The more Old Man Song spoke, the more mortified he felt, his head drooping lower and lower.
Dire poverty dampens will and aspiration. Yet, people have no choice but to carry on.
Song Dazhu was a martyr, honored with a title from the state and buried in the Martyrs' Cemetery. Who could bear to let the only child of a martyr starve to death? Who in their production brigade, who among the Song clan, could shoulder such a burden? If it weren't for the famine of these past few years, every family in the brigade could spare a mouthful of food to keep him alive. But now, who is willing to part with even a single grain? They count every grain they use for cooking.