Su Wan woke up from hunger.
My stomach felt as if someone had grabbed it and twisted it, and acid water surged into my throat. She opened her eyes and saw a gray sky with fine snowflakes floating in it. Cold, biting cold, coming out from the cracks in the bones. She was lying on the dirt floor. Her clothes were made of burlap, which was hard and tied, and she was wearing a cotton-padded jacket with patches on top of each other. The cotton wool came out of the holes and turned black and stiff. This is not her body. Her body should be in a rental house in Beijing, with the heater on, eating self-heating hot pot and watching TV dramas. Su Wan struggled to sit up, with a splitting headache and two memories fighting in her mind. One part is modern, three years after graduating from college, working as a clerk, renting outside the Fifth Ring Road, and his biggest hobby on weekends is going to the supermarket; the other part is ancient, with the same name, he is sixteen years old, his parents have died, and he is running away with a ten-year-old brother.
