In the dead of night, a tyrannical locomotive galloped rapidly in the slums.

It goes around the alley and pauses for a moment in front of every door.

The dim moonlight shines on the ground, reflecting the clear and meaningful face of Mu Chudi.

She took it out of her arms and stuffed a small steamed bun in kraft paper through the wooden door.

After stuffing one house after another, it was not until each house had stuffed once that the car turned around and went back.

The alleys are quiet, especially the sound of locomotive motors.

The locomotive swung away, lifting up the rolling earth.

Mu Chudi was driving...