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

After washing up, Yang Ming didn't rush out.

Outside the window, it was already bright. Through the condensed glass, I could vaguely see the bare branches of the trees in the yard swaying slightly in the early spring chill.

The two-story guesthouse in Pingyang County was still quiet at the moment, with only occasional scattered sounds coming from the street in the distance.

He walked to the window, wiped a small area of ​​the glass with his palm, and looked outside.

The courtyard was small, with a compacted yellow earthen floor and some miscellaneous items piled against the wall. Outside the wall was the town's street, where there were few pedestrians, most of whom were dressed in dusty clothes and hurried along.

On a March morning, the chill had not yet faded, and a desolate atmosphere permeated the air.

Withdrawing his gaze, Yang Guangming sat back down on the edge of the bed.

He wasn't in a hurry to act immediately. A fraud case involving three hundred yuan wasn't a major issue for him, given his fusion of memories from four lifetimes. The method was already formed in his mind—simple, direct, and effective.

Go to the police station to report the case.

The original owner felt that without evidence, reporting the case would be useless, and had an instinctive fear of the public authorities of this era, preferring to suffer a bloody head rather than easily step through that door.

But the sunlight is different.

He has seen more complex situations and dealt with more difficult problems, and he knows that in any society with basic order, seeking legitimate solutions to obvious illegal and criminal acts is often one of the most efficient options.

If the facts are true and the amount involved is large enough, the public security authorities will naturally intervene in the investigation. Evidence is something the police need to find, not a bargaining chip that the victim must hold in advance.

Does Qin Shengli have any strong connections or background?
Maybe, maybe not.

But even if it were true, Yang Guangming wouldn't care.

The experience and wisdom accumulated over four generations gave him enough confidence to deal with any potential "trouble." It would just require a bit more effort.

Right now, he needs to wait for someone.

He Jianjun.

One of her best friends from high school now works as a waiter at a guesthouse.

Yesterday, it was thanks to his connections that Yang Guangming was able to stay in this room for free. The two agreed that He Jianjun would take half a day off today to accompany him to find Qin Shengli and "demand an explanation."

Both logically and emotionally, Yang Guangming should wait for He Jianjun to arrive so he can explain his plans in person and not let him worry unnecessarily.

He was very relaxed, even with a long-lost sense of leisure.

The hunger had been dispelled by the food in the space, and the body regained warmth and strength.

He leaned against the cold headboard of the hard bed, closed his eyes, seemingly resting, but actually sorting through the more detailed information about this era from his four lifetimes of memories, as well as the supplies in the space that might come in handy.

Time flows slowly.

About half an hour later, slightly hurried footsteps came from the corridor, approaching and stopping outside the door.

Then, the door was pushed open.

A tall, very thin young man slipped in and gently closed the door behind him.

He was wearing the same dark blue cotton uniform as the guesthouse staff, which had faded a bit from washing and hung loosely on his thin, bamboo-like frame.

His appearance was ordinary, with a pale and tired look in his eyes, as if he had been starving for a long time, but his eyes were bright, filled with concern and a hint of indignation.

The person who came was He Jianjun.

He arrived early, almost half an hour earlier than his normal work start time.

"Guangming, you're awake. How are you? Did you get a good rest last night?" He Jianjun asked as soon as he entered the room, his gaze sweeping over Guangming's face as if trying to discern his emotional state.

Yang Guangming had already adjusted his expression, his face carrying a hint of heaviness befitting a 21-year-old, but compared to the despair and defeat of yesterday, there was a touch more "resolute" spirit in him.

He stood up: "Jianjun, you're here. I'm fine."

He Jianjun sighed and walked over. He didn't rush to say anything else, but first stuffed an aluminum lunchbox into Yang Guangming's hand, "Here, hurry up, while it's hot."

The lunchbox felt heavy in my hand and was noticeably warm.

Yang Guangming was stunned for a moment: "This is..."

"Breakfast!" He Jianjun urged, a slight smile appearing on his face, but the smile also concealed embarrassment and heartache. "I know you don't have any food coupons, and you probably didn't eat much yesterday. On my way here, I stopped by Old Ma's stall and bought two sweet cakes to tide you over. In this awful weather, you won't have any energy if you don't eat something warm."

Sugar cake.

It is considered one of the distinctive breakfast options in Pingyang County, and even the entire Kaifeng area.

The dough is made by coating brown or white sugar filling with hot water, then deep-frying it until the outer layer is golden and crispy, while the inside is soft, chewy, and sweet. In 1961, when resources were scarce, this was an extremely rare treat, requiring food coupons and money to purchase.

Yang Guangming looked at the warm lunchbox in his hand, then glanced at He Jianjun's old uniform, and felt a warmth in his heart.

Fragments of memories about He Jianjun became clearer.

In high school, the two shared a dormitory. He Jianjun came from a working-class family. After graduation, He Jianjun was quite lucky; his family pulled many strings to get him a job as a waiter at the county guesthouse.

The job sounded respectable, but in reality, the food ration was very tight. He Jianjun himself was often in a state of semi-starvation, and in order to save money, he often skipped breakfast.

These two sweet cakes were not something he could easily take out.

This is true friendship.

As Yang Ming opened the lunchbox lid, a sweet aroma mixed with oil and sugar wafted out. Two golden-brown fried sugar cakes were squeezed inside, their shapes not particularly regular, but they exuded a hearty feeling.

"It smells so good." Yang Guangming sniffed and said sincerely.

The aroma not only whets the appetite, but also evokes warm memories of this era and the original owner's deepest recollections.

But he immediately closed the lunchbox and handed it back to He Jianjun: "Jianjun, I appreciate your kindness. But you can keep this sweet cake for yourself, or take it home. I just... went out for a bit and bought a sesame seed cake from the stall at the street corner. I've eaten it and I'm full."

He lied. The meat buns, steamed buns, and milk in the space were naturally more filling and nutritious than sesame seed cakes and sugar cakes, but he couldn't explain it at the moment.

He Jianjun was taken aback, clearly not believing him: "Who are you kidding? What time is it? The pancake stall has just opened, right? Besides, where did you get the food coupons?"

"I really ate it." Yang Guangming tried his best to make his expression seem sincere, and even patted his stomach. "I don't have many food coupons, but it's enough to buy two sesame cakes. I really have already eaten them. These sweet cakes are precious, you should eat them quickly, look how thin you are."

The two of them, one insisting on giving it to the other and the other firmly refusing, began to "argue" in hushed tones in the small room.

Although He Jianjun was a somewhat timid person, he was quick-witted: "Look at you, why are you being so polite with me? We're like family, aren't we? You've suffered such a great calamity, and I can't help you with anything else, but two sweet cakes aren't enough? Hurry up and eat them! They'll get cold and greasy!"

Yang Guangming insisted, "Jianjun, I know your situation. You've had it tough too, with younger siblings at home who are all hungry. This sweet cake will keep you full and give you energy to work. I really have eaten it; I'm not kidding."

After several rounds of back and forth, He Jianjun saw that Yang Guangming's attitude was unusually firm, not just being polite, and that his complexion was indeed better than yesterday, and his eyes were much clearer, not like someone who had been hungry all night. Only then did He Jianjun hesitantly take the lunchbox back.

"You...you really ate it?" he asked to confirm. "I really ate it." Yang Guangming nodded, changing the subject, "Have you eaten it? If not, eat it while it's hot, don't waste it."

He Jianjun scratched his head, a little embarrassed: "I...I'll eat later."

He clearly intends to postpone this "later" indefinitely, and it's very likely that the sweet cake will eventually end up in the stomachs of his younger siblings or parents.

Yang Guangming understood, but he didn't want to force the issue. He remembered this kindness.

He Jianjun carefully placed the lunchbox on the chipped wooden table before getting down to business: "I've already talked to our team leader and asked for half a day off this morning. Let's go, let's go and confront that bastard Qin Shengli right now! I know a few places he frequents, let's search them one by one, and make him give us an explanation today!"

He rolled up his sleeves, and although he was thin, he looked ready to fight to the death. However, deep in his eyes, one could still see a trace of weakness in his character and an instinctive fear of conflict.

The fact that he was willing to take time off work to accompany his friend to collect the debt shows that he values ​​this friendship very much.

Yang Guangming sighed inwardly. He Jianjun genuinely cared for him, and was also truly angry. But his approach was wrong.

He shook his head, his tone calm but firm: "Jianjun, thank you. But you don't need to go looking for him."

"Huh?" He Jianjun was stunned. "Not going? Then... then we're just going to forget about the three hundred yuan? You... you can't do anything rash, Guangming! We can't suffer this loss in silence!"

“Of course not.” Yang Guangming walked to the window and looked at the increasing number of pedestrians outside. “I’m not going to find him, I’m going to the police station.”

"The police station?" He Jianjun's voice suddenly rose, then he quickly lowered it, his face full of astonishment and worry. "Go to the police station? You...you have no evidence, Guangming! That bastard Qin Shengli will definitely not admit it, and then the police won't be able to do anything. They might even say you filed a false report...that...that would be even more troublesome!"

In this era, ordinary people still have a deep-rooted sense of awe and alienation towards places like police stations and public security bureaus. Unless it's something extremely important, they would never easily step inside.

He Jianjun's reaction was exactly what Yang Guangming had expected.

"Evidence is what the police need to find."

Yang Guangming turned around and looked at He Jianjun, "Three hundred yuan, not three or five yuan. The police station won't ignore such a large sum of money being defrauded."

Once a case is filed, they will naturally find a way to investigate.

Qin Shengli has been spending money extravagantly in recent months. As long as his expenses are investigated, and whether he has gambling or other bad habits, clues can always be found.

As the person reporting the case, I only need to provide what I know and the areas of suspicion I have.

He Jianjun was somewhat bewildered by Yang Guangming's clear and logical words.

In his memory, Yang Guangming, although a person with his own ideas, should have been angry, impulsive, and at a loss when faced with this kind of situation. How could he suddenly become so...so calm, as if he had everything under control?

“But… will this work?” He Jianjun was still somewhat hesitant. “What if… what if Qin Shengli’s family has connections? You have no evidence… and I seem to remember that one of his relatives drives for the government.”

“If there are connections, then it’s even more important to resolve this through proper channels,” Yang Guangming said calmly.

His tone carried a calmness that He Jianjun found unfamiliar: "If we resolve this privately, his connections might become his leverage, allowing him to bully us even more."

Once you arrive at the police station, everything must be done according to policy and law.

No matter how strong his connections are, he wouldn't dare to openly protect a fraudster.

Even if things don't work out this time, I've made my stance clear: this isn't over. But how many investigations can an unemployed man withstand?

He Jianjun opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but then felt that Yang Guangming's words seemed to make sense. It's just that this sense of reasoning was different from the "reasoning" he usually understood.

He always felt uneasy.

“How about…” He Jianjun thought for a moment and offered another suggestion, “How about we go to his house and talk to his father first? Qin Shengli’s father is a fourth-level worker at the lumber mill; he’s a decent man and has some self-respect. Maybe he can control his son and get the money back? It’s better than going directly to the police station, which… that would completely ruin things, and then…”

He Jianjun's character was on full display at this moment.

He sympathizes with his friends and hates liars, but when it comes to taking tough measures that could lead to greater conflict and uncertain consequences, he subconsciously leans towards a more moderate and lenient approach.

Advising Yang Guangming to contact the other party's parents first was both a practical consideration and a manifestation of his inner weakness, a desire to avoid the most intense confrontation.

Yang Guangming understood He Jianjun's idea, but he did not intend to adopt it.

“There’s no need.” He shook his head. “Qin Shengli dared to cheat people out of money like this, so his family might not be completely unaware. Even if they were unaware, they would most likely protect him now. Going to his father would only lead to wrangling and shirking responsibility, and we might end up getting scolded for not having any evidence to frame his son. It would be a waste of time and breath, and we’d just end up feeling angry.”

He walked up to He Jianjun, patted his old classmate who genuinely cared about him on the shoulder, and spoke in a gentle but firm tone:

“Jianjun, I know you mean well. But I’ve thought this through. Reporting it to the police is the most direct and effective way. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. You should go to work as usual, and you don’t need to take leave. I’ll tell you the situation when I get back from the police station.”

He Jianjun looked into Yang Guangming's clear and firm eyes, and saw a composure and confidence in them that he had never seen in the other person before.

As if overnight, this young man, who had been crushed by a heavy blow, was reborn.

He hesitated for a moment, then swallowed his words of dissuasion. Yang Guangming had already made up his mind; further persuasion would be futile and might even damage their friendship.

"Well... alright then." He Jianjun sighed, his worry still lingering. "You... go to the police station, be careful what you say, just explain the situation clearly, don't... don't get too agitated. If... if the police don't care, or if anything happens... come back, and we'll think of another way."

"Don't worry." Yang Guangming smiled, a smile that carried a reassuring power. "Nothing will happen. You go ahead and get busy, don't let it interfere with your work."

He Jianjun gave a few more instructions before leaving the room, looking back several times, and went to work in the lobby of the guesthouse.

His anxiety was not completely dispelled by Yang Guangming's confidence.

The room fell silent again.

Yang Guangming straightened his old cotton-padded coat, making sure that although it looked worn, it was still relatively clean.

He looked at his blurry reflection in the windowpane again, adjusting his facial expression once more, concealing the composure that belonged to his fourth-generation soul, and letting the indignation of his current situation, as well as a hint of the stubbornness that a young man should have when seeking justice, emerge between his brows and eyes.

Once he was ready, he opened the door and went out.

Walk through the quiet corridor, down the creaking wooden stairs, and arrive at the first floor of the guesthouse.

He Jianjun was wiping the table behind the service desk when he saw Yang Guangming come down and gave him a concerned glance. Yang Guangming nodded slightly to him to reassure him, and then walked straight out of the guesthouse.

The cold March wind swept in, carrying the dust and coal smoke characteristic of the county town.

With the sunlight clearly indicating the direction, I walked towards the location of the Pingyang County Public Security Bureau that I remembered.

The buildings lining the streets were mostly low and old, with faded slogans painted on their walls. Pedestrians hurried by, their faces mostly sallow and malnourished. Occasionally, a bicycle would pass by, its bell ringing crisply, drawing the attention of passersby.

All of this was both familiar and strange to Yang Guangming, who had absorbed memories from five lifetimes. He was familiar with the atmosphere and predicament unique to this era, but strange because this was the first time he had walked the streets of this time with such an identity and mindset.

He showed no signs of nervousness and walked with a steady gait.

After walking for about ten minutes and crossing two main streets, the sign for the Pingyang County Public Security Bureau came into view. The gray courtyard wall and the green-painted wooden door were open, revealing the equally simple brick and tile bungalows inside.

The police station is located in a row of buildings on the east side of the Public Security Bureau compound.

Yang Guangming took a deep breath and went inside. (End of Chapter)