Chapter 614 The Door is Blocked
The incandescent lamp was buzzing above his head. Zhou Yimin stomped his numb feet and shook off the snow residue that had condensed on his shoes.
Zhou Yimin saw that most people had left and thought that there was nothing to do next. The weather was so cold now, so it would be more comfortable to stay at home.
He reached out for the motorcycle helmet in the shed, and just as his fingertips touched the cold shell, he suddenly heard hurried footsteps behind him.
"Yimin." Director Ding came running after him wrapped in a military coat, his glasses covered with a layer of frost.
"I have something I want to talk to you about!" His voice was hoarse and full of fatigue from giving orders all night, but it was also serious and could not be refused.
Zhou Yimin's hand holding the helmet paused, and the chill from the metal edge seeped into his palm.
Steam from the boiler room in the distance rose into the sky, condensing into a hazy white mist in the night sky.
"Okay." Zhou Yimin sighed and let go of his hand.
The motorcycle glowed coldly in the moonlight, and his slightly frowned brows were reflected in the rearview mirror.
As I followed Director Ding toward the office building, the snow under my feet made a slight "crunching" sound. The shadows of the two were lengthened by the street lights, leaving a winding path on the frozen ground.
Pushing open the wooden door of the office, I saw the coal stove burning brightly and an iron kettle emitting steam from the stove.
Director Ding took off his glasses and wiped them. The lenses were instantly covered with mist again. "Hurry up and sit down."
He pointed at the wooden chair in front of the desk, but did not sit down. Instead, he paced back and forth in front of the radiator with his hands behind his back. The hem of his military coat swept across the reports piled in the corner, raising fine dust that danced in the beam of light.
Zhou Yimin rubbed his frozen fingers and looked at the other party who seemed to be hesitant to speak. He suddenly realized that this conversation might not be that simple.
The charcoal in the coal stove suddenly burst into sparks, causing a slight noise in the quiet office.
Zhou Yimin stared at the hem of Director Ding's military coat as he paced back and forth. His Adam's apple moved as he was the first to break the silence: "Director Ding, if you have anything to say, just tell me. I'm really unsure of what you're doing."
He deliberately dragged out the ending of his words with a hint of helplessness, but his eyes were secretly studying the other person's tense jawline.
Director Ding's steps suddenly stopped, and the moment the metal lighter struck a flame, it illuminated the hesitation in his eyes.
After the cigarette was lit, gray-white smoke spread between the two people: "Yimin, the gifts for the workers have been distributed, but the gifts for the factory leaders have not yet been allocated. Can you think of a way?"
As he finished speaking, the howling north wind outside the window suddenly blew in through the window that was not closed tightly, lifting up a corner of the report on the table.
Zhou Yimin lowered his eyes to hide the flash of understanding in his eyes, deliberately took a long breath, and did not take the cigarette handed to him by Director Ding.
Director Ding suddenly remembered that Zhou Yimin didn't smoke, so he took back the cigarette he handed over.
Zhou Yimin said after careful consideration: "Director Ding, how do you want to deal with this matter?"
As Director Ding spoke, the ashes from his cigarette fell into the enamel jar, making an almost inaudible rustling sound.
This unexpected question left Director Ding's hand holding the cigarette hanging in the air. His cloudy eyes rolled around before he finally sat down at his desk.
His elbow pressed heavily on the report, causing wrinkles on the figures that were not yet dry. "Yimin, do you have any way to get some pork? And some fruit?"
When he mentioned the word "fruit", his voice unconsciously lowered, as if he was discussing some taboo topic - in those days, even sugar had to be supplied with tickets, not to mention the oranges and apples shipped from the south.
Zhou Yimin stroked the cigarette and quickly calculated the black market prices in his mind.
The clock in the office was ticking, and with every move of the second hand, Director Ding's brows furrowed a little more.
Zhou Yimin finally spoke: "Director Ding, the current situation..."
The deliberately drawn-out ending syllable conceals a hint of reluctance.
Director Ding's fingers tapped unconsciously on the cigarette box, and cigarette ashes fell on the edge of the rolled-up report.
I heard Zhou Yimin say, "Director Ding, how many kilograms of pork and fruit do you need?"
The hand holding the cigarette shook violently, and sparks flew onto the button of his military coat, leaving a small charred hole.
"Are there any restrictions on fruits?" Zhou Yimin's supplementary question was like a hook, hooking back the "forget it" that he was about to say.
"Yimin, how can we limit the number of fruits? As long as it's fruit, it's fine!" Director Ding's voice rose unconsciously, and his eyes behind the glasses were surprisingly bright.
"As for pork, how about 300 kilograms?" The moment he finished speaking, his Adam's apple rolled nervously, and he stared at Zhou Yimin's expression, as if trying to get some information from it.
He knew better than anyone how many connections and risks were involved in producing 300 kilograms of pork, but there were hundreds of leaders in the factory, and 3 kilograms per person was just enough to make up the number.
Every second that Zhou Yimin remained silent made the air in the office more stagnant.
Director Ding was about to say "Forget it", but Zhou Yimin suddenly sighed: "Director Ding, the amount you want."
Before he could finish the second half of the sentence, cold sweat had already slid down his spine into the waistband of his pants.
"Yimin, if it's more than 300 kilograms, 200 kilograms will be fine!" Director Ding almost rushed to interrupt, and slammed his fat palm heavily on the table, causing ripples to splash out of the tea in the enamel pot.
"But it can't be less than this number!" He stared at the corner of Zhou Yimin's mouth, afraid to miss any change in his expression, and he didn't even notice the cigarette ash burning his fingertips.
"I was thinking, three hundred kilograms would be fine." Zhou Yimin suddenly chuckled and extinguished his cigarette on the rim of the cigarette tank. The rising smoke blurred the calculation in his eyes.
"But Director Ding, you said two hundred kilograms would be enough, so let's do two hundred kilograms!" Before he finished speaking, Director Ding's hand, which had been frozen in the air, finally fell heavily, shaking the pen on the table.
Director Ding's cigarette butt fell on the concrete floor with a "pop", and the sparks were instantly swallowed up by the snow.
He took two steps at a time and came to Zhou Yimin. The wind from the hem of his military coat blew the cigarette ash onto his trouser legs. "Yimin, you can't do this!"
His fingers almost poked Zhou Yimin's chest, and his eyes behind the glasses were wide open: "Just follow the 300 kilograms I said at the beginning, 200 kilograms you heard wrong!"
Zhou Yimin looked at the other person's flushed face, a light laugh escaped from his throat, and the corners of his frozen mouth curved into an arc.
He deliberately dragged out the last word: "Director Ding, this is not easy to change."
He was interrupted before he could finish his sentence.
"It can be changed! It must be changed!" Director Ding's Adam's apple rolled up and down, and his voice was filled with an urgency to make a desperate effort.
"Three hundred kilograms is enough to give the leaders some respect, two hundred kilograms."
He suddenly lowered his voice, as if he was afraid that the wall might have ears: "Who knows what kind of trouble will happen if there are more or less people at that time!"
The north wind outside the window suddenly howled and hit the glass, shaking the coal stove in the corner.
"Okay, okay, I won't change it." Zhou Yimin raised his hands in surrender, unable to hide the smile in his eyes.
"Just 300 kilograms, plus seasonal fruits. I promise to do everything right for you."
For the next half hour, the two of them hunched over the desk covered with ice, writing and drawing on the back of the report with pencil tips.
By the time the details were finalized, the clock hand had quietly climbed to ten o'clock.
The moment I pushed open the door of the office building, the cold wind carrying snow flakes blew in my face.
Director Ding wrapped his military coat tightly around him and stuffed a pack of unopened cigarettes into Zhou Yimin's hand: "If this is done, I'll treat you to a meal!"
Zhou Yimin smiled and put the cigarette into his arms. He watched the other person's figure gradually disappear in the snow, then turned and walked towards the carport.
The roar of the motorcycle startled a few night owls. He looked at the winding snowy road outside the factory, smiled helplessly, and decided to go back quickly!
Soon Zhou Yimin drove his motorcycle back to the courtyard.
The old locust tree in the courtyard swayed in the wind, and the snow piled on the branches fell down.
Zhou Yimin walked on the creaking bluestone road and turned into the alley. He saw two dark shadows in front of his house from afar. His tightly wrapped cotton jacket was rustling in the cold wind.
Under the dim light of the street lamp, the snow particles raised by Li Youde's stomping feet were gleaming, while Dapeng squatted at the foot of the wall, scratching the snow with a branch out of boredom.
"How long have you been standing here?" Zhou Yimin's voice startled the two of them and they turned around at the same time.
Dapeng bounced up like a spring, his cotton shoes slipped on the ice, and he almost stumbled: "Yimin! You're finally back!"
The wind he created when he rushed over blew up the snow foam, which flew onto Zhou Yimin's red face. "We've been waiting here for almost two hours!"
Li Youde came over, rubbing his frozen hands. The white breath he exhaled condensed into a mist under the street light. "What's going on at the factory?"
Zhou Yimin took out the key, and the ice in the copper lock core made his fingertips cold: "Don't mention it. I almost got stuck on the winding mountain road just to get chicken for the New Year."
He turned his head to look at Dapeng's winking face, and suddenly laughed out loud: "Tell me! Are you greedy again?"
"Yimin still understands me!" Dapeng scratched the back of his head and smiled with missing teeth.
He pushed Zhou Yimin towards the door, the sleeves of his cotton jacket brushing against the icicles on the door frame: "If you don't eat, I'll drool in my dreams."
The moment the wooden door was opened, cold air carrying a stale smell blew in my face.
Zhou Yimin lit a match, and the flickering flame reflected the thin layer of frost on the cold stove - the stove had gone out long ago, and the water in the iron kettle had frozen into a lump of ice.
Dapeng was quick: "I'll go get the coal!"
Before he could finish his words, he had already rushed out the door, and the sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty alley.
Li Youde squatted down to clean the ash from the furnace, and the tongs made a crisp sound when they collided.
Soon, Dapeng rushed back with a red lump of coal in his arms, the front of his cotton-padded jacket rubbed black: "Catch it quickly!"
He stuffed the coal into the furnace while panting. Sparks splashed on the back of Zhou Yimin's hand, scalding it so much that he retracted his hand.
The three of them gathered around in tacit understanding, watching the dying flames gradually lick up the new coals, and warmth began to spread through the house.
Dapeng rubbed his red, frozen hands and urged, "Yimin, what treasures did you hide? Take them out!"
Before he finished speaking, he and Li Youde had already started to clean up quickly.
Li Youde moved away the dusty wooden stool and wiped the ice off the table with his sleeve; Dapeng pulled out an aluminum round table from the corner and placed it in the middle of the room with a clang, causing the ice spikes in the cracks in the wall to fall off.
Zhou Yimin opened the camphor wood box under the bed, and when the lid was lifted, a smell of aged camphor wafted out.
He reached his hand and fumbled around at the bottom of the box for a while, and first took out the beef wrapped in layers of oil paper. The dark red texture shone with oil under the light.
Then he took out two packs of mutton rolls, the wrapping paper of which was frozen hard and covered with fine ice crystals.
There was a tin can at the bottom. When I opened the lid, the rich aroma of butter instantly filled the air - it turned out to be the secret hot pot base.
"Good guy!" Dapeng came closer, with his nose almost touching the butter can.
"This base smells even better than the braised food at Wang Ji Tavern!" Li Youde quickly set up a small coal stove. The water in the iron bucket soon began to gurgle, and the rising hot air condensed into a hazy mist on the window.
Zhou Yimin turned around and opened the wine cabinet. His smiling eyes were reflected in the glass door. His hands wandered among the various wine bottles, and finally he held the bottle of Lotus White with an amber luster.
"Let's eat!" Zhou Yimin unscrewed the cap of the wine bottle, and the rich aroma of wine mixed with the hot steam from the hot pot hit his face.
Dapeng couldn't wait any longer. He used chopsticks to pick up the mutton roll and put it in the boiling soup. He dipped it in garlic and sesame sauce and stuffed it into his mouth. He inhaled because it was so hot, but he couldn't bear to let go. "How can we miss a hot pot in winter?"
The coal stove was burning brightly, the red soup in the tin bucket was bubbling, the butter blocks were melting in the boiling water, and the floating peppercorns and dried chilies were floating up and down with the waves.
Dapeng had just put the trembling lamb roll into the pot when Li Youde's chopsticks swooped in from the side. The two pairs of chopsticks "fought" in the red oil, and the splashing soup left dark spots on the table.
"Make way! My meat!" Dapeng stamped his feet in anxiety, and his sleeves almost fell into the pot.
Zhou Yimin sat firmly in the main seat and slowly slid the frozen hard beef slices into the pot along the wall.
The boiling hot soup instantly enveloped the flesh, and he counted: "One, two, three"
He picked it up with a slight shake of his wrist, rolled up the edge of the meat slice slightly, dipped it in the mashed garlic and sesame sauce and put it into his mouth, smacked it with his eyes narrowed, and said: "This is cooked well, it needs to be paired with wine to taste good."
As he spoke, he picked up the coarse porcelain bowl. The lotus root tasted spicy, but was soothed by the richness of the butter.
"Try this beef tripe!" Li Youde suddenly raised the colander. There was red soup hanging from the dark brown beef tripe in the net bag.
Before he could finish his words, Dapeng had already rushed over to grab it, and he was completely unaware of the oil stains splashing on his newly changed cotton-padded jacket.
While the two were fighting for it, Zhou Yimin quietly added a spoonful of bone soup to the bottom of the pot. In the mist, the red beef soup became thicker and thicker.
"Another plate of mutton!" Dapeng pulled open his collar, beads of sweat oozing from his forehead. After eating three bowls in a row, he still felt unsatisfied.
Zhou Yimin smiled and took out another bag of frozen meat. The ice chips fell on the table and were melted by the hot steam in a blink of an eye.
The chopsticks of the three people flew back and forth in the pot, occasionally making crisp sounds. After three rounds of wine, the mellow aroma of lotus white mixed with the aroma of butter lingered in the house.
The flames of the coal stove gradually dimmed, and only a few drops of oil remained in the iron bucket floating on the cooling soup base.
Dapeng slumped on a wooden stool, patting his round belly and burping. The front of his cotton-padded jacket was splattered with dark red oil stains, making it look like an abstract painting.
"No, no, I'm dying of fullness," he muttered and reached out for the tea on the table, but found that the three enamel cups had been turned upside down.
When Li Youde stood up, he knocked over the wine bottle, and the lotus-white residual liquid flowed like a river on the table. The aroma of wine mixed with the smell of butter became stronger.
He shook his dizzy head and bent down to pick up the messy dishes: "Yimin, I'll take this bowl back to wash it to save you the trouble."
As he spoke, he piled up the porcelain bowls stained with red oil into a small mountain, and the oil flowed down through his fingers.
Zhou Yimin squatted beside the stove and picked out the burnt coal balls with tongs. Sparks splashed onto the blue brick floor and disappeared in an instant.
"Leave it there, I'll do it myself." He took the dishes from Li Youde, but was stopped by Dapeng.
"Don't be polite with us!"
Dapeng rolled up his sleeves, picked up the rag from the corner and rubbed the greasy table top, but ended up rubbing his cuffs until they were shiny.
The three of them divided the work and quickly cleaned Zhou Yimin's house.
Then Li Youde and Dapeng went back to their respective homes.
(End of this chapter)
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
