood chair to the guest, placing it in a perfect position—facilitating face-to-face communication with Zhao Guodong without appearing too close to the leader's large desk, a symbol of power.

Before the slightly nervous Engineer Wang could sit down, Yang Guangming silently and steadily placed a cup of perfectly warm tea on the small tea table beside him. The tea leaves unfurled in the cup, releasing a faint, pleasant fragrance.

"Director Zhao, Engineer Wang is here," Yang Guangming announced in a low voice.

The report begins.

Wang, an elderly technician from the technical department, wearing thick glasses and with gray hair, unfolded a thick report and began to describe the data from the trial operation of the new equipment and the problems encountered, his voice carrying the rigor of a technician.

Zhao Guodong listened attentively, occasionally interrupting to ask pointed questions: "What is the range of no-load current fluctuation?", "At which workstations does the bearing temperature rise exceed the standard?", "Is there a quantitative record of the frequency of the jamming reported by the operators?"

Each question hits the nail on the head.

The bright sunlight shone through the notebook, the pen tip moving swiftly like a nimble dancer.

He didn't meticulously record every single word, but rather accurately captured the core of the conversation, key decision points, and follow-up tasks.

His handwriting was still neat, but a clear logical chain had formed in the text.

When Engineer Wang mentioned that a certain key equipment parameter needed to be verified by another basic technical document, Zhao Guodong's gaze subconsciously fell on the filing cabinet against the wall.

Almost the instant Zhao Guodong's gaze shifted, Yang Guangming had already stood up again.

He accurately opened another cabinet door, his fingers swiftly gliding across the spine of the document, and precisely pulled out the thick technical file.

He walked over to Zhao Guodong and gently placed the file on the empty table beside him, his movements light and silent, without interrupting the rhythm of the report.

Zhao Guodong picked up the file, quickly flipped to a certain page, pointed to the data on it, and continued to press for answers. Engineer Wang hurriedly adjusted his glasses, leaned closer to examine it, and nervously explained.

Yang Guangming sat back down, his gaze shifting rapidly between his notebook and the two people talking, his pen never stopping.

After Wang finished his report, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Holding the thick report, he waited anxiously for instructions.

After a moment's thought, Zhao Guodong quickly issued several clear instructions: the technical department was required to resolve the bearing temperature rise issue within a specified time, retest the jamming phenomenon and quantify and record it, and submit a draft of the optimization plan within a week.

After Wang Gong left, Yang Guangming immediately organized the notes he had just taken.

He neatly copied Zhao Guodong's instructions, the key points that the technical department needed to follow up on, and the set time nodes onto a sticky note.

Then, place this sticky note at the top of the "Documents to be Read" basket in the upper left corner of Zhao Guodong's desk to ensure that the leader can see it immediately.

The entire morning was packed with activity, like a tightly wound spring.

At ten o'clock, Old Liu, the head of the finance department, arrived on time. He was a slightly overweight, smiling, but shrewd-eyed middle-aged man.

He had a stack of forms tucked under his arm and greeted us with a smile as soon as he entered: "Director Zhao, you were looking for me? Comrade Xiao Yang is here too."

"Old Liu, have a seat." Zhao Guodong gestured to the chair. Yang Guangming had also arranged the chair in advance and served tea.

The discussion revolved around the budget for technological upgrades next quarter. Old Liu skillfully spread out the spreadsheet, explaining the budget components one by one, occasionally interjecting complaints such as "the higher-ups are tightening their grip" and "material prices have gone up again."

Zhao Guodong frowned, tapping his fingers on the table: "Old Liu, we should talk about the difficulties, but we need to solve the production bottlenecks even more. The equipment in Workshop 3 is the bottleneck, and we can't touch that part of the budget. We need to find a way to squeeze it out a bit more."

Yang Guangming had already prepared a copy of the relevant draft budget and kept it by his side.

When the discussion got bogged down in the details of a specific project and the two sides disagreed on a certain number, Yang Guangming timely and discreetly flipped the copy of the draft to the relevant page, pushed it to the edge of his desktop, and lightly tapped the data that needed confirmation with his finger.

Zhao Guodong's gaze swept over the draft and he immediately seized on the key point: "Look, the draft has enough provisions for this, so why are you saying it's not enough now?"

Old Liu quickly leaned closer to take a closer look, adjusted his glasses, and began to explain the changes.

Yang Guangming quickly jotted down the key points of the argument and the initial compromises reached between the two sides in his notebook.

When the discussion ended and Lao Liu put away the forms to leave, Yang Guangming had already organized the notes into clear key points, including the budget adjustment plan agreed upon by both parties, the projects that needed further accounting by the finance department, and the core principle of "ensuring the technical transformation of Workshop 3" emphasized by Zhao Guodong. He wrote them neatly on another sticky note and put them back into the "documents to be read" basket.

The clock on the wall steadily pointed to 11:30.

Yang Guangming neatly placed the clearly marked safety production notice, along with a concise implementation memorandum he had compiled (including key inspection points, responsible departments, timelines, and potential blind spots), on the upper left corner of Zhao Guodong's desk—the place where leaders usually placed urgent documents to be processed.

Zhao Guodong put down his pen, picked up the document, and quickly scanned it.

The clear and concise red markings, the succinct and precise prompts, and the well-organized memo page next to it brought a hint of satisfaction to his eyes.

He put down the document without immediately issuing any instructions, but his tense expression seemed to relax slightly.

"Director Zhao."

Yang Guangming spoke up at the opportune moment, his voice still steady, "The work arrangements for this morning have all been completed. Do you need me to inform Director Chen of the second workshop beforehand, or prepare any materials, for our afternoon trip to the workshop?"

He deliberately used the title "Director Chen" to make it seem formal and respectful.

"Hmm." Zhao Guodong leaned back in his rattan chair, the rattan creaking softly. "Tell Old Chen we'll be there at 2:30, mainly to check on the automatic doffing section. The data..."

He thought for a moment, "Just bring the operational summary they submitted last time." "Okay, I'll take care of it right away," Yang Guangming replied.

He paused briefly, then added, as if casually:
"Director Zhao, when I was organizing the documents this morning, I noticed that the documents in the filing cabinet were somewhat mixed up, so I reorganized them into several major categories: 'Party Committee,' 'Production,' 'Technology,' 'Safety,' and 'Trade Union.'"

Expired or duplicate files have been grouped separately at the back.

key……"

He pointed to the desk, "It's in the first drawer on your right."

He did it very naturally, in a flat tone, as if he had just done a trivial little thing.

Zhao Guodong opened the drawer on his right and took a look.

The bunch of keys, which might have been scattered and messy, was now neatly tied together with a rubber band, and each key ring had a small white adhesive label with the corresponding cabinet door type written in neat small print.

His gaze lingered on the label for a moment, and he let out a low, short "hmm" through his nose, which was his way of acknowledging it.

"Go ahead and get busy. Wait for me downstairs at 1:50 PM."

"Yes," Yang Guangming replied, then left the office and gently closed the door behind him.

The moment the door closed, Zhao Guodong's gaze fell once again on the safety production notice and key points memorandum. His fingers unconsciously tapped next to the clear annotations before he picked up his pen again.

The heatwave in the corridor was even more intense than in the morning, as if it had just been poured out of a steamer.

The back of the "Dacron" shirt, worn by the sun, was slightly damp with sweat, sticking stickily to the skin and causing a bit of discomfort.

Instead of returning to his small cubicle on the third floor, he went straight to the familiar large office of the factory affairs office secretariat on the second floor.

Pushing open the door, a familiar scene greeted me—several old wooden tables pushed together, faded propaganda posters on the walls, and a ceiling fan spinning listlessly overhead. But the atmosphere seemed subtly stagnant.

Zhang Yuqin's bamboo needles were still making a "clack-clack" sound as she knitted a sweater for someone unknown, but the rhythm seemed a little slower than usual.

Zhou Bingsheng was still engrossed in his well-worn copy of "Reference News," his thick glasses reflecting the light from the window.

Li Weidong was hunched over the table, seemingly copying some report carefully, the sound of his pen gliding across the paper carrying a deliberate focus.

Yang Guangming keenly sensed that the moment he pushed open the door, Li Weidong's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly, like a startled cat.

"Hello, Master Zhou! Hello, Sister Zhang! Hello, Brother Li!"

With his usual warm and polite smile, Yang Guangming greeted his three former colleagues in a clear voice, as if he were just dropping by for a visit, his tone carrying just the right amount of familiarity.

"Oh my! Our head secretary is here to inspect our work!"

Zhang Yuqin was the first to react. She immediately put down the yarn and needles in her hands, her face beaming with a warm smile. Her voice was loud and clear, instantly breaking the subtle tension in the office.

"Tsk tsk tsk, how's it going upstairs? Being around Director Zhao, isn't it glamorous? That's quite a different kind of prestige!"

She looked Yang Guangming up and down, her eyes filled with undisguised curiosity and a hint of envy.

"Sister Zhang, you're joking again."

With a smile, Yang Ming walked to her desk, casually picked up the thermos on the corner of her desk, and refilled her enamel mug with a bright red double happiness symbol.
"I'm just working in a different place, but my roots are still in the secretariat. I just started, and I have to learn everything from scratch. The pressure is immense, and I can't even sleep soundly at night."

His tone was sincere, with just the right amount of complaining.

"The pressure is a sign that your boss values ​​you!" Zhang Yuqin took the water glass, her words half-joking, with a hint of someone who'd been there before. "Look at you now, you walk with such a straight back! When you become successful and achieve great things, don't forget your old colleagues who shared an office with you!"

She said it half-jokingly, but her eyes were fixed on Yang Guangming's reaction.

"Sister Zhang, you're exaggerating."

Yang Guangming's smile remained unchanged, but his tone became even more earnest, "I owe my success today entirely to Director Han's trust, Master Zhou's guidance, and Sister Zhang's usual care."

"If I encounter any problems at work in the future, I'll definitely have to bother you again, my 'information tree,' my 'chief steward.'"

He gave Zhang Yuqin plenty of face and pointed out her crucial value in the secretariat: her "well-informed" nature.

Zhang Yuqin was overjoyed to hear this, and her smile became much more genuine: "No problem, no problem! Just let me know if you need anything! I will definitely help you in any way I can!"

Yang Guangming turned to Zhou Bingsheng, his expression immediately becoming more respectful, his smile vanishing, and he displayed the respect a student has for their teacher.

He walked up to Master Zhou's table, bowed slightly, and said sincerely, "Master Zhou, thank you! I really want to thank you!"
Without those precious books you lent me back then, and without you teaching me step by step how to write materials and build frameworks, I would never have gotten to where I am today.

I will always remember this kindness, truly.

His gaze met Zhou Bingsheng's gentle yet insightful eyes behind his glasses with an open and honest look, and he was deeply moved.

Zhou Bingsheng put down the newspaper, and behind his thick reading glasses, his gaze lingered for a few seconds on Yang Guangming's young and sincere face.

His face remained expressionless, like a calm, deep pool, but the corners of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly upwards, like a tiny crack appearing on the surface of a frozen lake.

He habitually picked up the enamel mug on the table to take a sip of water, but found it empty, so he silently put it down. Yang Guangming quickly grabbed the thermos and filled it up.

Zhou Bingsheng simply gave a low "hmm," his voice slightly hoarse, carrying a silent, weighty approval characteristic of an elder:

"Good job."

These three words carry a heavy weight, as if they contain a thousand unspoken words.

Finally, Yang Guangming walked towards Li Weidong in the corner. He could clearly feel that the stiffness in Li Weidong's body was intensifying, like a frightened hedgehog raising all its quills.

"Brother Li." Yang Guangming's tone was as calm as ever, without any hint of anything amiss, just like yesterday when they were in the same office. "What are you busy with?" He naturally leaned over to look at the reports on Li Weidong's desk.

Li Weidong seemed to have been pricked by a needle, abruptly raising his head, forcing an extremely stiff smile that was more like a grimace, his eyes flickering, avoiding eye contact with Yang Guangming:
"Nothing...it's nothing, just copying a quarterly production data summary table."

His fingers unconsciously rubbed the dark green fountain pen vigorously.

Yang Guangming seemed completely oblivious to his embarrassment and stiffness, his gaze sweeping over the thick stack of forms filled with numbers on his desk, before naturally continuing the conversation:

"Oh, a quarterly summary? Checking all this data must be quite a task; my eyes are going to be sore from looking at it. Thanks for your hard work, Brother Li."

He paused, as if suddenly remembering something, and pulled out a slightly flattened pack of "Pegasus" cigarettes from the side pocket of his khaki pants—something he had bought this morning at the small shop near the factory gate.

He tore open the seal, pulled out a cigarette, and handed it over casually, like sharing with an old friend: "Here, Brother Li, have a smoke and take a break."

Li Weidong was clearly stunned. Looking at the cigarette with the smell of cheap tobacco handed to him, his eyes shifted in a complex way—surprise, embarrassment, and a hint of dishevelment and bewilderment that he couldn't hide.

He hesitated, then reached out his hand, his fingertips trembling slightly, and took the cigarette. His throat was dry as he managed to squeeze out two words: "Thank you."

Yang Guangming lit one up himself, took out a matchbox with worker and peasant patterns printed on it, and struck it with a "snap".

The orange-red flames leaped.

He lit it for Li Weidong first. When the flame got close, Li Weidong instinctively shrank back before hurriedly lighting it himself. Yang Guangming then lit it for himself.

A bluish-white mist rose between the two, temporarily blurring the invisible barrier and tension in the air.

"Brother Li."

Yang Guangming took a drag of his cigarette, letting the slightly pungent smoke swirl in his lungs before slowly exhaling, his tone conveying a sense of professional seriousness and trust:

"In the future, there may be a lot of old data and tables that I need your help to check and verify."

I'm new here, and there are so many historical contexts and hidden details in the tables, but yours is still the most straightforward.

My work wouldn't be possible without everyone's support, especially the professional support of a seasoned veteran like yourself.

He reiterated Li Weidong's indispensable professional value and clearly hinted at the inevitable cooperation in future work.

Li Weidong lowered his head, took a deep drag on his cigarette, and the pungent smell of the cheap tobacco made him cough softly twice. The sound was muffled and squeezed out of his chest, with a hint of barely perceptible bitterness.

"Of course...of course. We should help each other...we should help each other."

He still dared not look at Yang Ming, as if that calm and gentle gaze were a scorching branding iron that could easily burn through the unspeakable darkness and jealousy in his heart.

Yang Guangming didn't say anything more, nor did he linger.

He glanced around the familiar large office.

The sunlight outside the window was intense, casting glaring white patches of light onto the ground through the dusty glass. The concrete floor reflected a dazzling halo of light.

He glanced at his watch and said, "I need to report to Director Han, so I'll be going now. Everyone's busy."

"You're busy, you're busy! The head secretary has a lot to do!" Zhang Yuqin replied warmly.

Zhou Bingsheng gave another low "hmm" and looked back at the newspaper.

Li Weidong simply grunted softly, still staring at the burning cigarette butt between his fingers.

Yang Guangming nodded and turned to leave the secretariat office.

His leather shoes made a steady sound on the cement floor. He walked steadily toward the door at the other end of the corridor, which had a sign that read "Director's Office".

"Knock, knock, knock." The knocking sound was clear and crisp.

"Come in," came Han Mingqian's steady voice from inside.

Pushing open the door, I saw Han Mingqian hunched over his desk, writing something. His brows were slightly furrowed behind his black-rimmed glasses, as if he had encountered a problem.

The only thing in the office was an old-fashioned ceiling fan humming tirelessly overhead, stirring up the stuffy air and bringing a meager amount of airflow.

"Director Han." Yang Guangming stood respectfully in front of the table, keeping a step's distance.

Han Mingqian raised his head, pushed up his black-rimmed glasses, and looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze behind the lenses: "Xiao Yang? Is everything settled upstairs? How's things going with Factory Director Zhao?"

His tone was as calm as ever, but also carried a hint of concern and consideration that was not easily detected.

"Everything is settled, Director Han."

Yang Guangming stood ramrod straight and briefly reported on his daily work in the morning, emphasizing that he would be going to the workshop with Factory Director Zhao in the afternoon. "Factory Director Zhao immediately got to work and completed all the tasks assigned to him. The filing cabinets have also been preliminarily organized and categorized, and the keys have been handed over to Factory Director Zhao."

"Hmm, not bad efficiency."

Han Mingqian nodded, his gaze lingering for a moment on the slightly damp collar under the sunlight and on the man's still composed and unassuming expression, a hint of approval in his eyes:

"Director Zhao is a former soldier, with a tough and decisive style. He can't stand being indecisive. To work for him, you need to be quick, clear-headed, and tight-lipped."

Have you remembered the 'three essentials'?

He emphasized it again, his tone becoming more forceful.

“Every word is etched in my heart, Director Han.” Yang Guangming replied solemnly, his eyes open and honest. “Being tight-lipped, diligent, and upright is the foundation of my work, and I dare not forget it.”

A look of satisfaction appeared on Han Mingqian's face, like a taut string relaxing slightly, and he leaned back slightly.
"Just remember that. Your status is different now. Every move you make represents not only yourself, but also the image of Director Zhao. You must be extra careful with your words and actions."

He paused, then said earnestly, "When you encounter something you're unsure about at work, ask for instructions and report back. Don't be afraid to bother your superiors; that in itself is being responsible for your work."

In daily life...

He then changed the subject, displaying the routine but necessary concern of a superior for a subordinate: "Are you having any difficulties? Is there enough room at home? Do you like the food in the cafeteria?"

"Thank you for your concern, Director Han!" Yang Guangming said gratefully. "Everything is fine now. My home is close to the factory, which is convenient. The food in the canteen... is plentiful and filling, which is quite good." His reply was simple and appropriate.

"That's good."

Han Mingqian picked up the fountain pen on the table, dipped the nib in the ink bottle, and prepared to continue working:

"Go ahead and get busy. This afternoon, go down to the workshop with Factory Director Zhao. Be quick-witted, observe more, listen more, and talk less."

Make a clear note of the points the leaders are focusing on and the problems discovered on-site, and organize them when you get back.

"Understood, Director Han. I'll head back now." Yang Guangming bowed slightly again, his posture respectful, and left the director's office.

The heat in the corridor was even more intense, like the entrance to a sauna.

Lunch break was approaching, and the factory's loudspeakers began playing powerful revolutionary songs, their stirring melodies resonating in the sweltering air.

Yang Guangming didn't go back to the third floor immediately. He walked to the window at the end of the corridor and pushed open the dusty wooden window.

An even more intense heatwave, accompanied by the clearer and louder roar of machines from the distant workshop, surged in, assaulting his senses.

He looked downstairs.

The dense shade of the plane trees forms a green corridor, barely blocking the midday sun.

Along the tree-lined path, groups of two or three figures dressed in faded blue overalls were trudging toward the canteen, their silhouettes swaying in the lush green shade.

The sounds of cicadas, broadcasts, and faint laughter mingled together, creating a vibrant midday scene in the factory.

The keen observation, accurate prediction, and impeccable execution skills honed in the elite world of fame and fortune in my previous life seem to have found a new and challenging arena to be used in this vibrant, simple, yet rule-bound and undercurrent-filled era.

He knew this was only the first day.

The real test, like the sweltering heat of Shanghai in July, has only just begun and will continue to intensify.

(End of this chapter)