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

Chapter 109, Section 108: The Joy of Receiving My First Paycheck
July 5th, Saturday.

As the calendar turned to this page, an indescribable restlessness quietly seeped into the air of the Red Star State-Owned Cotton Mill, as if an invisible hand had plucked the strings of one's heart.

This day is the fixed payday of the month!
For every worker and cadre who relies on wages to support their family, it is like a heavy foundation stone, firmly supporting the weight of life and bringing a sense of solid comfort.

Yang Guangming sat at the hard wooden table that belonged to him in the outer room of Zhao Guodong's deputy factory director's office.

A blue hardcover notebook lay open, the nib of a fountain pen hovering above the slightly yellowed pages. The faint, astringent scent of ink mingled with the aromas of old wood, aged documents, and the warm breeze drifting in from outside, filling the small cubicle.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds, casting streaks of light and shadow on his focused profile.

In the blink of an eye, he had been working in that small cubicle on the third floor for a week.

From the initial cautiousness and gradual exploration to the current improvement, the rationality and predictive ability ingrained in him from his previous life as a life secretary have unexpectedly found a point of convergence under Zhao Guodong's decisive, pragmatic, and efficient style, and have been revitalized in a unique way.

The documents in the filing cabinet were organized by him like precisely meshing gears, and the keys were categorized and clearly labeled.

With just a glance from Zhao Guodong, or even just an unconscious tap of his finger in a certain direction, Yang Guangming could understand perfectly and accurately extract the required document.

The schedule is tight yet flexible, and the work reports are like precise surgical scalpels, getting straight to the point without any unnecessary words.

Even the annotations left by the red and blue pencils on the edge of the document, in terms of angle, force, and wording, always managed to hit the chord that Zhao Guodong cared about most.

The hands of the "Magic City" brand watch on his wrist steadily pointed to nine o'clock in the morning.

Yang Guangming closed his laptop with a soft "click" and then stood up. His movements were swift and fluid, displaying a natural grace born of professional training.

Today, he has an important matter to attend to—he goes to the finance department to collect his salary.

This is not only a means of livelihood, but also the first achievement he has earned with his own hands in this new world and new job, an achievement he can proudly bring home.

Descending the familiar wooden staircase, worn smooth by countless footsteps, to the second floor, I passed through a slightly noisy corridor filled with the smell of cotton dust and sweat. At the entrance to the finance department, a queue of moderate length had already formed.

The group consisted mostly of factory workers, wearing faded blue overalls, some even patched, their faces glistening with sweat from the summer heat, and their anticipation barely concealed.

The line moved forward slowly, like syrup melting in the heat. Occasionally, a few hushed conversations could be heard, spoken with the soft, gentle accent of Shanghainese. The conversations were nothing more than about how to use one's salary and household expenses—trivial matters, yet full of the real warmth of life.

"Xiao Yang, time to collect your wages?" A middle-aged female worker in front of the line turned around and saw Yang Guangming. Her round face immediately broke into a warm smile. She was Sister Wang, the group leader of Workshop 2. Yang Guangming had checked the data with her before.

She habitually wiped her hands with her apron, her eyes revealing familiarity and a hint of barely perceptible envy.

Yang Guangming responded with a gentle smile and nodded, saying, "Good morning, Master Wang." His voice was not loud, but clear and steady, carrying the unique vigor of a young man, yet without a trace of frivolity.

When it was Yang Guangming's turn, he walked to the familiar small window of the finance department, painted green.

Inside the window sat Old Wu, wearing thick, dark blue arm sleeves and reading glasses perched on his nose. Behind the lenses, his eyes were intently focused on the heavy payroll spread out in front of him and stacks of banknotes and tickets carefully bound with rubber bands.

Beside him lay an abacus, its dark beads gleaming with the patina of age.

Above the window hung a small blackboard with several large, square characters written on it in chalk: "Payment Today".

"Master Wu, thank you for your help." Yang Guangming handed over his work ID, his gesture showing the respect due to a senior colleague.

Old Wu took the work permit, adjusted his slipping glasses, and skillfully flipped through the thick paybook with his wrinkled fingers.

Fingertips glide over the densely packed names and numbers, making a soft rustling sound.

Finally, his finger stopped on the "Sunshine Bright" column and remained still.

He picked up the abacus and began to work the beads with a crisp, rhythmic clatter, the sound particularly clear in the slightly somber air. After finishing, he carefully checked the small notes next to it.

“Yang Guangming.” Old Wu’s voice was not loud, but carried the straightforwardness and a hint of authority that are unique to financial personnel. “Administrative level 27, joined on June 7th, monthly base salary after adjustment is 30 yuan.”

He looked up and glanced at Yang Guangming through his glasses, as if to confirm.

Yang Guangming nodded slightly, indicating that he understood. He had already gone through these calculation rules in his mind countless times.

"The actual number of working days in June was twenty-four days." Old Wu continued in his steady tone, "The basic salary is calculated on a daily basis. Thirty yuan divided by thirty days equals one yuan per day. Twenty-four days is exactly twenty-four yuan."

He tapped the corresponding position on the abacus with his finger to confirm that it was correct.

Yang Guangming listened quietly, his gaze fixed on the payroll page that Lao Wu had opened.

The administrative rank adjustment that affected his starting point in June was finally settled before the end of the month, allowing him to receive the starting salary of level 27 in his first month of employment, which was undoubtedly a good start.

Old Wu turned to a page of the payroll and continued reading: "According to policy, you receive 1.8 yuan this month as supplementary pay."

He paused, then looked down. "In addition, there's a job allowance of 1.5 yuan, a transportation subsidy of 0.8 yuan, and a high-temperature subsidy of 0.5 yuan."

He picked up the abacus again, his fingers flying across the page, the beads clicking softly. "Total subsidy... four yuan and sixty cents."

The abacus clicked shut. Old Wu picked up his dip pen, dipped it in the ink bottle, and steadily placed his wrist over a mimeographed form bearing the red emblem of the Red Star State-Owned Cotton Mill and the words "Wage Settlement Slip." He began to fill it out neatly. The pen nib grazed the rough paper, leaving clear blue marks:
Name: Yang Guangming
Level: Administrative Level 27

Month: June 1969

Basic salary: 24.00 yuan

Additional salary: 1.80 yuan

Position allowance: 1.50 yuan

Transportation subsidy: 0.80 yuan

High-temperature allowance: 0.50 yuan

Total payable: RMB 28.60

After writing, Old Wu put down his pen and began counting from a neatly stacked pile of banknotes with sharp edges next to him.

His rough fingers moved with unusual dexterity: two dark blue "Great Unity" bills printed with images of workers, peasants and soldiers, one dark green five-yuan bill, three light brown one-yuan bills, one dark red five-jiao bill, and one light green one-jiao bill.

He carefully stacked all the banknotes neatly and pushed them out of the window.

"Twenty-eight yuan and sixty cents, please count it." Old Wu's voice remained flat, but his eyes gestured for Yang Guangming to check.

Yang Guangming took the stack of banknotes, still warm from his body and smelling of ink, and could clearly feel the unique toughness and slight coolness of the paper money on his fingertips.

He focused intently and quickly and meticulously counted the bills: two ten-yuan notes, one five-yuan note, three one-yuan notes, one fifty-cent note, and one one-cent note.

No more, no less, exactly twenty-eight yuan and six jiao.

In an era of scarcity and rationing, this sum of money carried the heavy weight of an ordinary family's hopes for nearly a month's worth of daily necessities.

Next came the various tickets and certificates handed over by Lao Wu.

First, there was a stack of square paper tickets, printed with different patterns and words. The colors were somewhat monotonous, but they represented the necessities of life.

"Grain coupons, 27 jin for a whole month."

Old Wu handed over a ticket with a picture of plump rice ears, labeled "SH City Grain Coupon" and the eye-catching words "27 jin".

"You started on June 7th. The neighborhood committee didn't issue any food coupons for June, so the factory will issue them to you for the whole month, without deducting the coupons for the first few days." He unusually added an extra explanation, his tone carrying a hint of the factory's consideration for new employees.

"Meat ticket, half a jin." A small ticket with an adorable picture of a fat pig was handed out.

"Sugar coupon, half a jin." The coupon was printed with a picture of bundles of sugarcane.

"Egg ticket, one jin (500g)." Tickets printed with a hen image.

"And half a jin of cooking oil coupons."

Yang Guangming thanked them profusely and accepted the scraps of paper that sustained his most basic survival needs with both hands. They were as thin as cicada wings, but in his hands at that moment, they gave him a more reassuring sense of security than a stack of banknotes.

With these, Mother could add a little more precious oil and rare sweetness to the family's table at the limited supply window in the market, where there were long queues, making life less bland.

Then, Lao Wu took out four rectangular tickets that were slightly larger and had more exquisite printing.

The pale yellow background features a gear and wheat ear pattern symbolizing industry and agriculture. Above it are the striking red characters "SH City Daily Industrial Goods Purchase Coupon," and below are clearly printed "Third Quarter of 1969" and "One Coupon."

"Industrial vouchers, four for the third quarter." Old Wu's voice carried a hint of solemnity regarding the significance of these industrial vouchers.

He habitually explained, "Industrial vouchers are issued in advance on a quarterly basis."

June falls under the second quarter, and the payments were already made in April. You hadn't started working then, so you missed it and weren't eligible for a retroactive payment, meaning you didn't receive a single payment for the second quarter.

This time, industrial vouchers were issued for July, August, and September.

Your salary in June was 30 yuan. Based on that, your salary for three months would be 90 yuan.

The rule was that one coupon would be issued for every 20 yuan of salary, and 90 divided by 20 equals four and a half coupons.

"Half a coupon will not be issued; it's a national regulation, there's nothing we can do about it, so we'll only issue four full coupons." His explanation was clear, pragmatic, and left no room for doubt.

Yang Guangming took the four heavy industrial coupons, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the texture of the paper.

He knew how "hard currency" this thing was at the moment. Thermos flasks, enamel basins, towels, soap, iron pots... many in-demand daily industrial products could not be bought with money alone; you had to have them to buy them.

Four coupons, while not a huge sum at this point, are enough to buy one or two urgently needed items that can improve the quality of life at home, making them quite meaningful.

"In addition," Old Wu took out two smaller coupons from deep inside the drawer, "At the beginning of the quarter, there are two soap coupons, each valid for one bar of soap. And one tofu coupon for one pound this month."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Here, all done." He handed over the last two receipts.

Yang Guangming thanked him sincerely again, carefully collecting all the banknotes, grain coupons, meat coupons, oil coupons, sugar coupons, egg coupons, industrial coupons, soap coupons, and tofu coupons that exuded the smell of ink and paper, and then solemnly placing them into the inner pocket of the military satchel that was washed until it was white, with badly worn edges, and the gray-white canvas underneath was exposed.

A thick, small wad of fabric, pressed tightly against the inner pocket of my chest, gave me a warm and substantial feeling, heavy with the hope of a new life.

He turned and left the finance department window, behind him the whispers of others in line continuing to receive their wages, the crisp, monotonous clinking of abacus beads, and the air thick with the smells of sweat, paper, and ink, and a faint sense of anticipation.

As I passed the spacious office of the factory affairs office secretariat on the second floor, the atmosphere inside was noticeably more lively and relaxed than usual.

A slightly tipsy, relaxed feeling, unique to payday, seemed to hang in the air. Zhang Yuqin was beaming, her voice eight octaves higher than usual, gesturing to Zhou Bingsheng by the window and Li Weidong, who was engrossed in organizing reports:

"...Oh my! I got some high-temperature allowance this month, which will come in handy! The inner liner of that bamboo thermos in my house has been broken for almost a month, and I haven't been able to bear replacing it. Boiling water cools down so quickly when I pour it in, it's so frustrating!"
Great! I'll go to the No. 1 Department Store during my lunch break and use the newly issued industrial vouchers to buy a new gallbladder!

Then I'll take the meat ration coupons to buy some more meat, and make a big bowl of shepherd's purse and pork wontons for dinner! Just thinking about it makes my mouth water!

Her chubby face was beaming with satisfaction, as if a steaming bowl of wontons was already laid out before her.

Zhou Bingsheng sat by the window, holding his newly received pay bag and a stack of vouchers in his hand.

He was in his early forties, with his hair neatly combed and wearing black-rimmed glasses; his gaze behind the lenses was calm and collected.

At that moment, he had a kind of relaxed ease that was unique to old-fashioned people.

He was carefully sorting out the grain coupons, meat coupons, tofu coupons, and other items, and meticulously putting them into a worn-out old leather wallet. His slow and deliberate movements revealed a deep appreciation and caution for the necessities of life.

When he saw Yang Guangming come in, he nodded gently behind his glasses as a greeting, and the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch slightly upwards.

In contrast, Li Weidong appeared much more silent.

He was younger, only a few years older than Yang Guangming, and wore faded work clothes, but he didn't receive more money or ration coupons than Yang Guangming.

He silently stuffed the thin pay bag deep into his pocket, pressing his fingers firmly against the outside of the pocket as if afraid it would fly away.

Then he lowered his head and focused more intently on organizing the reports spread out on the table. The pen in his hand scratched across the paper with a grating sound, revealing a hint of resentment or pressure in his heart.

"Xiao Yang's back! Did you get your salary?"

Zhang Yuqin, with her sharp eyes, immediately greeted them warmly, her voice booming, "Oh my, our chief secretary must have a good first month's salary, right? Administrative level 27, that's thirty yuan! Tsk tsk!"

Her tone was a mix of good-natured teasing and undisguised envy, her gaze sweeping over the bulging handbag in the sunlight.

Yang Guangming smiled, stepped into the office, and patted his bag: "Okay, I've got it. Twenty-four yuan basic salary plus four yuan and sixty cents subsidy."

He spoke calmly, without boasting about the specific amounts, only briefly explaining the composition.

"Great! That's perfect!"

Zhang Yuqin clicked her tongue repeatedly, with the感慨 of someone who had been there before, "They're definitely working for the factory manager, so their starting point is much higher! Unlike us, who have toiled in the factory for so many years and only got this little bit."

She abruptly changed the subject, her gossipy interest resurfacing, and leaned forward to ask, "How many industrial vouchers were issued? That's the most important thing!"

"Four," Yang Guangming replied as he hung his bag on the back of the chair.

"Four sheets!" Zhang Yuqin's eyes lit up, and her voice rose a little higher. "That's great! That's great! Enough to buy two new enamel basins and a new thermos! Or, if we're frugal, we can buy a good piece of cloth and make a new dress."

"I've been working longer, three or seven more years than you. That sounds like a lot, but I also have more household chores to pick up and replace, so I have to be careful with my money!"

She counted on her fingers, rambling on about her family's expenses, a mixture of感慨 (feelings of regret) and a kind of psychological balance.

Yang Guangming nodded, saying nothing more. He needed to think things over carefully.

This amount of 28.6 yuan, plus 27 jin of grain coupons, half a jin of meat coupons, half a jin of sugar coupons, half a jin of oil coupons, one jin of egg coupons, one jin of tofu coupons, two soap coupons, and those four precious industrial coupons.

These constitute his first and most tangible material contribution to that poor but warm family after he established himself in this era and officially began his career.

It was of great significance to him personally.

Deep in his heart, in that refrigerator that no one else could see, the supplies that were refreshed daily had a legitimate source that could be "exchanged" and openly "supplemented" to his household expenses.

This feeling gave him a sense of grounded security.

After chatting with a few former colleagues for a while, Yang Guangming returned to his office.

He took a deep breath, pulled out a chair and sat down, picked up the pen that had been with him for a week, opened the blue hardcover notebook, and turned his gaze back to the unfinished work plans and to-do items.

Upstairs, Deputy Factory Director Zhao Guodong was still waiting for his report and the afternoon's workshop schedule.

Yang Guangming opened his notebook, and the nib of his pen fell on the page, making a soft scratching sound.

He seemed to be temporarily shielded from the noise in the office. He needed to organize the key data that the workshop director had reported that morning so that he would have a clear understanding when he accompanied Director Zhao down the stairs in the afternoon.

The sunlight outside the window grew even more intense, and the cicadas' chirping seemed endless.

Yang Guangming composed himself and refocused on the numbers in front of him.

Life is full of small, real moments, and so is work. He must be more meticulous and thorough.

In the afternoon, I accompanied Director Zhao to Workshop 3. There were some problems with the debugging of the newly installed spinning machine there. He needed to sort out the relevant technical parameters and possible problems in advance so that the director could ask him questions.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, the hottest time of the day. Yang Guangming followed Deputy Factory Director Zhao Guodong into the gate of Workshop 3.

A stronger, more humid and hot smell wafted over.

In the vast space, there were endless spinning machines, emitting a deafening roar.

Zhao Guodong, wearing a faded gray short-sleeved shirt, walked straight with a brisk pace towards a row of newly installed spinning machines at the back.

The workshop director and technicians were already waiting there, their faces showing tension and anticipation. Seeing Director Zhao approach, they quickly went to greet him.

Yang Guangming quickly got into the zone, falling half a step behind Factory Director Zhao.

While listening to the workshop director and technician's somewhat hurried report, he keenly scanned the operation of the new machines.

The roar of the machine almost drowned out human voices, forcing him to turn slightly to concentrate and listen.

At the same time, his hand had already subconsciously reached into the canvas bag he was carrying and accurately pulled out the blue hard-cover notebook and the fountain pen.

"...Director Zhao, the main problem is that the breakage rate is still higher than the old machines, especially on the night shift. The operators can't react in time, so efficiency is low and raw materials are wasted..." The workshop director's voice rose amidst the noise.

Zhao Guodong frowned slightly, said nothing, and walked straight to a spinning machine that was in operation. He bent down and carefully examined the rotation of the spindles and the tension of the yarn.

His eyes were sharp as an eagle's, and his fingers tapped lightly on the key parts of the machine, feeling the vibrations.

Yang Guangming quickly jotted down key information in his notebook: machine model, breakage rate data, time of occurrence, and key points of feedback from the machine operator.

His handwriting remained clear and neat even under bumpy conditions.

As the technician began explaining a possible mechanical problem, Yang Guangming opportunely flipped to the first few pages of his notebook, where he had previously reviewed the key points and relevant technical parameters of the machine's manual for that model, and quickly pointed them out to Zhao Guodong:
"Factory manager, the technician mentioned the issue with the yarn guide hook angle. The instruction manual mentions a standard value range in Chapter 3, Section 2, but the actual measurement seems to be about 0.5 degrees smaller."

Zhao Guodong glanced at the spot Yang Guangming pointed out, then compared it to the position the technician was gesturing, and nodded slightly. He didn't say much, but Yang Guangming knew that this timely supplementary information would be very helpful for the factory manager in judging the problem.

For the next half hour or so, Zhao Guodong led a few of them through the problematic machines, observing and questioning the female workers on duty.

Sunlight followed closely like a silent shadow, its ears picking up every useful piece of information while its hands kept taking notes.

Sweat quickly soaked the back of his shirt, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. The cotton lint stuck to his face and it itched a little, but he was completely unaware of it.

He needs to quickly extract the core issues, filter out emotional complaints, and present the most objective and crucial information to the factory manager.

When Zhao Guodong finally straightened up and gestured for everyone to gather around a tool cabinet in a quieter corner of the workshop, Yang Guangming immediately turned to a new page in his notebook, which clearly listed several key issues and preliminary suggested solutions:

1. Yarn guide hook angle calibration issue (actual measurement vs. standard) - It is recommended that the technical team review all new machines.

2. Does insufficient nighttime lighting affect observation? - It is necessary to conduct an on-site inspection of the nighttime lighting conditions.

3. Is the operator unfamiliar with operating the new machine? - Arrange targeted retraining, with suggestions from model worker Master Zhang for reference.

4. Do temperature and humidity have a greater impact on new machines? - Monitoring data needs to be coordinated with the power department.

Yang Guangming handed the notebook to Zhao Guodong and briefly summarized the key points verbally.

Zhao Guodong quickly browsed through the document, his tense expression easing somewhat.

He gave Yang Guangming an appreciative look. This young man not only recorded things quickly and accurately, but more importantly, he could quickly grasp the key points and put forward constructive ideas, saving him a lot of time in sorting out information.

"Yes, that's the right approach."

Zhao Guodong closed the notebook and handed it back to Yang Guangming, his voice steady and powerful, "Old Liu, arrange for the technical team to check the first and fourth points this afternoon!"
Regarding the lighting issue, come with me tonight to check on the night shift situation.

Regarding the training, Xiao Yang, you should communicate with Master Zhang and tell her what I said, asking her to mentor the newcomers.

A meeting is scheduled for tomorrow morning!

The commands are concise and clear.

The workshop director and technician quickly agreed, their tense expressions replaced by an eagerness to solve the problem.

Stepping out of Workshop 3, the heat outside seemed to feel a bit refreshing.

Zhao Guodong strode ahead, with Yang Guangming close behind.

Back in the cool corridor of the office building, Zhao Guodong slowed his pace and said to Yang Guangming:

"Take notes and organize them this afternoon, keep them concise and to the point, and give them to me before tomorrow's meeting. As for Master Zhang, go to Workshop Two in person, and be sincere."

“Okay, factory manager, I’ll take care of it right away,” Yang Guangming replied immediately. He knew that the factory manager was acknowledging his work and entrusting him with a more direct communication task.

The closing bell finally pierced the factory's hustle and bustle. Workers surged towards the various factory gates like a tidal wave.

Yang Guangming followed the flow of people out of the heavy gate of the Hongxing State-owned Cotton Mill.

The afterglow of the setting sun painted the streets with a warm orange-red hue, but the heat of the day still lingered on the ground.

He quickened his pace and headed towards that familiar alleyway.

His mother and sister-in-law had probably already cooked the mung bean soup and were waiting for him to come back so they could share the small but real joy that his first month's salary brought.

(End of this chapter)