It was early spring, the weather was mild, and willow trees by the roadside had just sprouted fresh green buds. A few sparrows chirped on the branches, making everything seem so lively.,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.,Lao Zhou's eyes held a hint of sympathy as he pointed to the north side of the textile mill:。