(Coming next)
One morning, Song Wan'an woke up as a young intellectual from the 1980s who was determined to return to the city.
She looked at the supposedly dirt-poor (not really) house before her and the supposedly pitiful (not really) child dressed in clothes whose original color was impossible to make out. Her sense of responsibility surged, and with the 156.3 yuan left in her pocket, she boldly set out to make a fortune.
Just as she was rubbing her hands together, eager to turn the tables in this legendary era where gold was said to lie everywhere, reality slapped her hard across the face.
Her husband, whom she remembered as honest and simple, with brute strength but no brains, pulled out a little notebook. A long string of numbers was clearly printed on it.
Song Wan'an: “...” So much for being poor.
