1992, Winter. The north wind in Tangshan was like a knife, hurting my face and digging into the bones. The sky was gray and the chimneys of the steel mills were covered with black smoke. The whole street had a smell of staleness and depression. Both sides of the road are lined with low-rise bungalows. The dirt road is frozen hard, and as soon as the car passes by, the dust is covered with broken ice, which is confusing to the eyes. At that time, there were not many serious cars on the street, but only 28-inch bicycles and tractors that were smoking suddenly...
