1970, Hong Kong, Kowloon Walled City.
Damp, smelly, cramped.
Chen Jiajun woke up with a severe headache and a pungent musty smell.
What comes into view is a ceiling that is so low that it seems like it will collapse at any time, covered with thick, blackened old newspapers. Beneath him was a painfully hard wooden bed, and the thin straw mat exuded a strange smell of sweat and mildew.
"I... Am not dead?"
He sat up suddenly, a wave of dizziness struck him, and countless unfamiliar memory fragments rushed into his mind like a flood that broke a bank.
Chen Jiajun, 18 years old, a big kid, just came to Hong Kong illegally from the mainland three days ago. Being penniless, he took refuge with his distant cousin in the city, but he died due to a high fever that he was not accustomed to.
Being restrained and depressed everywhere