Above: Memories of Cold Iron The air was thick with the strange smell of disinfectant mixed with old wood, so heavy it was suffocating. Outside the window, the early winter chill of Harbin had already crept onto the glass, condensing into a blurry layer of white frost. Inside, however, it was warm. A small, blackened coal stove glowed red-hot, its lid gleaming with a dark red light, emitting a faint hissing sound, futilely resisting the icy air that stubbornly seeped in through the cracks in the doors and windows. An old aluminum kettle sat on the stove, wisps of white steam rising from its spout; the water was almost boiling, its monotonous hissing sound standing out in the excessively quiet room.
