Winter, 1962. The capital, Nanluoguxiang Lane, No. 95: a standard courtyard house.
Chen Yifan's eyes flew open. The bitter cold and pounding headache brought him instantly to his senses. Above him was a ceiling pasted over with old newspapers, and the air carried a distinctive mix of coal dust, aged wood, and a faint musty smell.
The icy sensation came from the hard kang beneath him. The thin quilt covering him could barely keep out the freezing winter night in the capital.
Then, memories that did not belong to him surged into his mind like a burst dam, bringing searing pain and the brief, tragic life of the body's original owner...
