Rushing home, she found that her father had already gone over to Yuhuatai. Not daring to delay, she quickly picked up her pace and caught the bus.
She arrived at the food stall just in time, barely avoiding being late. She hurriedly changed into her white dacron uniform and went straight to the stove.
Yuhuatai opened for business at 5:30 p.m. The kitchen staff were required to be in by five. The first ten minutes were for the head chefs of each station to do roll call and give out instructions. The next five minutes were spent inspecting ingredients, utensils, and stovetops. The final fifteen minutes were used by the executive chef and the restaurant manager to conduct a round of inspection and finalize adjustments. At 5:30 sharp, customers began to enter and place orders—and the stoves were fired up.
After calling roll and assigning some simple tasks to his apprentices, Gu Quanfu asked the group, “Any other questions?”
Apprentice Ning Shun’er raised her hand. “Master, the other day at my station, I ran into a picky customer who said my egg fried rice wasn’t good. I wanted to ask… how can I make a better version of it?”
Gu Quanfu chuckled. “Egg fried rice used to be a big deal in our line of work. In the old days, when prominent families were hiring cooks, they would test a chef’s skills with three dishes. First, a simmered chicken soup—testing slow fire technique. Then, stir-fried shredded pork with green peppers—testing high-heat skill. And the last was egg fried rice. Only if the egg fried rice passed inspection did the chef stand a chance of being hired.”
He glanced at Ning Shun’er. “Since my apprentice has brought it up today, I’ll make a serving for everyone.”
Ning Shun’er immediately flushed with embarrassment and stammered, “Master, I didn’t mean it like that! I just wanted to ask because I’ve never been able to get it right…”
Gu Quanfu laughed warmly. “No need to be embarrassed. The company assigned me as your master, so it’s my duty to teach you well. Since you’ve joined my apprenticeship, I must take full responsibility.”
His words rang with sincerity and put everyone at ease. After all, he’d taken on eight apprentices at once, one of whom was his own daughter. Most masters would have held back their best techniques—people assumed they were just there for the title. But from the sound of it, Gu Quanfu was a man of integrity.
Everyone stood there attentively, ready to watch him demonstrate.
Even Master Huo and Master Jiang from the two neighboring stations craned their necks to see what was happening.
Earlier that afternoon, they had tried asking other head chefs for help, but no one had a clue. Intrigued and puzzled, they had spent the entire afternoon mulling it over instead of resting.
Still unable to figure it out, they were itching to ask for guidance but couldn’t quite swallow their pride. Now that Gu Quanfu was about to make egg fried rice, of course they wanted to see for themselves what he could do.
As luck would have it, Niu Deshui happened to be strolling by, hands behind his back, inspecting the food stations. When he saw Gu Quanfu preparing egg fried rice, he broke into a smile. “I’ve had Master Gu’s fried rice before—it’s the real deal!”
With that, the anticipation rose. Everyone was eager to witness Gu Quanfu’s version.
He had one of the apprentices fetch a bowl of rice and began his demonstration. “To make proper egg fried rice, you must first examine the rice’s texture. It’s got to be cold rice in a hot wok—avoid glutinous or sticky grains. Each grain must be separate.”
As he worked, he narrated, “Start with the eggs, then stir-fry the scallions. The scallions must be fried until crisp—that’s when the flavor comes out. As for the rice, it has to be cooked through during stir-frying.”
While he spoke, he flipped the iron wok expertly, causing the rice to leap high into the air and fall back smoothly into the pan. Flames crackled beneath it, and the aroma of rice wafted through the air. Even those who had already eaten found their appetite stirred.
Within moments, it was done. He swiftly plated the fried rice into several porcelain dishes and invited everyone to taste.
All eyes turned to the plates. The grains were perfectly separated, golden and glistening without any excess oil—moist but not greasy. Everyone secretly marveled. Any skilled chef could handle expensive ingredients, but elevating simple egg fried rice to this level? That took true mastery.
Each apprentice took a bite—and one bite was enough to earn gasps of admiration.
“The egg is perfectly cooked—not too firm, not too runny!”
“The scallions taste incredible—no rawness, no bitterness!”
“The rice has real bite to it. I’ve never tasted our Yuhuatai rice like this before!”
Even Masters Huo and Jiang exchanged glances, both impressed. From just one plate of fried rice, they could tell—Gu Quanfu really did have some serious skills.
But the matter of the shad fish from lunch still nagged at them. Finally, unable to resist, Master Huo swallowed his pride and asked.
Niu Deshui beamed. “Come on, Master Gu, tell everyone how you did it. Let’s all learn a thing or two.”
Gu Quanfu responded modestly, “Oh, I wouldn’t dare. You’re all experts here. It’s just that my old man once worked in the imperial kitchens, so I happened to learn some tricks.”
He then explained the method he’d used—hanging the shad scales during steaming to capture their fragrant oils while avoiding the unseemly look of cooking fish with the scales on. The room erupted with awe.
“Steaming the shad with suspended scales—brilliant! You get all the richness without the ugliness. Ingenious!”
There wasn’t a soul present who wasn’t impressed. A true heir to the imperial kitchens indeed—he clearly knew techniques that outsiders wouldn’t.
Niu Deshui grew even more proud. “Master Gu has much more up his sleeve—this is just the beginning! We’re blessed to have him here at Yuhuatai. Everyone, take this chance to learn from him. What you learn becomes yours for life!”
His words struck a chord with the crowd. Each apprentice, no matter what thoughts they’d harbored before, now genuinely committed to studying under Gu Quanfu.
From that day forward, Gu Quanfu’s days at Yuhuatai were smooth and fulfilling. With seven or eight apprentices doting on him, even Gu Shunhua gained newfound prestige.
Each morning, as soon as she changed into her uniform, someone would already have prepared a perfect cup of tea for him—not too hot, not too cold.
It wasn’t about putting on airs. In most workplaces, new hires were expected to serve senior staff, especially in a traditional craft like cooking where seniority mattered greatly.
Seeing her father secure his place at Yuhuatai made Shunhua happy. But alongside that happiness was a deep resolve—she had to learn real skills. As the executive chef had said, once you’ve mastered a craft, it’s yours forever—no one can take that away.
So she pushed herself, refusing to rest during the break between 2 and 5 p.m., choosing instead to stay in the back kitchen to practice.
Her fellow apprentices, already trying to curry favor with her, saw how dedicated she was and began to respect her more. When Gu Quanfu wasn’t around, they would guide her directly, hand over hand.
Shunhua worked hard, had talent, and thanks to her experience in Inner Mongolia doing physically demanding work, she had strength in her hands. Her skills improved quickly—even Gu Quanfu was pleasantly surprised, thinking she might already surpass his younger self.
Naturally, he became even more devoted to training her.
Shunhua found herself constantly busy. Sometimes she came home late, with barely enough energy to wash up and chat briefly with the kids before collapsing into bed.
She was so exhausted, she didn’t have the energy to think of anything else.
But even in her most tired moments, Su Yinghong’s situation kept surfacing in her mind, like a splinter she couldn’t ignore.
It had happened the year she was sent to the countryside—eight years ago. There was no evidence left. And Su Yinghong, after all, was still so young—barely in her twenties. Expecting her to stand in court was impossible in this era.
Words could kill. If Su Yinghong dared to speak up, she’d likely be beaten to death by Qiao Xiuya before anyone else could intervene.
And lawsuits… they were a luxury for those with money and time. Yinghong had neither. And she herself couldn’t do much to help, either.
The only thing she could do was help Yinghong find stable work, become self-sufficient, and then—wait for the right chance.
They had stolen her family’s recipes, cheated her father of his legacy, and destroyed Su Yinghong’s future.
All of it would be paid back—together.
Shunhua kept thinking about helping Yinghong find work. But good jobs didn’t come by easily. The only option was temp work. She brought it up with Wang Xinrui, who eventually pulled some strings and got Yinghong a job at the district provisions warehouse—unloading and sorting boxes.
It was tough, meticulous work. Too troublesome for men, too grueling for women. And the pay was low—only twenty-three yuan a month.
Shunhua brought it up with Su Yinghong, who agreed without hesitation.
They completed the paperwork, and in a few days, Yinghong began her new job.
The shared courtyard buzzed with the news. No one could believe it—Su Yinghong, working a job? It was as if the sun had risen in the west. Some muttered that she’d probably quit within days.
But to everyone’s surprise, Yinghong stuck with it—and even seemed to enjoy the work. She was diligent, more hardworking than anyone else. Seeing that, people began to praise her.
She was, after all, a girl everyone had watched grow up. She’d just been too wild before, never doing anything proper. Now that she was finally walking the right path, naturally people approved.
But not everyone was pleased.
The one who couldn’t stand it was—Qiao Xiuya.
When Qiao Xiuya heard about it, she came charging over, full of fire. Her tone left little room for doubt—she clearly resented Gu Shunhua for meddling in their family affairs.
But Gu Shunhua had expected this. That entire family was full of dramatics; only Su Yinghong had any sense. If it weren’t for Yinghong’s sake, she wouldn’t have bothered sticking her nose into their mess at all. So she didn’t hold back—her words were biting, her tone cool and sarcastic. In just a few short sentences, she sent Qiao Xiuya packing.
Still unwilling to back down, Qiao Xiuya opened her mouth to argue further—only for Su Yinghong to appear, lugging a heavy wooden trunk behind her with a loud clatter.
“All my things are in here,” she said flatly. “If you want me as your daughter, then shut your mouth and stop dragging others into this. If you don’t care about me, then I’ll walk out right now. The provisions company has dorms—I’ll live there. From today on, pretend I was never born.”
Su Yinghong had grown a fierce backbone over the years. After surviving life in the quan’er1, there was nothing she wouldn’t dare to do.
Truthfully, Qiao Xiuya was just mouthing off. Deep down, she was glad her daughter had finally found a decent job. But still, she couldn’t afford to lose face in front of the Gu family—she had to act as though she had the upper hand. Who would have thought Yinghong would blow up like this? Now she was gritting her teeth in fury. “Fine, go then! But once you leave, don’t bother coming back!”
With a cold snort, Su Yinghong dragged her trunk away without so much as a backward glance.
Qiao Xiuya stood frozen, dumbfounded. She really left? After all these years of raising her, she’d turned out to be this ungrateful?
The neighbors, all watching from the courtyard, urged her to go after Yinghong. But pride and anger held her back. With a final stomp of her foot, she spat viciously and turned to go. “Let her go! Keeping a daughter like that around is just asking for disgrace!”
The onlookers shook their heads with a sigh before quietly returning to their own homes.
Only Gu Shunhua remained unfazed. Yinghong had told her before—she wanted to move out, get some peace and quiet. She’d had enough of being constantly judged and whispered about.
Dorm life, in Gu Shunhua’s opinion, wasn’t a bad idea. Though the conditions were rough—six people to a room—at least everyone there was a stranger. It would be a fresh start. For someone like Su Yinghong, that was priceless.
———————————
The parcel from Ren Jingnian arrived.
Gu Shunhua had no time to knit these days, so she handed the yarn over to Wang Xinrui, telling her to make whatever sweater she liked. As for the beef jerky and cheese, she shared a little with each family in the courtyard. What remained, she kept for her own household—the cheese to nourish the kids, and the jerky for snacks when they were hungry.
Ren Jingnian had also sent some money—about fifty or sixty yuan. But she didn’t really need it now. She made a mental note to tell him to keep it next time they spoke. Traveling from Inner Mongolia to Langfang wasn’t cheap, and he’d need money for daily expenses once he arrived. No reason for him to go without.
Meanwhile, Gu Quanfu was now head chef, with several apprentices treating him like royalty. Though he never acted high and mighty, their daily offerings and gestures of respect never stopped. One day, Feng Baoguo overheard that Shunhua was looking to buy cotton-padded jackets for the kids but couldn’t find any. He mentioned his wife worked as a sales clerk in Wangfujing and promised to keep an eye out. Sure enough, a few days later, he said a new shipment had arrived and urged her to go quickly.
When Gu Shunhua arrived, Feng Baoguo’s wife had already set aside two brand-new cotton jackets.
She was delighted. Both were new, and the styles were more fashionable than the usual ones. One was blue and one was red—perfect for her two children.
Judging by the size, they’d come down to the kids’ knees. Slightly oversized now, but they’d fit perfectly this year and next, and with a patch added to the hem, maybe even the year after.
They were a major purchase—not something easily found. Of course they had to be bought a bit large.
After thanking Feng Baoguo’s wife, she brought the jackets home and dressed the children in them. Instantly, they looked warmer and happier. The two of them ran excitedly around the courtyard. Duoduo, in particular, seemed extra proud. He ran up to another child and announced, “Look at my new cotton jacket!”
Then spun around in a circle, beaming with joy.
Watching the scene, Gu Shunhua couldn’t help but smile. She was doing everything in her power to give her children a better childhood—one that wasn’t just warm in body, but rich in spirit. She believed that even if she couldn’t offer them the best conditions, children raised in love and care would strive to improve themselves—not wallow in envy or resentment.
Just as she was savoring the moment, Lei Yongquan came to find her. He handed her a message: the brickyard’s tractor would be passing through later that afternoon to deliver the bricks.
She had been so busy lately, she’d almost forgotten. The news caught her off guard. After thanking him, she fetched ninety yuan and asked him to help pass it along. Then she rushed back to find a pushcart.
When it came to pushcarts, there was no better person to ask than Old Pan—he knew everyone.
Old Pan was playing chess with a few old fellows when she arrived. He looked up in confusion. “Bricks? What bricks?”
“Kiln-fired bricks,” said Shunhua. “I want to build a house. A friend helped me secure some bricks—three thousand of them.”
At that, Old Pan nearly dropped his tobacco pipe. “Three thousand bricks?”
Bricks weren’t easy to come by. The brickyards followed strict state production plans, and every brick was allocated by quota. How could anyone just casually get three thousand of them?
That’s why most people expanded their homes using lime and yellow earth—bricks were too rare.
“They’re trial-production rejects from Xindu Brickyard,” she explained. “A friend helped me get them—totally above board. With these three thousand, I should be able to build the place.”
Three thousand!
Old Pan slapped his thigh. “Say no more! I’ll help you haul them myself!”
Once Old Pan called out, no one was in the mood for chess anymore. He rallied the courtyard residents. Gu Yuehua came running out and quickly rounded up a dozen young men. They borrowed two pushcarts and headed out to move the bricks.
When they got to Qianmen, the tractor had just arrived.
Old Pan gave Shunhua a few quiet instructions. She understood immediately and ran to the co-op nearby to buy cigarettes.
Cigarettes came in several tiers. Low-grade tobacco and cut-leaf blends didn’t require ration tickets. But premium brands like Peony and Daqianmen did.
And Shunhua didn’t have any ration tickets.
She was starting to panic when the sales clerk pointed out a pack. “This one’s expensive—but it doesn’t need tickets.”
It was filter-tipped Peony, a higher-end version of the regular Peony brand.
“How much?” she asked.
“Ninety cents a pack.”
That was steep. A regular Peony with a ticket cost just over thirty cents.
But she recalled a saying: “High-ranking cadres smoke Peony, mid-level cadres smoke Xiangshan, peasants and soldiers get two-cent blends, and village officials roll their own.”
Peony was the crème de la crème. And after all, it was only right to treat the driver with something nice—that’s just how favors and etiquette worked.
So she steeled herself and bought three packs—two yuan and seventy cents, gone in an instant.
After paying, she hurried back—just in time to spot a shoulder pole vendor selling big-bowl tea, a common sight on the streets. Two cents per bowl, dirt cheap.
She called out to him. “Come with me—we’ll need over a dozen bowls.”
The vendor instantly grabbed his two little stools and packed up his blue-rimmed porcelain bowls. With the large green-glazed teapot hanging from the pole, he followed her.
It was only a short walk. Once they arrived, she had everyone take a break. The vendor poured tea from the pot into each bowl, and the workers rubbed their hands together, warming themselves as they drank. Once refreshed, they went back to work.
Then Shunhua stepped over to the tractor driver and discreetly slipped him a pack of Peony. “Master, I really appreciate your help today. Please accept this—hope you don’t mind.”
The driver, clearly a seasoned man, recognized the filter-tipped Peony at a glance. A smile spread across his face. “Oh, you’re too kind! You really didn’t have to.”
Though he spoke politely, the driver accepted the pack without hesitation.
Everyone knew Peony was a high-end cigarette—filter-tipped Peony, even more so. Among smokers, it was the gold standard.
Gu Shunhua then handed the remaining two packs to Old Pan. “Uncle Pan, I bought two extra packs. Can you share them with everyone later?”
Old Pan frowned when he saw the brand. “Why waste money on something so fancy? Look around the courtyard—who smokes this stuff? It’s too extravagant.”
“They all helped me out today,” Shunhua said. “Let them try something special.”
Old Pan didn’t press further. “Alright. You don’t have to worry about it—I’ll take care of it.”
Satisfied, Gu Shunhua joined the group in moving the bricks. Yongzi watched her and tried to stop her. “Why are you hauling bricks? Take a break. We’ve got a whole group of men—how can we let you pitch in?”
But Gu Shunhua grabbed a stack of bricks in one go. “It’s fine. I’ve got strength. This is nothing—I can handle it.”
She was tired, yes—but she couldn’t just stand around watching while others worked. With her husband absent, she had to step up and carry her share, like a man.
When the last load was finally unloaded, the driver asked for her address and said in a low voice, “These bricks… they’re all good bricks. Use them well—you won’t regret it. If any more become available, I’ll tip you off.”
Shunhua hadn’t expected such generosity. Smiling, she replied, “Thank you, truly!”
As the driver pulled away, the group began hauling the bricks home, cartload by cartload. Neighbors peeked out from behind doorways. When they saw it was bricks, they couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Curious whispers spread—how had she managed to get them?
Some even approached her directly, offering favors in exchange for help securing their own batch of bricks. But Shunhua turned them down politely.
After all, she couldn’t keep leaning on Lei Yongquan for personal favors.
By the time everything was hauled back, it was almost dusk. The bricks were neatly stacked by the coal briquettes. She inspected them closely—indeed, they were high-quality. A few had minor flaws, but nothing that would affect their use. This time, thanks to Lei Yongquan, she had scored a real windfall.
Even Old Pan couldn’t hide his admiration. He leaned over and muttered, “That friend of yours is the real deal. Make sure to thank him properly. Without insider connections at the brickyard, no way you’d get your hands on something like this. They usually keep it all for themselves.”
“He’s a good man,” Shunhua replied. “Always was, even back in the Corps—loyal to the bone.”
Just then, Old Pan started handing out the filter-tipped Peony cigarettes. Each person got about two sticks, and everyone was thrilled.
Normally, folks around here only smoked from water pipes or rolled their own cigarettes with cut tobacco—cheap and ticket-free. Filter-tipped Peony? Even the regular non-filtered kind was considered a luxury.
Some of the younger ones didn’t smoke at all. They tucked the cigarettes behind their ears or saved them to gift their bosses at work. It was a statement, a gesture.
As everyone was enjoying the treat, Chen Cuiyue appeared. “You all worked hard today helping my daughter carry bricks,” she called out. “I made a big pot of lamb offal soup. It’s freezing out—come warm up your bellies.”
No one had expected this. Naturally, they were delighted.
Shunhua was a bit surprised herself. She had sensed a change in her mother recently—small things, barely noticeable at first. But now, it was clear.
She had changed.
Chen Cuiyue barely looked at her daughter. Instead, she warmly ushered everyone forward. “Come now—one bowl each!”
As she lifted the lid, a rich aroma filled the entire courtyard. Spirits lifted instantly as everyone turned to look.
A cast-iron pot sat on the steps, steam billowing from it. The soup inside had turned a milky white, with bits of lamb offal bubbling just below the surface.
Ever since Gu Quanfu and Gu Shunhua started working at Yuhuatai, there had been the occasional treat at home. At lunchtime, leftover offal from the kitchen was shared, and Gu Quanfu had brought home a hefty piece. Chen Cuiyue had used it to make a hearty stew.
Everyone had worked hard all afternoon. It was winter—bricks felt like frozen blocks of ice. Gloves barely helped. Their hands were stiff and numb. Now, with this hot pot of soup steaming under their noses, the savory scent was enough to make mouths water.
Chen Cuiyue sprinkled a generous handful of fresh green cilantro into the pot. As it floated on the boiling broth, the flavor became even more enticing.
Gu Shunhua brought out a stack of bowls. In each, she added a bit of fermented tofu mash, crushed chive blossoms, and a spoonful of bright red chili oil.
Once the offal soup was ladled in, the flavors melded perfectly. One sip warmed the throat, then the chest, and slowly spread through the entire body—soothing, comforting, making one feel as if even their pores had opened up from the inside. Some even began to sweat lightly. The cold and the fatigue melted away.
Auntie Huo and Granny Tong came by to help. Together, they filled each bowl with care and passed them out to the crowd.
No one was picky. Some stood on the steps, others huddled beneath the eaves—everyone found a spot out of the wind and squatted down to drink.
Snowflakes began to drift from the sky. In years past, snow would’ve brought anxiety—would there be enough coal briquettes for the winter?
But this year, thanks to the extra fuel Shunhua had secured, the house was warm and comfortable. Add to that the rich lamb soup—and life felt better than what the old landlords used to enjoy.
“This offal soup is incredible! So rich and flavorful. Your family really knows how to cook. I’ve never been able to make it this good.”
“Shunhua’s mom knows what she’s doing!”
“Lucky us, sharing a big bowl of lamb soup on a day like this!”
Chen Cuiyue listened to the chatter, saw the steam rising from everyone’s bowls, and felt a flicker of happiness.
Lately, she’d been doing some thinking. Quietly, on her own. Remembering the past—some things she recalled clearly, others were hazy. The clearer memories… the more she thought about them, the more wrong they felt. Yet, back then, she hadn’t thought anything of it. She had believed she was doing what was right.
It was strange, almost unsettling. But what’s done was done. Now, her children didn’t trust her, her husband kept his distance—what could she do? She had no choice but to slowly make things right.
Seeing her daughter hauling bricks today, she had the idea to make soup for everyone.
Once, she would never have been so generous. But now, with both her husband and daughter working at Yuhuatai, food wasn’t in short supply anymore. Naturally, she became more open-handed.
As she watched the courtyard fill with laughter and warmth, she remembered her younger days—quick-witted, capable, well-liked. Even after she married, she’d always known how to handle things. She wasn’t unreasonable. So when had things started going so wrong?
And then, her thoughts drifted to Chen Lu’s face—that strange, almost artificial mask she wore. A chill ran down her spine.
What kind of people were they, really? How could I have been so foolish—so blind—to favor Chen Lu like that? Was I under some kind of spell?
Just then, Gu Yuehua returned, holding a nylon mesh bag. Inside were youzhi shaobing—oil-paper-wrapped baked buns—still steaming in the winter air.
“Shaobing! Get your shaobing!” he called cheerfully, handing them out left and right. Everyone who’d helped, and even those who hadn’t, got one. Each child received half a bun—almost no one left empty-handed.
It wasn’t just a show of generosity. He understood: his sister had secured three thousand bricks—state-planned goods. He couldn’t do the same for everyone else. Better to show a little goodwill now. After all, when you give people warmth and food, they’re less likely to harbor resentment.
The buns were piping hot, flaky on the outside, sprinkled with sesame seeds, crumbling at the first bite.
Two buns remained. He gave them to the children. They held them close, nibbling happily.
Chen Cuiyue ladled soup for them as well, skipping the chili oil. “This one’s mild—good for your stomachs. Lamb soup will keep you warm!”
Watching all of this unfold, Gu Shunhua felt deeply moved. “Mom, I’m really glad you thought of all this. I’ve been so focused on the bricks, I didn’t even think about how to thank everyone.”
Lately, Chen Cuiyue had been wanting to do something for her daughter but hadn’t known where to start. Hearing Shunhua say that now, her eyes grew hot, her throat tight with emotion. She didn’t know what to say.
Shunhua sighed. “Mom, let the past be the past. Things are slowly getting better for me. I’m learning to cook—I’ll work hard and aim for a permanent position. Once the house is built and I’ve got the daily necessities in place, life will really start to improve. But for that to happen, we all need to stick together. We can’t keep letting others use us like pawns.”
Chen Cuiyue nodded quickly. “I understand, I do. The past is the past. I was confused before—but now I know. I can’t make those kinds of mistakes again.”
Shunhua finally felt at ease. A quiet feeling of reflection welled up in her chest.
All her life, her mother had favored Chen Lu more. She never understood why. Lately, she wondered—was it just because that’s how the story was written? Was her mother simply playing out a preordained role?
If so, maybe her own personality had always been fated to oppose it.
But now, perhaps her family was slowly breaking free from that narrative. Whether through effort, luck, or awakening, her mother had changed.
Whatever the reason, she could finally begin to relax.
Everything around her—people, events—was shifting. And with every small change, she moved farther from the ending she feared: abandoning her children and remarrying a professor.
No matter how powerful the force of the story was, if her family stayed united, who said they couldn’t change their fate?
- Quān’er (圈儿) refers to a group of wayward youths, often unruly or delinquent, common in urban Beijing neighborhoods during the 1960s–70s. ↩︎