The morning light filtered through the dusty window.
It cast several mottled beams on the cement floor of the humble dormitory.
Fang Qingyu opened his eyes and sat up from the hard bed.
Though the conditions were basic, they were what he was used to.
Loud yawns came from Chu Kuanglan's bed next to his.
And also Lu Jiuyuan's voice.
"Be content, at least we aren't out in the wind and snow like on the front lines."
Soon, everyone, full of energy, stepped out of the gray self-built house.
The cold air carried a chill, but compared to the bone-chilling winds of the Arctic Front, this was considered mild.
In the streets and alleys, ordinary residents had already begun their day's bustle.
Vendors pushed creaky carts, children chased each other on the muddy ground, life was vibrant.
The dilapidated minibus had long been parked downstairs, its engine roaring.
