Before the first quarter of the Si hour the next day, Song Jinzhao and the others arrived at the entrance to the courier station.
Gu Baozhu, who had been waiting there in advance, spotted them and ran down the steps excitedly.
“County Princess~” Her cheerful voice made anyone who heard it think the two had a close relationship.
A yamen runner hurried inside to report their arrival. Not long afterward, Gu Zhongxun came out.
The grand procession headed toward the outskirts of the city, and the common people along the road hastily stepped aside.
Throughout the journey, Gu Baozhu’s curiosity got the better of her. She kept edging closer to Song Jinzhao, asking question after question, as though she were treating the cement factory like a tourist attraction.
Lanxi had been waiting outside the factory building. As soon as she saw the procession-clearing flags, she immediately led several junior managers forward to greet them.
“Greetings to County Princess Linghui. Greetings to Lord Gu, Lord Song, and the others…”
The factory gates stood wide open, and the carriages drove straight inside before coming to a stop.
Song Qiming took the masks Lanxi handed over and gave one to Gu Zhongxun. “There’s a lot of dust inside. My lord, please put this on.”
Gu Zhongxun took the mask and examined it. Seeing that Song Jinzhao and the others had all put theirs on, he understood that it served the same purpose as a face covering.
The moment they entered the factory building, a wave of heat struck them. Before long, their faces had been baked red, and their entire bodies felt hot.
“Is it this hot here every day? It feels like being inside a furnace.”
Lanxi glanced at Song Jinzhao before answering Gu Zhongxun with a smile.
“Calcining cement produces tremendous heat. The windows can’t be opened too wide, either. Autumn and winter are still fairly comfortable, but once summer arrives, it’s truly hot enough to kill.”
Nearby, workers pushed carts loaded with stone. In the distance, muscular men with bare arms were wielding heavy hammers.
Farther away, the heat had turned into smoke that lingered over the factory building.
There were many people, but no disorder. Everything proceeded in an orderly fashion, as though everyone had long since grown accustomed to it.
After two quarters of an hour, Gu Zhongxun was drenched in sweat. Beads of perspiration covered his forehead and chin, and his undershirt clung to his body so tightly that no amount of tugging could pull it free.
Gu Baozhu and Gu Jinghong were still in fairly good spirits, though the sparkle in their eyes had dimmed somewhat.
Only Li Zhidao, who was following beside them, kept wiping his forehead with his sleeve. He looked as though he were on the verge of fainting.
The difference between those who exercised regularly or practiced martial arts and those who did not was immediately apparent.
It took another half hour to finish touring the entire factory. The moment they stepped outside, Li Zhidao tore off his mask with a thump, dropped to his knees, and began vomiting.
Song Qiming said, “Quick, bring some water.”
A junior manager following behind Lanxi promptly ran over with a waterskin.
At lunchtime, three large wooden barrels held pork offal stewed with pickled vegetables, boiled spinach, and sorghum rice.
The workers from the factory came out in shifts to collect their meals, and barrel after barrel was replaced.
Sitting on an unsteady wooden bench, Gu Zhongxun stared at the pork offal floating in oil in his bowl, unable to find much appetite.
Li Zhidao, who had only just finished vomiting, wrinkled his brows in disgust and turned his head away. “How can anyone eat this with so much grease?”
Song Jinzhao paused just as she was about to eat a piece of pork intestine. Her tone was mild as she said, “The workers do hard physical labor. If their food doesn’t contain enough oil, they won’t have the strength to work.”
“I failed to consider that,” Li Zhidao said awkwardly, lowering his head. He did not dare say another word.
Gu Baozhu picked up a slice of pork lung and put it into her mouth.
It had been boiled until tender, crumbling at the slightest bite. Together with the pickled vegetables, it made every mouthful of coarse grain rice much easier to swallow.
She sincerely praised it. “It actually tastes pretty good. Most importantly, it goes very well with rice.”
At that, Li Zhidao became even quieter, especially when he saw that Gu Zhongxun was eating with obvious enjoyment as well.
After finishing a bowl of rice, Gu Zhongxun remained seated on the bench, watching the men and women line up to collect their meals one after another.
As they waited in line, they chatted among themselves, craning their necks to see what dishes were being served that day. When they squatted on the ground to eat, their faces shone with happiness—something Gu Zhongxun had never seen before.
He had seen farmers with hollow, sallow faces working in the fields beneath the blazing sun. They ate a watery gruel made by boiling wild vegetables together with coarse grain. After working all year, they still earned only a few coins and could barely keep themselves fed.
