Making a Fortune Selling Baozi in the 1980s

My name is Yu Yi. Flour stuck to my eyelashes, making them itch a little. I wiped them with the back of my hand and kept kneading the dough that had been resting on the board. It was the winter of the early 1980s, cold enough for our breath to frost in the air. The little shack we'd built in the alley out of tarpaulin leaked wind from every side. The coal in the stove glowed red, the only thing that made it feel even a little warm. Dad crouched behind the stove, feeding the fire. Its light flickered across the deep wrinkles on his forehead. "Yi, is the filling ready?" Dad looked up, his voice a little hoarse. The coal smoke had gotten to him. "Yes, Dad. It's the three-delicacy kind: chives, eggs, and a little dried shrimp. It smells wonderful." I lifted the lid off the enamel pot beside me...