Chapter 619 Don’t drink so much next time
When the iron door of the auditorium slammed shut behind the last group of workers, the setting sun was stretching the shadow of the chimney into a long shape, like a black steel drill inserted diagonally into the snow.
Director Hu looked at the gradually empty benches below the stage and tapped the microphone stand with his fingertips, making a crisp "click" sound: "Comrades, this year's Spring Festival gifts are still placed in the west wing of the warehouse. You can pick them up after the meeting."
He deliberately emphasized the word "as usual" and his eyes swept over Director Ding's slightly raised eyebrows - only they knew how much risk Zhou Yimin took last night for this batch of New Year's goods hidden in the brick kiln.
If he was caught by the patrol, it would be a big deal. Although he was transporting supplies to the steel plant, Zhou Yimin's pork could not withstand verification and could not be caught.
The heating in the conference room had been turned off long ago, and the leaders' cotton coats were still draped over the backs of their chairs, but no one felt cold.
When Old Wu from the Finance Department came in with the account book, his leather heels made a harsh sound on the terrazzo floor: "Director Ding, here is the gift list. Each person gets three pounds of pork, one pound of apples, and..."
He suddenly caught a glimpse of Zhou Yimin standing at the door, and swallowed the rest of his words. His gaze lingered for half a second on the straw crumbs stuck on the other's military coat.
"Let's go, Dazhong." Zhou Yimin patted Zhou Dazhong who was still in a daze. The latter was staring at the "Advanced Individual" certificate on his chest, and the corners of his mouth couldn't help but rise.
As the two of them turned the corner of the corridor, they heard the roar of a car engine behind them.
"Uncle Sixteen, what about our meat tickets and bonuses..." Zhou Dazhong's words were torn apart by the oncoming north wind. When the motorcycle passed over the icy road, he felt the gift bag on the back of the motorcycle shaking, and he quickly reached out to hold it.
Zhou Yimin did not answer, but just stared at the street lights on the main road of the factory in front of him - the light bulbs swayed gently in the cold wind, but they stayed on stubbornly, illuminating every intersection leading home.
When the motorcycle turned out of the factory gate, the security guard's enamel cup slammed onto the windowsill.
Zhou Dazhong looked back and saw the lights in the office building light up one after another, like broken stars scattered in the night sky.
He suddenly discovered that in this steel jungle, some warmth was hidden in the frozen pork, some glory was wrapped in the yellowed certificates, and more stories were hidden in the faint smile on Zhou Yimin's mouth when he started the motorcycle.
The north wind wrapped in snow particles rushed across the main road of the factory area, rolling the snow on the ground into a silver-white vortex.
Zhou Yimin turned the throttle of his motorcycle, and the headlights pierced the twilight, casting flickering spots of light on the icy road.
Zhou Dazhong, who was sitting in the back seat, tightly grasped the gift bag and suddenly pointed forward and exclaimed, "Uncle Sixteen, it's Engineer Li from the Quality Inspection Department!"
I saw Li Jianguo, the head of the Quality Inspection Section, pedaling his bicycle with his back hunched. The hem of his military coat was blown up by the wind, like a bloated torn flag.
The brim of his cotton hat was covered with white frost, and tiny pieces of ice hung on his eyelashes. Every time he stepped on the pedal, the bicycle chain squeaked under the heavy weight.
When the motorcycle roared past, Li Jianguo looked up and Zhou Yimin caught a glimpse of his red face full of envy, and his frozen fingers subconsciously waved at the two of them.
"Did you see that?" Zhou Dazhong shouted in the whistling wind. "Just now, Accountant Wang's 28-inch bicycle was shaking in the wind!"
Before he finished speaking, a few staggering figures appeared at the intersection ahead - three staff members from the Propaganda Department were pushing bicycles forward together, the wheels were stuck in the snow ruts, they were slipping on the ice with one foot deep and one foot shallow, and one of them had his scarf blown away by the wind, curling into a grey arc in the air.
A low car engine sound was heard in the distance, and the black sedan that Director Hu was riding in overtook from the left like a black fish.
The car window was half lowered, and Director Hu stretched his hand holding a cigarette out of the window. The cigarette ash was pulled into long thin threads by the wind.
Director Ding, who was sitting in the back seat of the car, nodded at Zhou Yimin through the glass; the hot steam from the thermos blurred his lenses.
When the taillights of the car disappeared around the corner, Zhou Yimin saw two half-worn bicycles parked on the side of the road with frayed briefcases in the baskets. It was obvious that some leader could not stand the cold wind and chose to abandon his bicycle and walk.
When the motorcycle turned into the warehouse area, Zhou Dazhong suddenly grabbed Zhou Yimin's clothes and said, "Uncle Sixteen, look!"
I saw the deputy chief of the logistics department sitting astride a bicycle, his forehead resting on the handlebars and breathing heavily. The ice under the wheels was cracked by his pedaling.
He looked up at the motorcycle whizzing past, the envy in his eyes almost solidified, and the white breath he exhaled instantly turned into ice crystals in the cold wind and fell on the half-smoked cigarette scattered at his feet.
The iron roof of the west wing of the warehouse was clanging in the wind. When Zhou Yimin parked his motorcycle, he saw that Director Hu's car had already started.
In the snow mist rising from the rear of the car, the gift boxes piled up on the back seat can be vaguely seen, and the bright red words "Special Supply" are particularly eye-catching in the twilight.
Zhou Dazhong jumped off the bike, stretched his frozen legs and muttered, "Motorcycles are still more powerful. The wind just now almost blew my hat off!"
Zhou Yimin looked at the cycling teams that arrived one after another. The riders' red faces were filled with fatigue and anticipation.
The wooden door of the west wing of the warehouse was hung with a thumb-thick iron chain. When Zhou Dazhong followed Zhou Yimin around to the side door, he saw Old Zhang from the logistics department stepping on a ladder to remove the wooden sign of the brick kiln. "Uncle Sixteen, this year's gift..."
Before he could finish his words, he was hooked by the aroma of meat wafting from the door that creaked open - three pounds of frozen pork were stacked on a wooden board, each piece carefully wrapped in kraft paper, and apple boxes were piled up like a small hill, the corners of the boxes were stained with the red soil unique to the south.
"Chief Zhou, two portions for you." Old Zhang lowered his voice as he handed over two sacks. "Director Ding said that you and Comrade Dazhong have worked hard, so he gave us two more kilograms of vermicelli."
Zhou Dazhong's hand shook violently as he took the bag. The cold air from the frozen pork seeped through the bag into his palm.
He touched the certificate in his pocket, and the metal pin poked at his chest through the fabric.
When the cold wind blew past again and lifted the hem of his military coat, he suddenly felt that the warmth in this steel jungle was not only hidden in the heavy New Year's goods, but also in the motorcycle tracks that could withstand the wind and snow.
The dusk was as thick as ink, dyeing the glow of the factory street lamps dim yellow.
Zhou Yimin was sitting astride the motorcycle, his neck aching from the howling north wind. Zhou Dazhong, who was sitting on the back seat, was holding a heavy gift bag tightly, his nose, red from the cold, almost touching his back.
The motorcycles rolled over the icy road, making a slight "crunching" sound, which was just like their eagerness to return home.
"Uncle Sixteen is here!" Zhou Dazhong's voice was wrapped in white mist and dissipated in the wind.
The wooden door of the courtyard was ajar, with warm yellow light and the faint smell of food leaking through the gap.
As soon as Zhou Yimin put up the motorcycle stand, Zhou Dazhong quickly stepped to the door and shouted at the top of his voice: "Dafu! Come out and help!"
The wooden door was opened with a creaky sound. Chow Tai Fook stuck his head out, and his eyes were instantly attracted by the frozen pork wrapped in oil paper in the hands of the two people.
He swallowed, his eyes wandering over the plump piece of meat: "Dazhong, is this the New Year gift from the factory?"
On the chopping board in his own kitchen, there was half a drooping chicken lying alone, which looked particularly shabby in comparison.
Zhou Yimin patted Zhou Dafu on the shoulder and handed him the sack: "Where are Xiulan and Shumin? Take this piece of meat and make braised pork!"
The kraft paper wrapped around the meat was slightly oily and glowed attractively under the street lights.
"No, no, no!" Zhou Dazhong waved his hands anxiously, his frozen fingers waving in the air.
"Uncle Sixteen, you always take care of us. You paid for the meat for the hot pot!" He hurriedly held his gift bag in front of his chest, as if it was a treasure that was about to be robbed. "Today, you have to let me return the favor of being a good host!"
"Are you being polite to me?" Zhou Yimin raised his eyebrows, with unquestionable majesty in his eyes.
He stuffed the meat into Zhou Dafu's arms neatly, turned around and walked into the yard. The hem of his military coat swept across the door frame, raising a cloud of fine dust.
"Save your meat for making dumplings during the New Year. You will have many opportunities to show off your skills in the future!"
Hearing the noise, Li Xiulan and Chen Shumin leaned out from the kitchen, their aprons still stained with flour.
Li Xiulan gently pushed Chen Shumin beside her, and the two of them took the meat tacitly. As they walked to the kitchen, they did not forget to remind: "Dazhong, quickly pour Uncle Sixteen a cup of hot tea!"
Soon, wisps of smoke rose above the courtyard, and the unique sweet aroma of braised pork mixed with the smell of firewood drifted in the cold wind.
The incandescent lamp in the house crackled on the ceiling, casting a warm glow on the wood grain of the round table.
When Li Xiulan stepped into the main room carrying a large celadon bowl, the braised pork in the bowl was still bubbling. The thick sauce wrapped around the trembling pieces of meat, glowing an amber color under the light.
Zhou Dafu stretched his neck to reach for it, but Chen Shumin smiled and slapped him away: "Why are you in such a hurry? Put the chopsticks aside first!"
Zhou Yimin unbuttoned his military coat, and the hot air instantly wrapped around his red, frozen nose.
Scrambled eggs had already been placed on the table. The golden eggs were wrapped in chopped green onions, and the edges were just the right crispy texture.
The cabbage in the enamel basin was soaked with lard, and the curled leaves were immersed in the milky white soup. A few slices of dried chili floated on the surface, attractively red.
Zhou Dazhong unscrewed the cap of the white wine bottle, and the mellow aroma mixed with the smell of food spread throughout the house, even the ice flowers on the window glass seemed to be melted a little by the smoke.
"Uncle Sixteen, please try the meat and see if it is well stewed!" Zhou Dazhong picked up the trembling piece of meat, and oil dripped onto the rice from the chopsticks.
Zhou Yimin took a bite, the pork skin melted in his mouth, the sweet and salty sauce exploded on the tip of his tongue, and a warm feeling instantly rose in his throat.
"Not bad, it seems that Xiulan and Shumin, your skills are getting better and better."
Chen Shumin and Li Xiulan were very happy to hear Zhou Yimin's praise.
"There, it's Uncle Sixteen, your meat is good."
Li Xiulan said: "Try the cabbage stalks, they are more flavorful than meat when stewed!"
Zhou Yimin was indeed pleasantly surprised by the meal. The cabbage had absorbed the freshness of the broth and was crispy and tender with a mellow flavor. The broth was especially delicious when mixed with rice.
After three rounds of drinking, Zhou Dazhong's face turned red, and he held up his glass to toast Zhou Yimin: "If you hadn't brought me with you."
Before he could finish his words, he was interrupted by Zhou Yimin, who picked up an egg and stuffed it into his mouth: "Just drink if you want to, don't say these words to spoil the fun!"
Amid the laughter in the house, the spiciness of the white wine, the mellowness of the braised pork, the freshness of the scrambled eggs, and the sweetness of the cabbage, all mixed with the hot friendship, created the most soothing temperature in this cold night.
After drinking almost enough, Zhou Yimin left and drove his motorcycle towards home.
The next day, morning light filtered through the cracks in the icy windows, casting tiny golden lines on Zhou Yimin's eyelids.
His throat felt like it was stuffed with a ball of cotton wool soaked in kerosene, dry and painful, and his head felt as if a rusty stamping machine was grinding back and forth.
I raised my hand to touch the enamel cup beside my pillow, but I felt only a chill - the remaining herbal tea at the bottom of the cup had long since frozen into a lump of ice.
"Hiss..." Zhou Yimin held his swollen temple and sat up. His military coat was draped over the back of the chair, and the folds were still stained with the sweet scent of last night's braised pork.
The hour hand of the bedside alarm clock had just passed seven o'clock. The ticking sound of the second hand was particularly harsh in the silent room, making his temple throb.
The snow on the windowsill was blown away by the wind at some point, revealing the mottled cement surface, which was very similar to his chaotic thoughts at the moment.
I walked to the water tank in my cotton shoes, scooped up a bucket of cold water and drank it. The biting coldness went straight from my throat to my stomach, but it couldn't quench the pain in my head.
"It seems that next time, I have to not drink so much." He muttered to the empty room, his voice so hoarse that even he scared himself.
When Zhou Yimin was putting on his coat, some crumpled meat tickets fell out of his pocket. He didn't pay much attention to it and just put it aside.
When he opened the door, the cold wind blew snow particles onto his face, but he felt a little more sober. There were only two days left, and even if he didn't want to go, he had to persevere.
Zhou Yimin walked towards the office building on the frosty coal slag road, the soles of his military boots making crisp sounds as they rolled over the ice.
The factory was filled with the sound of brooms sweeping across the ground. Old Wang from the steel rolling workshop was standing on tiptoe to wipe the "Model of Safety in Production" silk banner. The gold thread on the corners of the banner was glittering in the cold wind.
There was a faint smell of disinfectant in the corridor of the office building. Xiao Zhang from the Logistics Department was squatting on the ground and rubbing the terrazzo floor with a wire brush. The coal stains in the cracks between the bricks were rubbed out to leave grayish-white marks.
When Zhou Yimin passed by the stairs, he heard the soft sound of abacus beads coming from the Finance Department - probably they were doing the final year-end account reconciliation. The sound was as regular as a conveyor belt in a workshop, which made people feel at ease.
When I arrived at the door of Zhou Dazhong's office, it was ajar, with a crack.
Zhou Yimin remembered the boy holding the jar of wine last night, his Adam's apple still tinged with the spiciness of the wine, and he couldn't help but raise his hand and push open the door.
The fluorescent light tube above his head made a "buzzing" sound. He saw Zhou Dazhong slumped over the desk, with his hair on the back of his head sticking up into a small point. His military coat had slipped over the back of the chair, revealing the oily blue work clothes underneath.
The enamelware pot on the table was tilted, and the remaining half cup of tea was covered with a thin layer of ice. Next to it was a wrinkled attendance sheet. Zhou Dazhong's signature was written in a flamboyant style, and the last stroke was dragged out for a long time, as if he had lost control of his pen after being drunk.
The cactus on the windowsill was covered with dust, and at the bottom of the pot was a movie ticket stub from last year, the writing on the ticket having long since become blurred.
"This brat." Zhou Yimin smiled and shook his head, tapping lightly on the door with his fingertips, but Zhou Dazhong just smacked his lips, turned over and continued to sleep.
Without paying much attention to it, he closed the door and walked towards his office.
(End of this chapter)
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