Wang Yan, covered in wood shavings, pedaled his bicycle down Chang'an Avenue against the biting wind, merging into the great tide of workers heading home in this era.
Chang'an Avenue was packed with bicycles. Acquaintances chatted as they pedaled along, while some cyclists who had bumped into one another went straight at it, hurling curses back and forth. It was lively as could be.
Over in Tiananmen Square, people were still out sightseeing. Children bounced and skipped about, while others walked around with cameras, taking pictures everywhere.
This was indeed a fine time for photographs: workers getting off work, the setting sun, smiles on everyone's faces, all of them brimming with a spirited drive to forge ahead.
He pedaled all the way along Chang'an Avenue, turned toward Xuanwumen, passed Caishikou, and reached South Cross Street—where he lived. At the state-run shop, he bought two Chinese cabbages, a block of tofu, a piece of fatty pork, and a bottle of erguotou.
He stuffed everything into the hand-sewn cloth bag clipped to his rear rack, then rode through the hutongs until he reached the entrance to his crowded courtyard compound.
Before he even entered the courtyard, he saw two young men standing at the gate, smoking.
"Hey, Brother Yan, you're back."
"Kuiyong, I got some fatty pork. I'm making cabbage stewed with tofu later. Come have a drink at my place."
"Sounds good." Li Kuiyong nodded with a smile, then said, "Brother Yan, this is Zhong Yuemin, an old hand from the military compound. Yuemin, this is my good brother, Wang Yan. He only moved here less than two years ago and works at the furniture factory. Let me tell you, Brother Yan isn't ordinary. He took me down in just two moves. He's absolutely top-notch."
He raised his thumb.
"Hello." Wang