When Zhou Xiangbei woke up, earth was falling from the roof.
The northwest wind came in through the hole in the window paper, blowing away the oil lamp and leaving only a flame as big as a soybean. There was half a bag of moldy oats in the corner, there was ice on the stove, and horses neighed one after another outside the door.
He stared at the old calendar on the wall for a long time.
In 1962, the seventh day of the twelfth lunar month.
Chilechuan Ranch, the seventh production team.
Zhou Xiangbei suddenly lifted the quilt and didn't even bother to put on his shoes.
If he remembered correctly, three days later, Guo Shizi would bring back a Sichuan girl from the station.
Her name is Li Xiuzhi.
And now, she should have boarded the slow train heading northwest.
