The shift-over bell at the Rolling Mill had already rung long ago, and inside the temporary office of the Art and Literature Section, Su Changshun was leaning lazily back in a rattan chair, watching Xu Damao rack his brains to recite the *Work Regulations*.
Lin Fang and Zhou Mei were whispering about something nearby, while Comrade Old Wang held an enamel mug, his gaze vacant and seemingly wandering beyond the skies.
Right at that moment, someone knocked on the office door.
Chapter 87