The dim light is the only source of light in this small house in Tongzilou.
The tungsten filament of the light bulb burned red, barely illuminating a family of five huddled together.
The air was mixed with the residual warmth of the food, and there was a damp smell that couldn't be washed away.
"Where on earth are these clothes hung? If you hang them here, you will have to walk sideways."
Mother was grumbling as she cleared away the dishes, wiping the rag back and forth on the greasy tabletop.
Father Li Jianguo ignored his wife's complaints. He held the "Worker's Daily" under the lamp. The edges of the newspaper were already furred.
"Look, it's been published in the newspaper again. Over in Guangdong, a chicken farmer has become a 'ten thousand-yuan household'."
