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

The dull "click" sound was like the heartbeat of some sleeping behemoth; though faint, it traveled along the red brick floor and penetrated straight into the soles of everyone present.

Liu Dewang's hand, which was opening the letter, suddenly froze in mid-air. He didn't bother to wipe away his tears and lunged at the pile of canvas behind him as if he had been electrocuted.

"Old buddy...did you hear that? You know...that was a letter from Number 038, right?"

The old man's hands, deformed from years of handling wrenches, gripped the corner of the canvas tightly, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the force.

The young people who were posing for wedding photos or drinking coffee nearby were all attracted by the commotion.

Some people were holding up their phones, some were pointing and whispering, and the sounds of whispering filled the air like flies.

"That old man is going crazy again. I heard he's raising that pile of junk as his son."

"I heard this land is worth tens of millions, but he just won't leave. I've seen many holdouts like this; he must be upset that the compensation wasn't enough."

"What a waste of this good land. It would have been so much better to build an art museum there. Instead, it's been turned into a dilapidated power distribution room."

Xu An stood to the side, listening to these words, his fists clenched involuntarily inside his sleeves.

Despite his social anxiety, these barbed words were grating to his ears, but the stubbornness he felt because of his "grievances" overpowered his urge to run away.

He took a step forward, using his slender frame to shield Liu Dewang from the gossip.

"Sir, please lift it up."

Xu An's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a unique firmness.

"Let them see if what you've been guarding for thirty years is really just scrap metal."

Liu Dewang turned around, looked at Xu An, and then at the bald boy in Xu An's hand who was frantically struggling in the cage and making a "buzzing" sound from his mouth.

The old man's eyes changed.

It was a gaze that went from turbid to clear in an instant, and then burned from that clarity into flames.

"Okay! Lift it!"

"I'll show these immature kids how Tianjin used to turn cotton into these clothes!"

Liu Dewang roared, focused his energy in his dantian, and pulled hard with both hands.

"Splash—!"

The huge gray canvas slid down like the receding tide, raising a cloud of accumulated dust.

Under the sunlight, the dust cloud resembled a golden mist, and after the mist dissipated, a steel structure gleaming with a cold metallic luster suddenly appeared in everyone's sight.

That's not scrap metal.

It was an old-fashioned spinning machine prototype that was in near-perfect condition.

Every gear was polished until it shone, every connecting rod was coated with pale yellow machine oil, and even the nameplate on it was polished to the shine of a mirror.

The nameplate is engraved with a line of red text: [1968, Tianjin Textile Machinery Factory, Prototype Machine No. 038].

At that moment, the two million viewers in the live stream seemed to hold their breath for a second.

This is no ordinary piece of scrap metal; it's practically an artwork from the industrial age, possessing a unique, heavy yet powerful aesthetic characteristic of that era.

[ID: Master Craftsman]: My God! This is the first generation of spinning machine independently developed back then! This is a cultural relic! This old man is guarding a national treasure!

[ID: Cotton Second Son]: That was something more precious than our lives... Back then, so many engineers slept in the workshop to build it... My grandfather was one of them.

[Anonymous User ID]: Who just said this was scrap metal? Step forward! This shine is brighter than your sports car!

Ignoring the gasps of surprise around him, Liu Dewang shakily pulled a crank wrapped in red cloth from his pocket.

He walked to the side of the machine and inserted the crank handle into the hole he had inserted countless times before.

"Old buddy, it hasn't rung in thirty years. Today, number 038 sent a message. Let's reply!"

The old man took a deep breath and, with all his might, began to crank the handle.

"Crunch... crunch..."

At first, the sound was rough, like an old man's joints cracking.

Upon seeing this, Xu An put the birdcage on the ground without saying a word, strode over, and grasped the other end of the crank handle with both hands.

"Grandpa, I'm strong, let me help you."

An old man and a young boy, two equally rough hands, were folded together.

"One, two, go!"

As the two exerted their strength, the huge flywheel began to slowly rotate.

"Buzz—!"

A deep rumble began to rise in front of the power distribution room. It was the sound of gears meshing, belts rubbing together, and the most primal dialogue between metals.

The sounds grew louder and denser, eventually coalescing into a wave of sound like a tsunami.

"Boom! Boom!"

The sound not only drowned out the bourgeois atmosphere of the coffee shop next door, but even made the surrounding graffiti walls tremble slightly.

Just then, the myna bird named Ertuzi in the birdcage on the ground suddenly seemed to receive some kind of summons.

It suddenly spread its wings, raised its head, its beady green eyes widened, and let out an extremely high-pitched shriek.

"Sizzle—! Sizzle—!"

The sound perfectly matched the high-frequency friction sound of the bearings when the machine was turning!

The machines were roaring, and the birds were providing accompaniment.

This scene was absurd, yet so shocking it sent chills down one's spine.

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Liu Dewang finally broke down in tears.

He let go, allowing Xu An to crank the flywheel alone, while he himself shakily unfolded the letter.

The letter was thin, with only one line of crooked handwriting, the handwriting looking like it came from the hand of an old man whose hands were shaking badly.

Master, I am Er Ya.

I heard the broadcast in Xujia Village saying that Cotton Mill No. 2 had been demolished. I thought, with your stubborn temper, you're probably still guarding that machine.

"I'm a grandma now, and my hands aren't strong enough to mend a broken thread."

But I want to tell you, you were right not to let us dismantle that machine back then.

As long as the machine is still there, the spirit remains.

Enclosed in this letter is a shuttle I stole from the loom years ago. I've kept it my whole life, and now it's being returned to its rightful owner.

[Operator No. 038 requests shift handover.]

After reading it, Liu Dewang poured out the wooden shuttle, which had been polished smooth like jade, from the envelope.

He pressed the shuttle tightly against his stubble-covered face and cried like a child who had lost a toy and then found it again.

"Er Ya... silly girl..."

"Master isn't stupid...Master is just afraid...afraid that if this machine is dismantled, future generations won't know where all our hard work from back then went!"

The old man's cries mingled with the roar of the machines, making one's heart ache.

In the live stream, the screen was completely covered by comments, making it impossible to see the image.

[ID tearful]: It turns out that the "fool" is because he is too clear-headed, so clear-headed about what he cannot lose.

[Village Chief of Xujiacun ID]: Er Ya! That's Aunt Zhang Guilan from our village! She worked as a machine operator in Tianjin when she was young! So she was number 038!

[ID Official Culture & Tourism]: We are contacting relevant departments in Hedong District. This machine must be preserved in its original location! We also need to provide Mr. Liu with a stipend! He is a guardian!

Xu An's arms ached from shaking them, but he dared not stop.

He felt that as long as the machine was still running, the spirit of that era was still burning.

It wasn't until Liu Dewang calmed down a bit that he came over and gently patted Xu An's hand.

"Alright, kid, stop now."

"If you keep shaking it, this old man's bones will fall apart."

Xu An finally let go, panting as he leaned against the red brick wall, his forehead covered in sweat.

The roar of the machines gradually subsided, finally returning to silence.

The young people who had been watching the spectacle were now all silent.

It's unclear who started it, but a young man dressed in hip-hop style suddenly bowed deeply to Liu Dewang and the machine.

Then came the second, the third...

Those young people, adorned in fashion, bowed their proud heads at that moment, before the old man covered in grease and the heavy machine.

This is a sign of respect for history, and also an apology to the "fool".

Seeing this scene, Xu An finally felt relieved.

He picked up the birdcage from the ground and quietly retreated while everyone was watching the machine and the old man.

The feeling of being stared at by hundreds of people was suffocating, even if their eyes were friendly.

"Hey Baldy, let's get out of here! It's getting windy, get out of here!"

Xu An muttered to himself, then shrank back into his military overcoat, like a fat penguin who had done a good deed anonymously, and slipped away along the wall.

When he ran out of the creative district and stood on the street again, he realized that his back was completely soaked.

At that moment, my phone vibrated.

It was a WeChat message from my second uncle; it contained only one picture.

In the picture, people from Xujia Village are watching Xu An's live broadcast on television in the canteen.

[Second Uncle: Anzi, don't worry about things at home. That Aunt Zhang Guilan just came to me crying, saying she saw the live stream and insists on killing a chicken for you.]

Xu An looked at the screen, and couldn't help but smile.

At this moment, Tianjin's No. 2 Cotton Mill and Xujia Village in Henan were truly connected through this letter.

"Gurgle..."

My stomach growled again, which was also quite inopportune.

I just shook the machine a few times and it ruined all the pickled vegetables from this morning.

Xu An rubbed his stomach and then looked at the bald man next to him who was looking expectant.

"Stop looking, I'm hungry too."

Xu An sighed and stood by the roadside to hail a taxi.

This stop has been reached, but there are still several undelivered letters in the metal box in my arms.

He hailed a taxi at random, and as soon as he got in, the driver turned around enthusiastically.

"Hey! Isn't that the young man from earlier? What's up? Finished your business?"

Xu An was taken aback. Was Tianjin really that small? How could he run into someone he knew just by taking a taxi?

But upon closer inspection, it turned out this wasn't the chubby uncle with the mustache from before; it was a young driver wearing glasses who looked quite refined.

"No...it's not done yet," Xu An replied awkwardly.

"So, where should we go next? Judging from your accent, you haven't eaten yet, have you? How about I take you to try some authentic jianbing guozi? It's worth waiting in line for two hours!"

Upon hearing "two hours of queuing," Xu An shook his head vigorously.

"No, no, no, I won't go to crowded places."

He pulled the next letter from his pocket.

The envelope was thick and felt hard to the touch, as if a book was stuffed inside.

The mailing address was even stranger: [Tangshan City, Lubei District, Earthquake Memorial Square, looking for the blind man who can play the accordion].

This is yet another address without a specific house number.

Moreover, the term "blind person" sounds even more pitiful than "idiot."

"Driver, let's go to... the train station."

After thinking it over, Xu An decided to leave Tianjin first.

This place is too welcoming, and it's too easy to run into acquaintances. For someone with social anxiety, it's like a high-difficulty challenge.

"Alright! Let's go to Tianjin Station!"

The driver stepped on the gas, and the car merged into the traffic.

Xu An leaned back in the back seat, watching the street scenes rushing past the window.

The sounds of Tianjin's crosstalk, "Gaba Cai" (a type of Tianjin street food), and the machines of the old cotton mill gradually faded into the distance behind us.

Ahead lies a city reborn from ruins, known as "Phoenix."

What kind of story awaits him there?

Just then, the bald guy in the cage suddenly became restless again.

It tilted its head, looked at Xu An, and suddenly uttered a new word it had just learned from the roar of the machines.

"Buzz buzz buzz! Let's get to work! Let's get to work! No slacking off!"

Xu An's face darkened, and he took out a White Rabbit milk candy from his pocket and stuffed it into the cage.

"Eat your candy! If you keep yelling, I'll send you to that blind man to play the violin!"

In the live stream, netizens started creating mischief again.

[ID Tangshan Big Brother Catches]: Anzi is coming to Tangshan? Haha! Are you ready to receive the baptism of the Tangshan banquet?

【ID Accordion Prince】: A blind man playing the accordion? In Monument Square? The image immediately comes to mind; he must be an old man with a story.

[ID Xujiacun]: Anzi, drive carefully on the road. Don't just focus on delivering the letter. Remember to buy yourself a thick hat. The wind in Tangshan is strong!

Xu An looked at the comments and turned up his coat collar.

Although it's cold, my heart is warm.

Next stop, Tangshan.

Go listen, and see if someone can truly draw out the sound of spring from those ruins.