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

Chapter 89, Section 88: Highly Recommended
He pressed his fingers hard on the key parts of the document, his nails tapping on the paper with a "thump-thump" sound, as if he wanted to scoop out all the frameworks and accumulated experience from his mind and stuff them into Yang Guangming's head.

Finally, he stared intently into Yang Guangming's eyes, his gaze sharp as a needle, filled with a desperate gamble and a deep-seated expectation, and whispered in a barely audible voice:

"Xiaoyang! This is your chance! I believe in you! You absolutely must seize it! Write it well!"

He said nothing more, but patted Yang Guangming's shoulder twice forcefully and heavily, the force conveying a silent, weighty responsibility.

Immediately, he picked up the old canvas bag that he had already packed, and staggered out of the office door, almost stumbling, without even leaving a farewell glance.

Seeing this scene, Li Weidong felt a chilling despair mixed with an even stronger sourness, like an ice pick piercing his heart, instantly rising to his throat, almost suffocating him and causing him to gag.

Zhou Bingsheng's urgent and undisguised entrustment, and Director Han's unwavering and self-righteous designation, were like two heavy hammers carrying thunder and lightning, striking his already fragile heart hard.

He knew that since the last major accident, he had probably been blacklisted by Director Han and labeled as "unusable".

A full-time secretary? He didn't even dare to think about it anymore; that dream, once within reach, had been shattered into dust.

But looking at this golden opportunity that could have belonged to Zhou Bingsheng but has now fallen into Yang Guangming's lap like a bolt from the blue, the intense resentment and jealousy were like poisoned vines, frantically wrapping around, tightening, and gnawing at his internal organs.

Why? Just because he's good at currying favor? Because he can get ahead of the boss?

He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into the soft flesh of his palms, causing a sharp, stinging pain. His gums even tasted a trace of the metallic, metallic taste of blood he had bitten out himself.

He lowered his head, his neck stiff, as if trying to shrink himself into the old wooden chair. A heavy gloom seemed to overflow from his downcast eyes and permeate his surroundings.

The air in the office became thick and heavy, and every breath carried a humiliating sting and a chilling despair.

He felt himself being completely swallowed up by an invisible darkness!

Han Mingqian seemed completely oblivious to the oppressive aura emanating from Li Weidong in the corner; his attention was entirely focused on Yang Guangming.

"The materials are all on Lao Zhou's desk and in the documents he just mentioned."

He pointed to Zhou Bingsheng's messy desk and said, "Go and retrieve the relevant files in the archives immediately, and tell them that they are urgent documents that I specially approved."

Time is tight; I must produce a first draft for Director Zhao to review before leaving get off work tomorrow afternoon.

"Just write freely, don't feel pressured. If you're unsure about anything, feel free to come to me."

His tone was calm, carrying a tacit trust in Yang Guangming's abilities.

"Yes, Director Han! I'll take care of it right away." Yang Guangming replied in a deep voice, without any unnecessary words, his eyes calm and firm, like the waters of a deep pool.

He immediately began to organize the materials left by Zhou Bingsheng in an orderly manner, gathering the scattered papers and stacking the important documents separately, his movements swift and focused.

Watching Yang Guangming carrying a thick stack of documents, he walked steadily and swiftly towards the archives at the end of the corridor, his figure disappearing around the corner.

Han Mingqian stood still, pondering for a moment.

He picked up the task requirements and the few messy, hastily written outlines left by Zhou Bingsheng, turned and left the secretariat, heading straight for Deputy Factory Director Zhao Guodong's office on the second floor. His leather shoes clattered crisply and rhythmically on the terrazzo stairs.

When the door was opened, Zhao Guodong was bent over his desk reviewing documents, his brows slightly furrowed, appearing very engrossed.

Han Mingqian walked to the large desk, cleared his throat, and tried to adjust his pronunciation, speaking in Mandarin with obvious retroflex consonants—he knew that the factory director from Beijing was more accustomed to hearing Mandarin: "Director Zhao, I'd like to report to you on the speech draft."

Zhao Guodong raised his head, his sharp gaze fixed on him, questioning, like two beams of searchlight.

"The situation has changed somewhat unexpectedly."

Han Mingqian spoke at a steady pace, trying to express himself as clearly as possible, carefully considering each word:

"Comrade Zhou Bingsheng had an emergency at home. His grandson had a high fever and convulsions. The situation was very critical. He just took leave and rushed the child to the hospital."

He truly cannot finish the manuscript.

He observed Zhao Guodong's reaction, noticing his slightly furrowed brows, but his eyes behind the glasses didn't reveal much emotion. He simply gestured for him to continue, and then went on to say:
Before leaving, Lao Zhou strongly recommended Comrade Yang Guangming to take over.

He particularly emphasized that Comrade Xiaoyang has made remarkable progress recently, and his grasp of the policy spirit and its integration with the actual work in the factory are getting better and better.

His writing skills have also improved significantly, and we believe he is fully capable and confident of taking on this important task.

"I'm 'confident,'" were Lao Zhou's exact words.

Zhao Guodong leaned back slightly, away from the table, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Fingers tapped lightly on the smooth wooden table, producing a rhythmic, soft sound.

A clear look of surprise and inquiry crossed his face: "Oh? Zhou Bingsheng... strongly recommends Yang Guangming? And even emphasized that he's 'confident'?"

The Yang Guangming he remembered was a young man who was quick and efficient at repairing cars and spoke impeccably at the dinner table; he was the promising young man that Han Mingqian had mentioned.

But to write such a high-profile speech that represents the factory's image and is to be presented at a city-wide conference, and to receive "strong recommendation" and "confidence" from Zhou Bingsheng, a seasoned writer known for his meticulousness and even aloofness.

This is no ordinary amount!

"Director Han." Zhao Guodong put his glasses back on, his gaze, heavy with scrutiny, fixed on Han Mingqian through the lenses. "What do you think about Xiao Yang taking on such an important manuscript? Are you confident? This represents the face of our Red Star Factory; we can't afford to be careless in the slightest."

"Director Zhao."

Han Mingqian stood ramrod straight, meeting the scrutinizing gaze, his tone firm, still speaking in somewhat broken but clear Mandarin:

"Although Comrade Xiao Yang is young, he has a rare composure and outstanding learning ability and comprehension. He can grasp things very quickly."

Since he took over the job, the documents he has handled have shown remarkable progress in terms of both formatting and content logic, and his improvement has been rapid.

In particular, the outline of Secretary Tian's speech on mobilizing for technological innovation last time was conceived and completed independently by him. The structure was very solid and the key points were grasped extremely accurately.

The final draft that you and Secretary Tian saw was based on his core structure and was quite rigorous.

In that extremely urgent situation, Lao Zhou didn't refuse; instead, he strongly recommended him and said unequivocally that he was "confident."

I believe this was absolutely not just polite talk, but rather a suggestion to let Xiaoyang take on this task based on a deep understanding and high regard for his actual work abilities.

(End of this chapter)