Mud Dust

In 1962, Li Jianguo was born in the countryside, a two-hour drive from Binhai City, on a yellow mud road, an adobe house, and a kerosene lamp. He has done nothing wrong in his life. At the age of sixteen, he went out to work, carrying bricks, building walls, and carrying steel bars. He saves money to treat his wife's cancer and support his son's education and college entrance examination. I believe that as long as he is willing to endure hardship, life will eventually get better. In the spring of 2026, he died in his chair, with the sun shining brightly outside the window. There were no last words, no crowds, no one to write his epitaph. This is not a story about a counterattack. This is a story about you and me, maybe Li Jianguo - born ordinary, died quietly, the intervening decades were all about strength and could not be exchanged for anything. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.