In 1967, I was born in a village in Inner Mongolia where you can't even find a map.
My father became a village cadre at the age of sixteen, and later saw Tiananmen Square in Beijing and the Bund in Shanghai in the commune. His words under the oil lamp were like seeds, pulling me far away. From the university classroom in Xianyang, to the collapse of the Fengzhen Leather Shoe Factory; from the unknocked gray iron door of the Xuejiawan Power Plant, to the leather workshop in Huantai, Zibo; from the assembly line of the Shenzhen processing plant, to the shut-down machines in Huiyang Tamsui, to the warehouse of the "Kunpeng Shihang" drone - in my life, I have been pushed by the times, and I have gritted my teeth and rolled out of the wind and sand step by step.
This is not a cool article. This is a true story about an ordinary person who has been quenched into ice during the decades of business changes in China.
