In the late autumn of May 1st, the wind swept through Nanluogu Alley, and the courtyard No. 75 Was eerily quiet. On the Tukang, Mrs. Jia Zhang held the corner of my clothes and called softly. I closed my eyes and remained motionless. She leaned closer and blew her breath into my ear and called me again. This time I opened my eyes suddenly. The roof beams were crooked overhead, the window paper was leaking, and there was that familiar musty smell that made you want to vomit. The last memory was the cold light of the rolling mill gears, but in front of me was the hot porridge she was holding. Yi Zhonghai's voice came from outside, saying that Dongxu had woken up and was waiting for you in the courtyard for a meeting.
