“I actually lived in Huangpu District when I was a child. Later, I moved to Pudong. In fact, I don’t have too many memories of Huangpu District. I remember vaguely there was a bank downstairs, and across the street a Zhending Chicken, a time-honored brand. As I have been a “”house person”” since I was a child, I didn’t like to go out and hang out much. As I got older, I formed an indissoluble bond with the training class. My father would always take me there on a small motorcycle. At that time, I was only 8 or 9 years old. An age when I was curious about all new things.

Sitting at the back of the constantly roaring motorcycle, watching it slowly drive into a warehouse-like place, I  saw the sign above my head reads [Qingning Temple Ferry]. It was winter, the howling river wind mixed with the smell of kerosene from motor vehicles and the smell of cigarettes from middle-aged men, the smell of alcohol hit my face, and I heard Shanghai dialect, Yangjingbang and many other dialects intertwined. Munching on the tangerine peel cakes my father bought on Nanjing Road walking street, I felt like being at a Chinese opera theatre. With the sound of the whistle, the ferry was slowly driving across the river. After a while, I knew we arrived, and the training class was not too far away.”