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

Chapter 78, Section 77: A Bloody Lesson!
Yang Guangming's heart skipped a beat, and his throat tightened slightly, but he maintained a calm facade.
"That's right, my older siblings are working in the countryside, and the conditions are very difficult. We wanted to send them some food to improve their lives."

He carefully chose his words, replacing the sensitive "adjustment" with the more ambiguous and safer "make," explaining, "Mainly... some dried rice noodles, and homemade honey."

"Rice noodles? Honey?" The old man's brows immediately furrowed as if pulled by an invisible thread, forming two knots. His face instantly became wary, as if he had heard some forbidden code.

He put down the receipt in his hand, leaned forward slightly, and spoke in a lower voice across the high counter, with the cautiousness of someone with experience, almost a whisper:
"Young comrade, I know you mean well. But neither of these two items can be sent! The policy is firmly in place! You can't even touch them!"

Yang Guangming's heart sank suddenly, as if a block of ice had fallen. He was unwilling to give up, clinging to the last shred of hope:
"Master, rice noodles are a processed product made from rice, so... well, they're not exactly raw grains, are they? The honey is homegrown, and it's not listed in the unified purchase and sale catalog..."

"Processed products?" The old man seemed to be struck by Yang Guangming's "naive" rebuttal. A helpless yet extremely serious smile appeared on his lips. There was no smile in that smile, only a heavy admonition.

His thin, bony hand reached under the counter and rummaged around for a while before pulling out a thick booklet with worn, curled edges and yellowed pages that looked like pickled vegetables—"Compilation of Regulations on Prohibited and Restricted Postal Items".

He expertly turned to a page, his thin, ink-stained fingers digging forcefully into the rigid, lead-printed characters:
"Look for yourself! It's written in black and white! 'Grains and their products' include, but are not limited to, rice, flour, miscellaneous grains, rice noodles, rice vermicelli, pastries... everything! Not a single one can escape!"
'Cooking oils and meat products' include ham, bacon, sausages... they're all on the list!
Our Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications has ironclad, clearly written regulations!
After the implementation of the unified purchase and distribution policy in 1953, the private mailing of these items was strictly prohibited!

Catching them is a matter of utmost importance!

He pronounced each word heavily, like a hammer striking a chopping board.

He paused, looking at Yang Guangming's face, which had become solemn, his gaze behind his glasses carrying a heavy, almost compassionate admonition:

Don't think I'm just trying to scare you with empty words!
I've been sitting behind this post office counter for thirty years. What haven't I seen?

I've seen too much! My heart has hardened from all that!

He leaned closer, his voice almost a whisper, yet each word was like a thunderclap:

"A couple of years ago, right here in Shanghai, someone secretly smuggled half a pound of pumpkin seeds into a package. What happened then?"

It's a qualitative assessment of 'disguised...'!
Confiscating the package is the bare minimum; the person should also be dragged out into the street to be criticized!

Half a pound of pumpkin seeds! Don't you think he's been wronged? That's how strict the policy is! It's ruthless!

Last year, someone in the suburbs was bold enough to secretly send five pounds of peanuts. What happened then?

He was convicted of 'vandalism' and sentenced to a year of hard labor!
Five pounds of peanuts for a year's labor! Isn't that terrifying? A bloody lesson!

Yang Guangming felt a bone-chilling cold, not from the soles of his feet, but from the depths of his bones, which suddenly surged up and gripped his limbs and bones!

He had thought that “throwing…” was a term from the newspapers, something far removed from his own life. Only now did he realize that the boundary was as blurred as the edge of a razor, and the price was so heavy and bloody.

He instinctively gripped the strap of his satchel tightly; the weight of the rice noodles and honey inside felt incredibly hot to the touch, like two red-hot irons.

"Then... what about honey?" He squeezed out the last trace of resentment from his dry throat, his voice hoarse, "Honey isn't food, and... it's not meat either..." Even he himself felt weak as he said these words. The old man sighed deeply, as if lamenting the stubborn "ignorance" of the young man before him, or perhaps mourning the unyielding reality.

He closed the heavy compilation, his withered hand still pressed firmly on the worn cover, as if pressing on an unshakable seal of an era:

"Honey? Yes, it's not listed in the official catalogue for state-controlled purchase and sale. But!"

He suddenly raised his voice, "Our post office has internal operating regulations! It's written in black and white: all 'food-related supplies' are subject to grain control!"

Sending food? Unless you have a special approval slip from the county-level commerce bureau, stamped with an official red seal! Do you have one?

His sharp gaze shone like a searchlight on Yang Guangming's face, and the answer was already written on that young yet solemn face.

"Speak again."

The old man pushed up his reading glasses, which had slipped down to the tip of his nose, leaned forward, and lowered his voice, which carried a heartfelt yet incredibly realistic tone of "experience":
"Honey is mostly packaged in glass bottles and jars, which are very likely to break when it's bumpy on the road by train or car!"

Just think about it, if it breaks and oozes out sticky, sweet stuff, it will soil and damage all the other comrades' letters and packages. What kind of nonsense is that?
This is the kind of thing that the post office fears and dreads the most!
So here, when we see honey, we basically don't even look at it and refuse to accept it!
Even if... even if you're lucky enough to send it out, but it gets damaged in transit and the recipient doesn't receive it, you'll still face complaints, and the post office will hold you accountable! You'll be caught in the middle!

He leaned back slightly, against the peeling, paint-scarred wooden chair behind him, his gaze sharp as a cone, fixed intently on the sunlight.

Last year, a beekeeper in Jilin Province, with good intentions, wanted to send three kilograms of homemade honey to his relatives in the city. What happened?

The package was seized and detained as soon as it left the province! They're accusing him of "long-distance trafficking of agricultural products," what a mess!
Not only was the honey confiscated, but they were also fined thirty yuan!
Thirty yuan! That's equivalent to a city worker's monthly wage, even if they're tightening their belts!
Tell me, can you afford this risk? Can your family afford it?

Yang Guangming fell completely silent.

All the wishful thinking surging in his chest, all the carefully woven plans he had made, were as fragile as withered leaves in the autumn wind, instantly shattered and falling in the face of the high wall of reality built by the old man with one vivid and bloody case after another.

The chill had penetrated to the very core!

"Those national grain coupons..."

Almost instinctively, he tentatively and cautiously inquired about what he considered a relatively "safe" escape route:
"Could you please enclose a few notes in the letter? I don't dare send too many, just a few..."

Yang Guangming spoke very softly, trying to keep his voice at a level that only the two of them could hear, so as not to disturb others.

"Are you out of your mind!"

(End of this chapter)