At this time, the capital city in Du Ruo's eyes bore obvious traces of the times. Most pedestrians wore clothes in black, gray, and blue. The buildings were low and short, with walls that were mottled and dilapidated. Occasionally, a small car could be seen driving down the street, but the ringing of bicycle bells was constant, light and pleasant to the ear.,Du Ru stood at the front gate of Beijing's First Cotton Textile Factory. An old man sat at the entrance, staring intently at the stranger as if he were a thief.,"Hello, is this Deputy Factory Manager Du This is Lao Zhou, the guard. It's like this..."。