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

Chapter 38. Office Life
Yang Guangming pulled out a chair and sat down. The wooden chair creaked slightly. He gently stroked the cool tabletop, feeling this little new world that belonged to him.

He raised his head, his gaze calmly sweeping over his three very different colleagues in the office:

Master Zhou, calm and composed, immersed in his own world; Sister Zhang, passionate and with eyes as warm as spring; and Li Weidong, young yet aloof and engrossed in his manuscript, seemingly building an invisible barrier.

This small, slightly outdated secretariat office was his first foothold in this vibrant era, in the new and vast world of the Red Star Factory.

Yang Guangming took a slow, deep breath, as if trying to imprint the scent of this new environment into his lungs.

He opened the brand-new notebook that smelled of fresh paper pulp, picked up the heavy dip pen, unscrewed the ink bottle cap, and dipped the nib into the thick black ink.

Then, at the very top of the title page, he carefully and meticulously wrote his name and the date. The pen tip glided across the paper with a firm, scratching sound.

Yang Guangming sat down at his slightly worn-out desk and neatly arranged his newly acquired notebooks, ink bottles, fountain pens, and stacks of manuscript paper that smelled of ink from the printing factory.

This small space was the dock where he officially set sail in this fiery era.

Sister Zhang Yuqin was clearly a kind-hearted person. She put down the navy blue sweater she was knitting, the knitting needles nimbly dancing on her fingertips before stopping.

She turned to the side, a warm, slightly curious smile spreading across her face, and began a seemingly casual conversation in a perfectly measured tone:
"Xiaoyang, is your house far from the factory? Is it convenient for you to come over?"

As she asked, she picked up the thermos and poured hot water into her enamel mug, which was printed with the bright red words "Advanced Producer." The red paint on the mug was already somewhat faded.

Yang Guangming immediately put down the pen he had just picked up, turned slightly towards Sister Zhang, and smiled sincerely and humbly, with the respect of a newcomer:
"Thank you for your concern, Sister Zhang. It's not too far, it's alright from here, about a half-hour walk, but taking the bus is even faster. The air is fresh in the morning, so a walk is quite pleasant."

"Oh, that's not far at all." Sister Zhang nodded, and the conversation flowed naturally, as smoothly as the threads of a knitted sweater, "Is your family large and prosperous? Are you taking over your mother's job? Or did you find your own way in the business?"

Her gaze seemed casual, yet it carried a sense of inquiry born from life experience, as if she were weighing the texture of a new cloth.

Yang Guangming understood perfectly well that this level of inquiry was unavoidable in any new environment.

He answered flawlessly and calmly: "My family is a working-class family, and there are quite a few people in it."

As for the job... I was lucky. The factory was hiring, and I met the requirements, so I got the job.

He skillfully avoided the sensitive issue of whether it was "taking over" or "having connections," and never mentioned Zhao Guodong's name, attributing everything to "luck" and "meeting the conditions," his words carrying a sense of self-assurance.

Sister Zhang gave an "Oh," drawing out the last syllable slightly, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Her smile deepened, carrying a hint of knowing mischief.

"You're so young and handsome, have you found a boyfriend yet? There are plenty of nice girls in our factory, would you like Sister Zhang to keep an eye out for you?"

The fine lines at the corners of her eyes gathered, sparkling with a good-natured teasing.

"Sister Zhang, please stop teasing me." Yang Guangming feigned perfectly timed embarrassment, cleverly changing the subject:

"Since I've just started working, I should focus on learning and not let my superiors down."

He picked up his pen and made two quick, clean strokes on the spread-out manuscript paper, silently announcing that he was ready to begin "studying".

Zhang Yuqin chuckled heartily and didn't press further: "That's true, it's good that the young man is ambitious!"

The office seemed to have returned to calm, but the conversation between Yang Guangming and Sister Zhang was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating different ripples in the hearts of the other two people.

Old Zhou Bingsheng, sitting by the window, was still engrossed in the Reference News, his thick glasses reflecting the grayish-white light from outside, almost obscuring half of his face.

He picked up the cup of dark, thick tea, took a slow sip, his Adam's apple bobbing gently beneath his relaxed skin as he let out a satisfied sigh.

He seemed oblivious to Zhang Yuqin's questioning and his new colleague's answers, as focused as a meditating monk.

But Yang Guangming keenly caught out of the corner of his eye that, between the moments when Yang Guangming was flipping through the newspaper, Yang Guangming's gaze from behind his glasses had briefly swept over him without any emotion, like a barely perceptible breeze across the water, before sinking back into the lines of the newspaper.

To him, the new and old staff coming and going in the factory office secretariat were nothing more than a constantly changing backdrop in this office.

He was a skilled writer with extensive experience, and the "pillar of stability" in the factory when it came to writing important reports. As long as his own stagnant pool remained undisturbed, he didn't care whether the newcomers were dragons or tigers; they were all just fleeting clouds.

The distant gunfire and negotiations reported in the newspapers were his true spiritual battlefield.

However, Li Weidong, sitting at the very back wearing black-rimmed glasses, was far less detached than Lao Zhou.

He held an old fountain pen with a gleaming barrel in his hand, the nib hovering above the spread-out manuscript paper, not falling for a long time, as if frozen in mid-air.

While seemingly concentrating on composing materials, her ears were like the most sophisticated radar, capturing every single syllable of Zhang Jie and Yang Guangming's words.

When Yang Guangming mentioned "good luck," his fingers gripping the pen tightened unconsciously.

The Shanghai-brand watch on Yang Guangming's wrist, still shiny despite being about 70% new, glittered in the dim light streaming through the window, like a tiny thorn that unexpectedly pierced Li Weidong's eyes.

Where would a newly hired clerk get the money to buy a watch? Is he from a wealthy family? Or... does he have some other backing?

When Sister Zhang tentatively asked about "connections," Yang Guangming's vague and evasive answer made Li Weidong's heart sink even further.

(End of this chapter)