Minus 60°
100 days of polar night.
Lao Zhang died on the third day, and he was still writing a diary before his death.
Xiaoman died three years ago. His last words were "Dad, the snow is so heavy that I can't see the road."
I survived.
The price is two fingers, a pair of eyes, and 87 unsent letters.
Every Wednesday I receive a call from a girl named Xiao Lin.
She said, "What's the temperature over there?", I said, "minus 55 degrees," and she said, "It's 18 degrees above zero here, and there's the sun."
Then the phone stopped ringing.
That day, I knelt in the snow and cried.
Not because of salvation.
It's because - I can finally tell Xiaoman: It's dawn.
I was asked why I stayed.
I said: Someone has to remember.
