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

Chapter 69. Childhood Friends Reunite
Chen Weihong took another deep breath.

This time, the aura carried a tremor that seemed to come from the depths of a distant icy plain, faint yet clear.

"Brother Mingming, I...I can't wait any longer."

Her gaze passed over the bright sunlight and landed on the dusty walls of the cubicle, as if penetrating through them to see the varnished desks of the neighborhood office and the serious faces of the staff.

"The neighborhood committee kept urging me, coming to my door time and time again, saying that if I didn't register, it wouldn't just be me who would be in trouble for going to the countryside..."

A crack finally appeared in her voice, "It's going to affect...affect the family..."

She withdrew her gaze, refocusing it on Yang Guangming's face. His eyes were terrifyingly empty, yet they carried a resolute air of utter despair and resignation. He spoke clearly, word by word:
“I…I’ll go to the neighborhood committee today and sign up to go to the countryside.”

This is not a discussion, nor a venting, but the reading of a final verdict.

Each word is like a pebble painstakingly dug out of frozen soil.

Yang Guangming opened his mouth, but his throat felt like it was stuffed with a wad of water-soaked cotton, dry and astringent, and he couldn't make a sound.

Any words of comfort would seem pale, hypocritical, or even cruel at this moment.

What could he say?
They say "the vast countryside tempers the red heart"? They say "accepting re-education from poor and lower-middle peasants is a glorious mission"?
He felt an immense sense of powerlessness, like an ant facing a raging tsunami.

In the end, he simply nodded heavily, as if even this simple action had exhausted his strength, and managed to squeeze out a few dry words:
"Wei Hong, you... take care of your health."

This pale instruction seemed so insignificant in the face of the unknown fate that was about to unfold.

Chen Weihong did not speak again, nor did she nod or shake her head.

She simply looked at Yang Guangming deeply, very deeply.

The look in his eyes was so complex that it was hard to describe in words.

There was a lingering envy for his stable future; there was a bottomless sense of loss; there was a numb acceptance of one's fate.

It was as if overnight, she had traversed countless mountains and rivers, exhausting all her vitality.

Then, she turned around very slowly.

The faded floral shirt she had specially changed into now only made her thin, frail back look even more lonely, instead of adding any brightness to her appearance.

Like a withered leaf that remains on a branch in late autumn, ready to be blown away by a cold wind at any moment, it is so fragile that it is worrying.

She did not look back.

My steps were unsteady, as if I were walking on thick cotton, one step deep and one step shallow, until I blended into the darker shadows at the end of the corridor and moved toward the staircase leading to the courtyard.

Yang Guangming stood by the door, his right hand still gripping the cold door frame, watching her thin shoulders sag slightly with each step.

That once vibrant and energetic figure now exudes a profound sense of desolation, as if all its vitality has been drained away. That desolation permeates the dim air, heavier than any heart-wrenching wail, making one's heart tighten and suffocate.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs, hollow and slow, one after another, until they finally disappeared into the sounds of everyday life in the courtyard below.

Yang Guangming gently closed the door, and the old hinges let out a long, weary sigh.

After seeing off Chen Weihong's thin yet resolute figure, Yang Guangming pressed his back heavily against the cold door, his heart feeling as if it were weighed down by a lead weight.

A narrow ray of light slanted into the alleyway courtyard, stretching his solitary shadow long and thin, almost reaching the mottled wall opposite.

He shook his head violently, his short stubble drawing a short arc in the dim light, as if trying to shake off the melancholy that lingered in his heart.

Today is Tiger Head's Day.

He quickly composed himself and carefully adjusted the collar of his new work shirt in front of the small round mirror on the wall by the door, making sure that every crease was neat and every button was fastened perfectly.

The young man's face in the mirror still held a trace of solemnity between his brows, but his eyes had regained their light and returned to their usual composure and restraint.

He pulled open the top drawer of the chest of drawers and took out several large sheets of thick, rough paper with frayed edges, as well as a brand-new kraft paper bag—the bag was sturdy and printed with the striking red characters "Red Star State Cotton Mill".

He specifically picked this up from the factory yesterday, wanting it to be sturdy and presentable.

Carefully tucking the toilet paper under his arm, he pushed open the door and walked briskly across the courtyard, which felt somewhat cramped due to the high walls on both sides.

"Mingming went out?" Li Guihua, who was washing a few pieces of work clothes by the tap, looked up and wiped her wet hands on her apron.

"Okay, I'll meet up with Hu Tou and Yan Jun." Yang Guangming responded without stopping.

Instead of heading straight for the small park, he skillfully turned into a narrower side alley, winding his way through the narrow lanes until his figure disappeared into that quiet, deserted dead-end alley once again.

He quickly scanned the area, confirming that both ends of the alley were empty and deserted. He immediately focused his mind and held his breath, his consciousness instantly sinking into that strange space that belonged only to him.

A thought flashes through my mind: a plate of braised beef with a bright red color and clear marble-like texture; a whole roast goose with golden and crispy skin, the fat under the skin seemingly about to drip at any moment; a large box of braised duck gizzards with a rich soy sauce aroma, neatly arranged; and that box of drunken chicken that has reappeared, with its crystal clear aspic and a faint aroma of wine.

Four kinds of solid meat, gently enveloped by an invisible force, appeared one after another in the originally empty brown paper bag in his hand.

A heavy, satisfying feel suddenly came through. Immediately afterwards, several rich, meaty aromas mingled together, instantly engulfing all the stale smells in the alley.

Yang Guangming didn't dare to delay. He quickly and carefully wrapped and tied the various meats in thick straw paper, then stuffed them all back into the brown paper bag and sealed the bag tightly.

The heavy paper bag was held in my hand again. The overpowering aroma that was about to overflow was finally mostly contained by the thick straw paper and the tough kraft paper bag, leaving only a few stubborn wisps to escape.

He determined the direction, and carrying this heavy sentiment, he walked briskly towards the small park.

From afar, two familiar figures could be seen standing beside the mottled stone table in the old spot.

(End of this chapter)