The wind on the street corner is very cold, with the biting chill unique to winter. Ju Fufu stood there, holding an old pot and a rusty pot lid in his hand, knocking hard. The ding-dong sound echoed in the empty street, as if playing a silent sad song for the city. There was popcorn in the pot, and the corn kernels burst in the pot with a squeak, emitting a burnt fragrance, but this fragrance seemed particularly lonely in the cold wind.
Ju Fufu’s face was covered with traces of time, and his eyes were deep but clear, as if filled with heavy stories. She guarded this pot here every day, guarded the sound of the pot lid, and guarded her only dignity and hope in this city. The rhythm of her knocking on the pot lid is both a signal of survival and a kind of inner persistence. The sound of the pot lid is monotonous and loud, like a hammer, knocking on the indifference and cruelty of society again and again.
People on the street hurried by, most of them had no intention of staying. They may have gotten used to the sound, or even tired of it, but few people know that behind the knocking sound are souls who are overwhelmed by life. Ju Fufu is not a popcorn seller, she is an ascetic in life and the most real witness in the corners of the city. The sound of her pot lid is her way of fighting against fate and her motivation to live.
The sound of the pot lid implies countless difficult days: her husband died early, leaving her to raise two children alone; her children grew up and scattered all over the place, and their lives were not rich. Ju Fufu has no education and no skills. The only thing she can do is to knock on the pot lid on this street corner and exchange popcorn for a meager income. There are not many stories in her life, only days of suffering and tenacity.
The popcorn exploded in the pot, and the sound of the cracking accompanied by the knocking of the pot lid is very much like the rhythm of her life. The exploded corn kernels bloomed in an instant, turning into fluffy white flowers, but this bloom was only short-lived. When the cold wind blew, the warmth disappeared without a trace. Just like her brief happy moments, they came quickly and went quickly, leaving only coldness and loneliness.
Occasionally, a few children stopped and looked at the white flowers floating out of the pot with sparkling eyes. That was the fun of their childhood and a rare bright spot in Ju Fufu’s life. She would smile, although there were too many stories behind that smile that no one knew. The sound of her pot lid was a silent language that knocked into the hearts of those children and into the dull souls of every passerby.
The more prosperous this city is, the more the noise covers the sounds in the corners. Ju Fufu is like a dark corner of the city, forgotten, but has to persist. The sound of her pot lid is the whisper of the city, the buried sound breaking out of the ground. Every knock is a call for life, and every jingle is an unyielding struggle against fate.
In the cold wind, her hands were red from the cold, but she still knocked the pot lid vigorously. She understood that the sound of the pot lid was not only a tool for livelihood, but also her confession of life. She did not expect others to understand, let alone ask for pity. She lived in the simplest way, using the simple sound of the pot lid to prove that she was still there, still struggling with the world.
In the rhythm of her knocking, we heard the cruelty of life and saw the tenacity of people. Those corners ignored by society and those nameless sufferings were all told in the sound of the pot lid. Ju Fufu’s story is ordinary but heavy. She supported the burden of life with her ordinary body and knocked out the sorrow and hope of this era with the sound of the pot lid.
The sound of the pot lid is the rhythm of life, the persistence of life, and the silent accusation of the indifferent society. It reminds us that there are too many fresh lives struggling behind the prosperity; under the mask of indifference, there is too much warmth and love waiting to be discovered silently. Ju Fufu uses her voice to tell us that no matter how hard life is, we should not forget to knock on our own pot lids and guard the purest dignity and persistence.