Zhou Ming dragged the frayed suitcase and stood at the stairs of the tenement building, looking up - a seven-story old building with mottled exterior walls and colorful shirts and trousers hanging on the clothesline, like strings of forgotten flags. The iron window on the third floor was half open, letting out a little dim light, and the sound of grandma making soup mixed with the smell of oily smoke floated down, straight into people's noses.
