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

Chapter 67. Chen Weihong visits again.
The mornings in the Shikumen alleyways are a symphony of sounds and smells that awaken you.

It was Sunday, and the sun was shining a little late. He swallowed the last mouthful of rice porridge, the salty taste of pickled cucumber still lingering on his tongue.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Tap, tap, tap.

The voice was extremely soft, carrying a cautious probing and an undisguised hesitation.

Yang Guangming's heart sank without warning.

He was familiar with the rhythm and guessed who was outside the door.

Pulling open the thin, peeling paint door, Chen Weihong crouched in the shadows of the dimly lit corridor.

She had clearly taken great care in her appearance:

The floral shirt she was wearing was a treasured possession, made of a material so thin it was almost transparent. It had been washed until it was faded, but it was ironed exceptionally smooth, with not a trace of the slightest wrinkle. The tiny floral pattern tried its best to reveal a hint of its former vibrancy.

Two jet-black braids hung down her chest, the ends of which were carefully tied with faded red ribbons, without a single stray hair, showing a deliberate, almost taut, neatness.

However, this carefully prepared appearance only made her face look even paler.

Her hands were tightly clasped together in front of her, and the tiny veins on the back of her hands were slightly bulging.

Two unnatural blushes appeared on her cheeks, as if they had been rubbed hard, or perhaps as a sign of high fever.

The most startling thing was those eyes—they shone brightly even in the dim light of the corridor.

His gaze was fixed on Yang Guangming, filled with a desperate, almost greedy expectation and eagerness that seemed to pierce through his work shirt.

Yang Guangming noticed that look last night.

At this moment, the gaze became even more naked and urgent, like a drowning person desperately grabbing the gaze of someone on the shore before dying.

"Wei Hong? Come in and have a seat."

Yang Guangming stepped aside and opened the wooden door a crack, causing it to creak slightly.

A stench of stale sweat, old wood, and cheap soap wafted from the cramped cubicle.

The vague sense of guilt that had arisen in his heart due to his "luck" now clung to him silently like vines creeping up a damp corner, making it hard for him to breathe.

Chen Weihong recoiled as if scalded by the heat emanating from the doorway, almost completely hiding herself in the darker shadow cast by the door frame.

She hurriedly shook her head, her two braids swaying as they did so, the red ribbons at the ends of her hair resembling two faint sparks.

"I won't sit anymore, I won't sit anymore, Prince Mingming!"

Her voice was soft and quick, with a noticeable breathiness, as if she was afraid that if she spoke even slightly louder, she would shatter the faint, ephemeral hope that existed only in her imagination, or disturb the neighbor next door who might be listening intently. "I... I just want to ask one question, just a few words, and I'll leave after I'm done."

She took a deep breath, her chest heaving violently, stretching her thin floral shirt and outlining the undeveloped features of the young girl.

As if using all her strength, she finally raised her eyes again. Her gaze was no longer a scattered plea, but rather like two cold nails, locking onto Yang Guangming's eyes with an unyielding penetrating power.

“Brother Mingming, you…you went to work at the factory, and you’re a high-ranking official now.”

Her voice was hoarse, each word seeming to be forced out of her throat, "Did...did you hear anything...any news?"

She paused, nervously licking her equally chapped lips with the tip of her tongue. "About...job openings... for those staying in the city?"

The word "recruitment" was as light as a feather falling to the ground.

As if that wasn't clear enough, or rather, as if that faint hope forced her to take a desperate gamble, she squeezed out a few more subtle, yet more jarring words from her almost suffocating chest:
"Or...or news about someone covering my shift?"

His voice grew softer and softer until the last few words were almost completely swallowed up by his throat, turning into a faint wisp of air.

Yang Guangming fell silent for a moment.

The air seemed to freeze in the cramped cubicle.

Only the faint sound of running water from the tap deep in the alleyway outside the window, the crisp ringing of bicycle bells on the distant road, and the intermittent cries of some unknown baby, pierced through the thin walls and cracks in the doors and windows, reminding us of the workings of the outside world.

He has indeed been paying attention lately.

While helping organize the mountain of personnel files and reports in the factory office, he casually inquired about a few things from Lao Zhang, who was in charge of personnel, during a break from delivering documents and pouring water.

Old Zhang, with a cigarette dangling from his lips and eyes squinting, uttered a message through the swirling smoke that was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head in the dead of winter, completely extinguishing any hope in his heart.

"Wei Hong." Yang Guangming spoke, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a weariness he himself was unaware of and an almost cruel clarity.

He must sever that illusory expectation swiftly; the longer he delays, the deeper the wound will become.

"I...I heard some rumors."

He deliberately avoided her scorching gaze, his eyes fixed on the worn-out cement floor beneath his feet.

Chen Weihong's body trembled violently! As if electrified, the flames in her eyes suddenly shot up high, bursting with astonishing light.

She leaned forward instinctively, her toes almost touching the threshold, and raised her hands as if she were about to pounce on him and grab his arm, eagerly pressing him for answers.

That sudden burst of vitality pierced Yang Guangming's heart.

"but."

(End of this chapter)