Chapter 72

Li Xuewu walked into the changing room and greeted the master who was brewing tea.

The master’s skills were decent, so Li Xuewu had him shave his face, trim his feet, and give him a massage.

The craftsmanship of this era was truly impressive—far superior to any technician from the future.

He wiped his body dry with a towel; now it was time for the next step.

Absolutely not “go upstairs!”

Absolutely not!

No!

It’s putting on clothes!

Putting on his own clothes!

Not disposable paper underwear!

He took down the basket from the top of the cabinet and began dressing; while the master stepped out, Li Xuewu swapped into clean clothes from his space, grabbed his toiletries, and left.

Back at the dorm, he checked that the child was still asleep, picked up his meal box to get food, and a squad member volunteered to fetch it for him; Li Xuewu handed over the meal tickets and took the chance to lie down longer on the kang.

He ate a few bites of the dinner brought back by the squad member, then lay beside his daughter on the kang, half-asleep.

He didn’t know how long he’d dozed off when the courtyard’s loudspeaker blared: “Tonight, a film will be shown at the factory canteen entrance; all workers and family members must maintain order...”

Today was Saturday; tomorrow was Sunday.

Most workshops were off on Sundays, and many workers participated in voluntary labor; to appease them, the factory organized film screenings as part of cultural recreation.

Li Xuewu had never seen a film since arriving in this era; hearing the announcement stirred him, but seeing his daughter’s sleeping face, he decided against going—he feared she’d overheat and pulled the blanket down slightly.

The classic posture of a doting father.

Several squad members couldn’t bear to watch.

“Captain, go watch the movie—we’ll stay on duty here, no problem. We’ll watch the child and change her diapers too.”

“Yeah, go ahead—we’ve got her.”

Seeing their earnestness, and since he himself wanted to see the spectacle, and noticing his daughter hadn’t woken, Li Xuewu tossed one of the men a pack of Da Qianmen cigarettes.

“I’m leaving my daughter in your care—but smoke outside, don’t let the smoke bother her.”

Watching Li Xuewu like this, the squad members chuckled; who was that furious Vajra who had thrown Wang Weidong to the ground and kicked him like a ball just a while ago?

Look at him now—so gentle, so benevolent, like a Bodhisattva.

The canteen wasn’t far; he felt his daughter’s small hand, pulled on his military overcoat, and strolled out the door.

Li Xuewu’s visit to the canteen was secondary—he wanted to find someone who knew about milk, ideally a nursing woman.

Outside the canteen, it was bustling; the screen was already set up, men, women, and children clamoring for space, placing stools.

One man shouted: “How are there so many people?”

Someone else yelled: “Movie’s on! Movie’s on!”

Another called out: “Come here, there’s room over here!”

The entire square was filled with voices calling out to friends and searching for family.

The sky was still bright; the movie hadn’t started yet, yet so many had already gathered—everyone was desperate for a good spot.

Why did the steel mill choose the canteen entrance for film screenings?

Because the canteen had stools—the steel mill was an hour from town; carrying stools back and forth would exhaust people.

Workers could borrow the canteen’s stools to watch the movie, but stools were limited—first come, first served.

At this time, entertainment was scarce; even “middle-class households” budgeted two yuan per month for movies—watching films was a major cultural pastime.

Hearing the steel mill was showing a film, workers’ families and relatives flocked here; if you didn’t arrive early, you’d have to climb a tree and sit on a branch.

Not just now—even 80s and 90s kids all had memories of rushing ahead to claim spots before the movie started, carrying stools, skipping meals.

Li Xuewu had no intention of watching the whole film or sitting down—he’d sat enough these past few days—so he found a random spot to stand and watch the chaos of adults and children fighting for space.

At that moment, Qin Huaiju arrived at the canteen square with her younger sister Qin Jingru, walking along the factory’s main road.

Qin Jingru had been summoned by Qin Huaiju’s letter on Wednesday, saying she’d arrange a meeting with a chef who lived next door in the same courtyard.

His home was large and spacious, with good living conditions, no in-laws to control him, and he earned 37.5 yuan a month—easily enough to support a family.

They’d arranged to meet after work on Saturday; Sunday would be perfect for a date.

At this time, dating had none of the elaborate rituals of the future—mostly just “walking the streets.”

Qin Jingru’s family was delighted to receive the letter from the city—back then, a chef meant you’d never go hungry.