Chapter 1267: Wu Family's Morning

He turned the page to the newspaper's popular science section—two full pages devoted to knowledge for the common reader. One covered natural sciences: elementary applied mathematics, physics, chemistry, and biology. The other addressed agricultural technology, publishing articles on scientific farming and animal husbandry. These pieces were commissioned by Ding Ding from the Agricultural Committee, and Wu Nanhai had contributed a few himself. Writing them was no easy task; the content had to be explained in simple terms and rendered in colloquial style.

The agricultural section demanded his closest attention. He scanned it primarily to catch any egregious errors before they reached the public. Some Senators, merely going through the motions, copied directly from outdated popular science manuals—sometimes reproducing material that was flat-out wrong. With so many responsibilities competing for his time, Wu Nanhai couldn't review every manuscript before printing. The newspaper served as his final line of defense.

After finishing the agricultural pages, he skipped past the policy propaganda section—various newly promulgated decrees and administrative documents—and turned to the "Advanced Commendation" column. An Agricultural Committee employee had recently been awarded the Second Class Labor Hero Medal, and he wanted to confirm the announcement had been published.

The column occupied nearly half the page. Printing limitations precluded photographs; instead, small boxed entries displayed each recipient's honors, personal details, and a brief account of their deeds. Black-bordered boxes marked those who had died in the line of duty.

Among the densely packed entries, the first two belonged to Jin Wushun and Jin Liushun. They received not only honorary commendations but a special feature report on their deeds below the main column—a rare distinction. Wu Nanhai knew such honors were almost exclusively reserved for martyrs. Sure enough, Jin Liushun had been awarded the Special Class Labor Hero Medal, unprecedented for the living, while Jin Wushun received the First Class.

The Labor Hero Medal was a recent establishment, created to recognize non-military personnel who had made exceptional contributions to the Senate through their work.

Wu Nanhai was familiar with the Jin siblings' story—the sluice gate was, after all, agricultural infrastructure. Wan Lihui had represented the Agricultural Committee at Jin Liushun's memorial and commendation ceremony in Jeju.

The newspaper's center insert was, as always, devoted to advertisements. Today's featured the Collected Commentaries on the Four Books and Five Classics by the Australian Great Scholars, printed by the Printing House. A promotion was underway: ten percent off the full set, five percent off individual volumes with the newspaper's discount coupon.

Following that came product advertisements from Lingao's various shops and trading firms—both Ministry of Commerce enterprises and private establishments: "Fujian Autumn New Tea Has Arrived," "Nanhai Cigars—Enjoyment Fit for a Chief," "Qionghai Firm: Fresh Stock of Nanjing Velvet..."

Wu Nanhai's gaze settled on a large advertisement for the Cooperative's Autumn Life New Products Exhibition and Sale. Though no discounts were mentioned, it included a detailed catalog with prices. Many items were new, and none were cheap. This was clearly aimed at the household staff of Senator families—he should send Chuqing to browse and see if anything caught her eye.

While Wu Nanhai read, Chuqing and a maid were preparing breakfast in the kitchen. She opened the lower compartment of the refrigerator and retrieved eggs. Ever since the Agricultural Committee established intensive chicken farms across the communal farms and widely promoted small-scale breeding loans in rural areas, eggs were no longer a rationed commodity. Supply for Senators was more than adequate, with enough surplus to provision school, government, and enterprise cafeterias.

This refrigerator was not electric but a traditional icebox. Manufactured by the Machinery Department after late nineteenth and early twentieth century designs that used natural ice for refrigeration, it resembled a large three-door unit. The outer shell was wooden boards filled with sawdust insulation; the inner lining was tin-plated thin steel sheets, perforated at intervals to allow cold air circulation.

On the left side, two doors stacked vertically. The upper compartment held a tinplate box for ice blocks. Below that, the space was divided: the upper section contained a water tray to catch meltwater, while the lower section could accommodate a small amount of items requiring refrigeration. The right side featured a full-length door opening onto four shelved compartments for chilled food storage.

The refrigerator was heavy and bulky, but for a place that could not yet manufacture compressors and lacked conditions for gas refrigeration, it proved remarkably convenient. The cold storage facility delivered ice blocks daily at a fixed hour—one block lasted the entire day. In Lingao's warm climate, it was an indispensable tool for keeping food fresh.

A flat-bottomed iron frying pan heated on the stove—heavy but wonderfully effective. Chuqing poured in peanut oil specially supplied from Nanhai Farm for the General Office, then cracked two eggs into the sizzling surface. At the stove's other end, Sister Ju tended the fire, adding handfuls of wood shavings from time to time. The strain on coal supplies caused by Operation Engine had forced the miserly Planning Commission to suspend coal briquette quotas for Senator households. In their place came leftover scraps from the lumber factory—a bulging sack each day that looked substantial but barely lasted until evening.

Sister Ju fed fuel into the stove while working the bellows to intensify the flames. Her husband's surname was Liu—Liu Ashui. The couple, both around fifty, hailed from Foshan in Guangdong. They had originally crossed the sea seeking relatives who worked in the factories, but upon arrival found no trace of them. When searching for employment, their age counted against them; the physical examination deemed them unfit for heavy factory labor. They were placed on the waiting list for lighter work.

As it happened, Wu Nanhai needed someone to look after the small chapel, and his household required servants and a coachman. After passing review by both the General Office and the General Bureau of Political Security, they became employees of the Wu family. Since the question of whether Senators could own domestic slaves remained unresolved, they signed an employment contract rather than a deed of sale.

The couple lived in the small chapel. Sister Ju arrived at the house each morning at half past five to help in the kitchen, then saw to the day's housework. Chuqing had become a key naturalized cadre in the Agricultural Committee system—her work kept her too busy for domestic duties. Old Man Liu pulled Wu Nanhai's rickshaw and handled miscellaneous odd jobs.

"Husband, breakfast is ready."

Chuqing set a tray on the Eight Immortals table. The morning's staple was vegetable soaked rice: last night's cold rice simmered with water and chopped greens. Side dishes came from Tianchu Food Factory—four varieties of pickles: olive vegetable, pickled radish, baby cucumbers in shrimp oil, and Sichuan-style pickled cabbage. Each person also had a fried egg.

"I meant to make preserved egg porridge, but I forgot to grind the broken rice last night." She untied her apron strings. "Tomorrow for certain."

"No matter—this is excellent."

Before the meal, as was their custom, came grace. Wu Nanhai led the prayer.

After breakfast, Chuqing was clearing dishes when the doorbell rang. Sister Ju went to answer and returned to report that a Senate messenger had arrived.

"Show him to the living room."

The messenger entered, snapped a military salute, and announced: "Reporting to Chief—Trainee Yang Xingfu of the Special Reconnaissance Unit Training Detachment, here for duty. This is my special pass."

Wu Nanhai examined the photograph and name. Naturalized citizens permitted entry to the Senator's dormitory area had already undergone careful inspection by the guards; this was merely routine verification. Finding everything in order, he returned the identification.

"At ease, Trainee Comrade. Wait here in the living room—I'll fetch the document box."

He turned and entered his study. The room's layout was simple, but its access controls were the strictest in the house. Not even servants like Sister Ju were permitted inside; even Chuqing could not enter. He alone possessed the key.

At the center stood a desk and a large armchair. Several sorting boxes and a desk lamp occupied the desktop, where traditional Chinese stationery coexisted with a Western-style inkwell set. Behind the desk, bookshelves lined the wall, filled with document files and books. In one corner sat a reinforced concrete safe. On a raised-end table against the wall rested several document boxes of different colors.

Wu Nanhai approached the table and lifted a leather document box embossed with the Iron Fist Chrysanthemum emblem, secured by a padlock. This was the Senate's confidential document box. Because Plenary Sessions were not held daily, and most Standing Committee members had their own duties—with some Senators not even present in Lingao—certain general matters requiring assembly votes were handled through this document box system. Inside were materials open to Senators, ballots for proposals requiring simple votes, and meeting minutes from relevant parties. Every three days, soldiers from the Special Reconnaissance Unit serving as Senate Guards collected the previously delivered documents in the morning, then delivered new ones each afternoon in a fresh box.

Wu Nanhai confirmed that the seal he had personally affixed the previous night remained intact, then handed the box to Yang Xingfu.

After verifying the seal, Yang Xingfu produced a receipt registration stamp and pressed it onto the wax.

"Reporting to Chief—the Senate confidential document box has been sealed. Please present the handover document registration form."

Chuqing retrieved the registration form and an inkpad box from the living room drawer. Yang Xingfu carefully pressed his fingerprint, then signed and dated the entry.

"My schedule is quite full today," Wu Nanhai instructed. "Deliver the document box directly to the Farm Café this evening and wait for me there."

After seeing off the messenger, Wu Nanhai reviewed his schedule once more. The day's arrangements were as packed as usual—so packed they would consume his evening hours as well. Senators in Lingao did not observe an eight-hour workday. The standard was ten hours, and workaholics who clocked twelve, sixteen, or even consecutive days without sleep were hardly uncommon. The Ministry of Health had been compelled to issue a formal health advisory: Senators were required to sleep at least eight hours daily, and continuous late-night work was strongly discouraged.

(End of Chapter)