In 1965, the wind in Beijing carried a fishy smell of earth. I stood in the corner of the yard and smoked half a cigarette. My father died in a car accident on the way to the border and my mother took me on a blind date. I took over as a cook in the cafeteria and wanted to help Qin Huairu. Mrs. Jia Zhang took advantage of my funeral to bring her son to propose marriage - Qin Huairu calculated that the apprentice of a sixth-level fitter is worth more than a lonely ghost. I have remembered this piece of Hu for twelve years.
