In Beijing, there are many solitary basements. They're a chaotic mix of good and bad, quite complicated, much like anthills. Most of the residents are migrant workers who come to Beijing for work. This place, with its concentration of a transient population, is poorly managed. Finding someone here is tough; it's a good hiding spot.
When Peng Fang woke up, this was the kind of place she found herself in. The air was foul, clothes were hanging everywhere, garbage was strewn all over, it reminded her of refugee camps from the TV. Snotty-nosed children ran around, and when they saw her face, they picked their noses and flashed her grins uglier than crying. She felt horrified, as if she were in a terrifying horror movie filled with surprises. Because she couldn't remember anything, not even who she was. All she knew was that her throat felt terrible, as if it were filled with sand.
