A Bountiful Year of Rice

Wang Ruhua, a housekeeper in her late forties, had a face lined with deep furrows, yet her laughter could be heard from blocks away. Life hadn't treated her kindly, but she carried gas canisters upstairs and worked with brisk efficiency, never complaining. To others in the trade who had been through the same things, she said, "If the hand fate dealt you wasn't the best script, and the industry you're in doesn't have the best director, then you have to be the strongest actor." Life had bent her back, but it couldn't take away her smile. When we settled the bill, she gave me some old newspapers and magazines, saying I should come by often and be an "old friend." It turned out that the strongest thing wasn't fate, but the people who kept smiling as they lived on.