Old Zhou

Introduction to the work "Old Zhou" In the winter when he was sixty-seven years old, Lao Zhou took out a train ticket from under the kang mat with "Jiamusi-Guangzhou" printed on it. Before leaving, he stole a sauerkraut from the sauerkraut jar and picked up a bone with meat stars hanging from the roadside. After stewing a pot of soup, I said "See you in the south" to the empty room, and then I was blown away by the sound of firecrackers outside the door. He thought the South was a place where there was work. Only when we arrived did we realize that the south was the thirty-three-story scaffolding, the bunk beds in the tin shed, a Sichuan worker who coughed at night, and the softly kneaded bus ticket in the pocket of the old cotton-padded jacket that he couldn't bear to take off. On New Year's Day, he and the Sichuanese were the only ones left on the construction site. He cut the last half of the sauerkraut and stewed it in a pot with two pieces of pork belly. Fireworks were set off outside. He took out his ticket, looked at the light for a while, and then tore it up. I'll have to buy a new one this time next year. This is a story about departure and arrival, wandering and returning. It is about an old man named Lao Zhou and a group of people who cannot be named - they run back and forth between one end and the other end of the train, and their lives are like a ticket that is rubbed repeatedly. The novel uses line drawing to follow Lao Zhou's footsteps from the northeastern countryside to the construction sites in the south, salvaging those people who have been swept up like dust by the times. They were silent, forbearing, and unseen, but one evening, they cried like children over a pot of pickled cabbage soup. "Old Zhou" writes about the life of an ordinary person. There are also many people