How did hiring someone to press a pig image during Chinese New Year become a top trend?

As Xu An walked out of the small shop filled with the aroma of fried vegetables, the Tianjin sun shone through the cool mist onto his faded, old military green cotton overcoat.

The birdcage in his arms swayed back and forth, and from under the black cloth covering it came the dissatisfied grumbling of "Er Tu Zi". The myna bird was clearly still not recovered from the bowl of "meatless dish" it had just eaten.

He looked down at the snow under his feet, which had turned black from being trampled, and kept thinking about what the older woman had said earlier. That "spinning workshop number 038" was actually called a "fool".

In this prosperous era where even roadside pancakes have three eggs, what kind of stubbornness must one possess to earn the reputation of being "foolish" in the eyes of others?

Xu An tucked his hands deep into his sleeves, his most instinctive defensive posture against the unfamiliar environment, as if the tattered cotton-padded coat was the snail shell he was walking in the concrete jungle.

He flagged down a yellow Volkswagen taxi on the roadside, his movements still somewhat hesitant, and he even subconsciously bent down towards the driver in the rearview mirror before opening the car door.

"Driver, please take me to Hedong District... that place that used to be called the No. 2 Cotton Mill, now it seems to be called Creative District."

As soon as Xu An opened his mouth, his simple and honest Henan accent made the air in the carriage feel a little more relaxed, sounding like an old well bell tolling in this bustling city.

The driver was a chubby middle-aged man with a mustache. He glanced at the birdcage in Xu An's arms through the rearview mirror, then looked at the conspicuous military overcoat, and chuckled.

"Hey, isn't this the young man from Xujia Village who delivered messages to Old Lin? I saw you on your live stream. What's this? After delivering valve cores to Ma Dazui, you got another bird?"

Xu An scratched his head somewhat awkwardly, his face as red as freshly rolled dough, and replied, "It was... given to Accountant Qian by Grandpa Ma, who asked me to take it back to Henan on my way."

"Well, old miser Qian paired with this bald guy is like dry wood meeting a raging fire; Xu Family Village is going to be quite a spectacle from now on!"

The driver laughed heartily, turned the steering wheel, and skillfully made a U-turn at the narrow alley entrance, plunging into traffic with the cage of mynah birds clamoring for payment.

Xu An quietly opened the live stream. Although it wasn't peak traffic time yet, the number of online viewers had already climbed from over 100,000 to over 500,000 in just a few minutes.

[ID Logistics Little Prince]: Anzi, let's go! Are we going to Cotton Mill No. 2? My grandpa used to be a machine repairman at Cotton Mill No. 2, and he said the red brick walls there were full of the smell of machine oil!

【ID Tianjin Sister】: Oh my, it's so artsy there now, all people taking wedding photos and drinking coffee. Anzi, if you go there in that coat, you'll probably be mistaken for performance art.

[ID Xujiacun Second Uncle]: Anzi, don't listen to their nonsense. Let's do what we need to do. If anyone dares to laugh at you, your Second Uncle will go to Tianjin to back you up!

As Xu An watched the comments, his unease subsided slightly. He pursed his lips at the camera and gave a "clear and foolish" smile.

"Everyone, stop sending gifts randomly. Save your money to buy a hot meal. I'm just doing this on someone's behalf to go and see that senior, number 038."

He didn't mention the word "fool." In his view, anyone who could engrave their employee number in their soul deserved to be gently called "master" by the world.

The car stopped at the entrance of an old factory in Hedong District. The red brick walls were painted with colorful graffiti, and the huge steel pipes had been transformed into various strange sculptures.

The music from the café drifted out from the window of what used to be the loading and unloading workshop. Groups of young people dressed in fine coats and leather shoes posed in front of the rusty spindles.

When Xu An got off the bus carrying the birdcage, a strong sense of incongruity made him stop in his tracks. He felt like an old farmer from Henan who had accidentally wandered into Alice in Wonderland.

The yellowed letter in his arms looked so shabby, even somewhat out of place, in the face of these exquisite filters and bright pop-up shops.

"Anzi, don't just stand there, come on in! I know this place well, our convoy used to unload cotton yarn here."

The driver got out of the car to smoke a cigarette and casually patted Xu An on the shoulder with a strong pat, as if he wanted to push this socially awkward young man back into his own magnetic field.

Xu An took a deep breath. The scent of cotton yarn was no longer present in the cold air; only a faint aroma of coffee and some kind of high-end perfume remained.

He carried the cage inside, and the young people around him who were taking photos all looked at him with surprise. Several of them even pointed their SLR cameras at him unconsciously.

[ID Aesthetics Translator]: Amazing! The contrast is incredible! This raw industrial wasteland style paired with the purest rural blogger creates a visually stunning effect!

[ID Old Cotton Second Son]: It's heartbreaking to see. Those coffee shop locations used to be the positions of spinning machines. Behind each machine was a lifetime of sweat.

Xu An wandered aimlessly around the park. He wanted to ask someone, but looking at the young people chatting and laughing, his throat felt like it was stuffed with a wad of old cotton.

He walked to the entrance of an old workshop that had been converted into an exhibition hall. Old photos from that time were hanging on the wall. In the photos, female workers were wearing white hats and their faces were covered with sweat from their hard work.

Just then, the "Er Tu Zi" in my arms suddenly went crazy, jumping up and down in the cage. The black bird let out a shriek, and its voice was no longer "pay back the money."

"Sizzle—sizzle! Sizzle—sizzle!"

The sound was extremely strange; it was neither like a bird's call nor a human voice, but rather like the shrill whistling of some rusty machine parts rubbing together as they spun at high speed.

An old man who was strolling around nearby was squatting by the wall smoking a pipe when he heard the sound and suddenly stood up, almost dropping his pipe.

The old man was wearing a worn-out blue work uniform, the fabric so faded from washing that its original color was no longer discernible. Only two blurred characters remained embroidered on the left chest.

He strode up to Xu An, and a light suddenly flashed in his cloudy eyes that made Xu An's heart tremble as he stared intently at the birdcage.

"Kid, you bird...where did you hear that sound? That's an old problem with spinning machines, the sound of bearings grinding together!"

The old man's hands trembled slightly as he reached out his calloused hands, some of which were deformed, to touch the birdcage.

Xu An subconsciously took a step back, but when he saw the glistening moisture in the old man's eyes, he stopped. This was the first kindred spirit he had encountered in this cold and impersonal creative district.

"This is... a bird that Grandpa Ma gave me. He brought it from an alley in Tianjin."

Xu An explained in a low voice, his intuition telling him that the old man definitely knew the nameless number 038.

The old man didn't speak, but simply closed his eyes. To the jarring sound of the imitation, his body involuntarily swayed slightly—a rhythm of production ingrained in his very bones.

"Number 038... Were you looking for that idiot? That is... Liu Dewang?"

The old man's voice was very low, as if he were searching for some kind of long-forgotten memory in the air. His gaze fell once again on Xu An's military overcoat.

Xu An solemnly took the letter out of his bag. The crude spindle pattern on the envelope was particularly eye-catching in the sunlight; it was a secret code left over from the previous era.

"Where is he? I have a letter to deliver to him personally. It was asked to be brought to me by an old lady from Xujia Village."

The old man sighed deeply and pointed to the deepest part of the park, where a lonely little red building stood that had never been renovated; it was the old power distribution room.

"He just stood there, guarding the gate for thirty years. Everyone said he was stupid; when the factory went bankrupt, he refused to accept the compensation and insisted on staying there to watch over that scrapped prototype machine, number 038."

"He said that was his apprentice whom he had trained, and also proof that he was still alive. He couldn't leave until the prototype was dismantled."

Xu An, carrying the cage, thanked the old man and walked step by step toward the "isolated island" surrounded by prosperity.

The chat in the live stream became unusually solemn at that moment. In front of millions of screens, everyone was following that shaky camera, traversing the gap of time and space.

In front of the little red building, a hunched figure was holding a worn-out broom, diligently sweeping away the non-existent snow in front of the door.

He swept slowly, glancing back at the huge shadow in the room, completely covered by the canvas, after each sweep.

Xu An stopped five meters away, looking at the person who was defined as a "fool" by the times. The person raised his head, and his eyes were so clear that they almost overlapped with Xu An's.

"Master, number 038... is on duty."

Xu An suddenly blurted out this sentence. He didn't know why he said it. Perhaps the wind along the way had taught him how to open a closed heart.

The old man dropped his broom on the ground. He looked at Xu An, then at the myna bird in Xu An's hand that could mimic the roar of a machine, his lips trembling violently.

"You mean... who came back? Was it Old Zhou? Or... that year's March 3rd?"

Xu An stepped forward, knelt on one knee in front of the old man, looked directly into his weathered eyes, and respectfully held the letter with "038" written on it above his head.

"The letter has returned, and the person didn't disgrace themselves. Number 038... requests to rejoin the team."

The old man tremblingly took the letter, and the moment he opened the envelope, a yellowed photograph fell onto the red brick floor.

Two young workers stood in front of the rows of spinning machines, their smiles brighter than the Tianjin sunshine. A line of text was written on the back of the photo:

"It's a promise, in this lifetime we'll spin enough thread to mend clothes for all the people of China."

The old man suddenly covered his face and let out a sob, like a kite with a broken string, in front of the power distribution room surrounded by the new era.

Xu An stood there without offering comfort. He knew that the crying at this moment was the result of the thread that had been broken for thirty years finally being reconnected.

In the live stream, the number of fans suddenly broke through the million mark in that one second, and the screen was filled with "tribute" like a grand memorial.

Just as Xu An was about to help the old man up, a slight clicking sound, like some kind of device being activated, suddenly came from under the prototype covered by the canvas.

It was as if that steel behemoth, silent for thirty years, was trying to slowly awaken from its hibernation after hearing the long-lost code.