In October 1961, Hongxing Commune was busy with the autumn harvest. The donkey cart was swaying, and the militia captain looked at the pale young projectionist on the cart: "Are you okay?" "It's okay." The messy memories in Xu Damao's mind gradually became clear - he is now a film projectionist at the capital's steel rolling mill, and he just became a full-time employee this year. The salary is not high, about thirty yuan a month, but every time I go to the countryside, I get a subsidy, and the commune also gives me things if the conditions are good. The little bits and pieces added up are more nourishing than being a small cadre.
I looked confused and confused. Good guy Xu Damao