That year when I returned to the city, there was no room for me in my house, so I slept in the kitchen for three years. The coal smoke made me cough up black phlegm, and the street office said that "unemployed young people" like me had to fend for themselves. Later, I secretly went to the beach to boil salt and sell it on the black market, and met a veterinarian girl who was also struggling. She taught me to feed sick cows salt water to reduce fever, and I taught her to dry kelp to make cotton-padded jacket linings. On our wedding day, we swore to the iron pot: "When things get better, we will eat pure white rice every day." Nowadays, supermarkets are full of dazzling products, but I always think of that pot of salt...
