Chapter 617 The Problem Is Solved
When the truck started again, the cold sweat on Zhou Yimin's back had condensed into ice, which hurt inside his military coat.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring intently at the winding snowy road ahead. The truck tires rolled over the frozen ruts, making regular "click" sounds, like a nervous heartbeat.
Zhou Dazhong huddled in the passenger seat, his hands still shaking unconsciously. It was not until the truck turned the third bend that he dared to breathe heavily: "Uncle Sixteen, this is scarier than setting off firecrackers during the New Year!"
The cold wind carried snow particles that hit the windshield, and the wipers swung rhythmically, scraping out fan-shaped marks on the frost.
The journey from then on was eerily silent, with only the roar of the truck engine and the heavy breathing of the two people.
The scattered lights in the distant village flickered in the snow, like a distant hope.
Zhou Yimin silently counted the telephone poles on the side of the road. When he counted to the thirty-seventh pole, the headlights of the truck illuminated the road and he finally arrived at his destination.
The huge warehouse looked like a dormant beast, and the rust on the iron door glowed dark red in the moonlight.
Zhou Yimin took out the key given by Director Ding. The metal lock core made a "click" sound when it turned, which startled the night owl perched on the beam.
The door of the warehouse slowly opened, and the damp and musty smell mixed with the scent of stale motor oil hit me in the face. More than a dozen rows of shelves stretched into the distance in the darkness, like a maze.
"Hurry up." Zhou Yimin turned on the truck headlights, and the dazzling beam of light cut through the darkness.
When he jumped out of the car, his military boots broke through the thin ice on the ground, making a crisp sound.
Zhou Dazhong had already torn open the canvas of the carriage, and grabbed the pork hemp rope with his red, frozen hands: "Uncle Sixteen, I'll carry this end!"
The two men bent their waists, their muscles tensed, and the three hundred kilograms of pork dragged on the ground, leaving long scratches. The hemp rope cut deeply into their palms, causing them to numb with pain.
Frost on the apple box fell off, landed on the shoulders of the two men, and quickly turned into water marks.
When Zhou Dazhong picked up the box, he accidentally bumped into the shelf. The whole row of iron shelves made a loud "clang" sound, which frightened him so much that he froze in place.
Zhou Yimin shouted in a low voice: "Be careful!" The sound echoed in the empty warehouse, as if it was amplified several times.
The two did not dare to delay any longer and quickened their pace. Sweat flowed down their foreheads and instantly condensed into tiny ice beads in the temperature of more than ten degrees below zero.
The loading and unloading process was tense and orderly. When the scrap steel in the truck compartment was restacked neatly, Zhou Yimin's watch hands had quietly passed one o'clock in the morning.
On the way back, the steel pipes on the back seat of the truck collided with each other as the truck was bumpy, making crisp sounds, like a triumphal song for this thrilling transportation.
Zhou Dazhong leaned his head against the car window and soon began to snore softly. Zhou Yimin remained highly alert, scanning both sides of the road. It was not until the chimney of the steel plant reappeared in his sight that he finally put his mind at ease.
The truck slowly drove into the gate of the steel plant. The street lights in the factory emitted a dim glow in the cold night, dyeing the snow on the ground a dull orange.
Zhou Yimin skillfully controlled the steering wheel and parked the car steadily on the open space next to the warehouse. The moment the engine was turned off, the whole world seemed to be quiet, with only the whimpering sound of the howling north wind passing through the factory.
"Are you still sleeping? Are you not leaving? Are you waiting for the New Year?" Zhou Yimin reached out and pushed Zhou Dazhong beside him, with a hint of tired ridicule in his voice.
Zhou Dazhong woke up suddenly, his eyes full of confusion. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked at the familiar building outlines outside the car window, and he was a little unable to react for a while.
The cold wind came in through the gaps in the car window, making him shiver. Only then did he wake up completely and realize that he was back at the steel plant.
"Oh, I'm finally back. How can I sleep in my wife's bed so comfortably!" he muttered, stretching his stiff neck while pushing open the car door.
The two men walked on the thick snow, taking one deep step and one shallow step, towards the shed where the motorcycles were parked.
Zhou Dazhong's cotton shoes made a "crunching" sound as they stepped on the snow, which was particularly clear in the quiet factory area.
In the carport, the motorcycle had already been covered with a thin layer of snow. Zhou Yimin reached out to brush off the snow on the seat, got on the motorcycle and started the engine.
The roar of the motorcycle broke the silence of the night. Zhou Dazhong hurriedly jumped onto the back seat and grabbed the back of Zhou Yimin's coat tightly.
In the darkness of the night, the lights of the motorcycle illuminated the road ahead, and the two soon reached a fork in the road.
Zhou Dazhong jumped out of the car and waved to Zhou Yimin: "Uncle Sixteen, drive slowly, I'm going back first!"
Zhou Yimin nodded and said, "Go back quickly."
He turned the car around and drove towards his home.
The cold moonlight sprinkled on the country road, and Zhou Yimin's figure was stretched out on the ground.
In less than ten minutes, the familiar courtyard appeared before his eyes. He parked the car and gently pushed open the gate, fearing to wake up the sleeping neighbors.
The old locust tree in the yard swayed in the cold wind, and a few dry leaves fell down and landed on his shoulders.
Zhou Yimin tiptoed into the house. The furnishings inside looked particularly warm under the moonlight.
He didn't bother to wash up, or even take off his coat, and fell directly onto the bed.
As soon as his body touched the soft bed, sleepiness came over him like a tide. His eyes closed involuntarily and he soon fell into a deep sleep.
The next day, other people in the courtyard started to go to work one after another, and only Zhou Yimin was still lying in bed sleeping.
The glass windows of Zhou Yimin's bedroom were covered with a thick layer of white frost. The sunlight shone obliquely through the gaps onto the bed, casting mottled light and shadows on his face.
The old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table stopped at 3:17, and the hands had long stopped moving, as if freezing the tension and fatigue of last night.
He turned over, and the quilt he was wrapped in made a rustling sound. His oil-stained military coat was casually draped over the back of the chair, with a few wisps of dry straw hanging from the hem.
It was not until the sunlight became dazzling at nine o'clock that Zhou Yimin slowly opened his eyes.
He propped himself up and felt a sharp pain in his lower back, as if he had been pressed by a heavy object all night.
He rubbed his stiff neck with his hand, stretched himself lazily with satisfaction, and his joints made a series of crisp "crackling" sounds.
But then he frowned - his tight sweat shirt stuck to his back, and the cold sweat mixed with the musty smell in the brick kiln made him feel uncomfortable all over.
The coal stove in the kitchen quickly lit up, and the flames licked the iron kettle, making a "gurgling" sound.
Zhou Yimin squatted in front of the stove, looked at the dancing flames, and stretched out his hands to keep warm.
The hot steam from the kettle blurred his eyes. He came to his senses, picked up the kettle and walked quickly to the bathroom.
The moment the hot water was poured on his back, Zhou Yimin couldn't help but let out a long sigh.
The water drops slid down my back, washing away all the fatigue and anxiety, as well as the remaining tension.
He wiped the water droplets off his face. The eyes of himself in the mirror were still dark, but his expression was much more relaxed.
"If it weren't for the mess at the factory," he muttered, turning off the faucet. Water droplets hit the ground, splashing tiny water droplets.
At this time in the steel plant, Director Ding was sitting in his office with a frown on his face.
He kept looking up at the door, and the pen in his hand drew crooked lines on the document.
The ashtray was filled with cigarette butts, and wisps of smoke were swirling in the sunlight.
When the clock struck eleven, he finally could not sit still anymore and stood up suddenly. The hem of his military coat swept across the corner of the table and almost knocked over the ink bottle.
Director Ding strode through the corridor at high speed, his leather shoes making a "clacking" sound on the concrete floor.
Pushing open the door of the purchasing department's office, he saw Zhou Yimin's empty seat at a glance, and there was still half a cup of cold tea left in the enamel cup on the table.
"Chief Zhou hasn't arrived yet?" he asked an employee who was sorting documents, his voice filled with undisguised anxiety.
After getting a positive answer, he pursed his lips, turned and left, cursing under his breath, and his footsteps gradually disappeared at the end of the corridor.
Back in the office, Director Ding plopped down on a chair and stared at the wall clock. Every time the minute hand moved, it was like a loud strike in his heart.
But Zhou Yimin was not in a hurry. His stomach made a rumbling sound, and then he took out something from the store to eat, and then cooked some rice.
Without staple food, I felt unfulfilled. The meal was ready in less than half an hour.
When the last grain of rice at the bottom of Zhou Yimin's enamel bowl was rolled into his mouth by his tongue, the wall clock had just struck half past one.
Then, amid the clinking sounds of dishes being cleared away, he slowly packed up his things and then leisurely put on his military coat.
As the motorcycle drove out of the alley, the sunlight shone obliquely on the thinly icy road surface, and the reflection made people squint. The frost on the handlebars gradually turned into water droplets under the baking body temperature, and flowed along the metal lines.
The gate of the steel plant was looming in the afternoon mist. The security guard was dozing on the table in the message room. The tea in the enamel jug was so cold that a layer of grease formed on it.
Zhou Yimin did not honk the horn. The wheels of the motorcycle rolled over the gravel beside the gate, making a slight "crunching" sound. The guard was startled and looked up suddenly. When he saw it was Zhou Yimin, he waved his hand, then shrank back into his cotton hat and continued to take a nap.
The corridor of the office building was quiet, with only the crackling sound of the abacus in the Finance Department.
Zhou Yimin walked forward, following his own shadow. The heels of his military boots tapped on the concrete floor, making a rhythmic "thump thump" sound.
The door to Director Ding's office was at the end of the corridor. The wooden sign "Director's Office" on the lintel was covered with a thin layer of dust. He raised his hand and knocked on the door. Amid the dull sound of his knuckles colliding, he could hear his heartbeat becoming steadier than when he broke through the checkpoint last night.
"Come in!" The voice behind the door was as hoarse as usual, mixed with the rustling sound of a pen scratching across paper.
When Zhou Yimin pushed the door open, he saw Director Ding frowning at a pile of reports. The reading glasses on his nose had slipped to the tip of his nose, and his fingers were poking heavily on the "Spring Festival Material Distribution List."
The sunlight came in from the window behind him, casting a diamond-shaped spot of light on the desk. The half-used red chalk in the chalk box was facing the door, as if silently counting - how many people had pushed the door open today.
Director Ding raised his head in an obviously perfunctory manner. His eyelids were halfway raised when he suddenly stopped, and his reading glasses slid onto the table with a "click".
He stared at the straw crumbs on Zhou Yimin's military coat, and the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth relaxed at a speed visible to the naked eye. His originally tense shoulders suddenly relaxed, and he leaned back in his chair: "Yimin, you're finally here?"
Before he finished speaking, he had already taken out a new enamel pot from the drawer, threw a handful of tea leaves into it, and the boiling water poured out of the thermos splashed onto the table, leaving a dark mark.
"How's the matter going?" Director Ding pushed the teacup towards Zhou Yimin, the steam blurring his anxious eyes.
Zhou Yimin didn't rush to answer. He first picked up the teacup and blew away the foam. When the tea leaves expanded in the hot water, he slowly said, "Director Ding, you can rest assured that I will do the job."
He paused deliberately before putting down the teacup, and gently rubbed his fingertips on the warm edge of the pot. "But last night was a bit thrilling. I had just left the brick kiln with my things when I ran into a patrol team setting up a checkpoint."
When Zhou Yimin raised his eyes, he saw Director Ding tighten his grip on the pen, and a small piece of the paint on the pen cap was scratched off.
"Dazhong turned pale at the time, and I was also worried. Fortunately, you prepared all the necessary documents in advance. The captain looked at the 'waste transportation permit' over and over again, and finally knocked on the steel before letting it go."
"Of course." Director Ding's Adam's apple rolled proudly, his fingers tapped a brisk rhythm on the table, but he deliberately frowned.
"As a leader, you have to consider things more carefully and not cause trouble for your subordinates." As he spoke, he took out a brown paper bag from the bottom of the drawer and pushed it in front of Zhou Yimin. The oil stains on the corners of the bag were exactly the same as the last time.
"Here, this is what we agreed on." The sunlight shone through the window onto the paper bag.
Zhou Yimin didn't hesitate and took the paper bag directly. The two chatted for a while and then left.
Director Ding watched Zhou Yimin close the door and suddenly stood up from his chair.
Most of the tea in the enamel pot spilled out, forming irregular streams on the table, but he was completely unaware of it. He just lowered his head to adjust the collar of his Zhongshan suit and straighten the crooked factory emblem.
The sunlight filtered through the iron bars of the window, cutting out alternating lines of light and dark on his face, but at this moment it could not conceal the light bursting from his eyes.
He almost jogged across the corridor, his leather heels making urgent noises against the concrete floor.
When passing by the Finance Department, Xiao Wang, who was reconciling accounts, opened his mouth to say hello, but Director Ding just nodded hurriedly and passed by like a gust of wind, causing the abacus beads to clatter.
After turning the corner of the stairs, he stopped in front of Director Hu's office, took a deep breath to calm his breathing, and when he raised his hand to knock on the door, his knuckles turned white with excitement.
"Come in!" Director Hu's nasal response came from inside the door.
Director Ding pushed the door open and walked in. In the warm office, the kettle on the coal stove was making a cheerful whistle.
Director Hu was wearing sleeves and holding a red and blue pencil in his hand, revising a document. He looked up when he heard the noise, and his eyes behind the glasses suddenly became sharp when they met Director Ding.
Before Director Ding could speak, Director Hu had already put his pen heavily on the table, leaned forward, and the back of his chair creaked in protest: "Director Ding, is the matter resolved?"
This sentence was like a stone thrown into a deep pool, shocking Director Ding.
He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple rolling up and down, and the opening remarks he had prepared were all stuck in his throat: "Director Hu, how did you know?"
Director Hu leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile appeared on his lips, and he took off his glasses and wiped the lenses: "I know it from the smile on your face."
His tone was somewhat teasing, and his glasses reflected tiny bits of light in the sunlight. "Usually when you came to see me, your brows were so furrowed that they could kill flies, but today your steps are so brisk that it's like you're stepping on cotton."
Director Ding suddenly realized it and subconsciously raised his hand to touch his face. Sure enough, the corners of his mouth were still upturned.
He couldn't help but laugh out loud, with a sense of relief in his laughter: "You really figured it out!"
"Zhou Yimin is efficient and delivered the goods to the designated warehouse last night, and the patrol team passed the checkpoint smoothly!"
Director Hu's eyes lit up instantly. He reached out and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. The cigarette box made a crisp sound between his fingers: "Okay! Okay!"
He said "OK" twice in a row, and when he stood up, he knocked over the enamelware mug beside him. The tea left large stains on the documents, but he didn't care at all.
The two looked at each other and then smiled at each other. The huge stone that was trapping their hearts was finally resolved by Zhou Yimin.
(End of this chapter)
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