In a simple and austere meeting room at the Red Star Rolling Mill Workers' Hospital, four people in white coats sat behind a row of yellow-painted wooden tables, taking turns asking questions.,Across the table stood a tall and slender young man, around twenty years old. He was handsome with a humble and gentle gaze, though lacking the youthful vigor and ambition that one would expect of someone his age in this era...,At this moment, the melody of "East is Red" blared from the factory loudspeaker. Several wooden-bodied trucks with canvas tops rumbled toward the warehouse across the street. The drivers inside each sat smoking and puffing their chests out, looking arrogant and unconcerned.。