A year ago, in a small town somewhere in Northeast China.
By the late 1990s, the spring breeze of reform and opening up had finally opened the hearts of the townspeople. Some went south to make their fortunes and ride the tide of the times. Others stayed in their hometowns for years, only to finally make a somewhat better life for themselves. We all know that in the surging tide of the times, even the most outstanding people can hardly make a name for themselves. All we get for giving it our all is an ordinary life.
Winter had arrived. In this season, when even bears went to sleep, some people lost their livelihoods.
Central heating came on early this year, bringing joy to some and sorrow to others in the steelworks workers' compound. The final list of laid-off workers spread from one household to the next along with the hot water in the heating pipes.
Northeastern winters are dry and cold, and this year was the worst yet. It was the kind of cold that gave you no sense of danger. Slowly, slowly, the wind drove away the last traces of warmth from the central heating and pierced through layer upon layer of long underwear, sweaters, padded trousers, and fleece. Only then would you feel the bone-deep cold, until your whole body stiffened, your hands and feet throbbed with pain, and at last you lost all sensation.
Someone knelt in that winter.
