Ju Fufu stood on the street corner trembling in the cold wind, holding the rusty pot and the old pot lid tightly in his hands, knocking them. This sound is like a secret cry in the city, and it is also like a silent struggle, knocking on the indifferent air and the conscience covered by numbness.

The sound of pot lids is not just a greeting of selling popcorn, but a symbol of the vitality of the people at the bottom of society, and a cry they make with their meager life. Ju Fufu’s face was portrayed more haggard by the cold wind, and there was a stubborn light in her eyes. She was not knocked down by the heaviness of life, but instead honed a kind of cold strength in the suffering.

Her story has now become a microcosm of many people. Her husband died early, her children left home, leaving her alone, struggling to survive in this indifferent city. The sound of pot lids is her weapon and her lifeline. She used this simple way to declare to the world: I am still alive, I am still struggling.

However, this voice was ignored by most of the hurried passers-by, and even swallowed up by the noise of the city. People were in a hurry, their eyes only focused on the neon lights and shopping malls in front of them, but ignored the old woman knocking on the pot lid on the corner of the street. Her existence is like a mirror, reflecting the indifference and ruthlessness of society.

Popcorn burst in the pot, and white smoke filled the air, which seemed to be Ju Fufu’s desire and yearning for a better life. But this beauty always comes too late, even out of reach. Her life has no luxurious decorations, only shabby pots and broken hopes. The rhythm of the pot lid sound is both the beat of life and the endless struggle in her life.

The prosperity of the city covers the corners of poverty, and political slogans cover the cracks in society, but Ju Fufu’s pot lid sound knocks out the real sound in these false prosperity. That sound is like a blade, cutting the mask of society and exposing the indifference and loneliness brought about by the gap between the rich and the poor.

Her voice is a complaint against social injustice and a call to the forgotten. The sound of pot lids hides countless difficult stories, the pain and tenacity of life. Ju Fufu did not choose to remain silent. She used pot lids to knock on this cold land, the power that is high above, and the numb conscience.

This sound echoed in the cold wind, like an invisible hammer, knocking on people’s closed hearts. It reminds us that those neglected lives are living hard, bearing the pressure of reality, but still insisting on their dignity. The sound of pot lids is not just the sound of selling popcorn, it is a kind of struggle, a kind of persistence, and even more a kind of hope.

Ju Fufu’s persistence is a reverence for life and a desire for the future. She was not defeated by fate, but saw the indifference and hypocrisy of the world more clearly in suffering. When the sound of pot lids sounded, what we should hear is not only the sound itself, but also the countless ignored lives and their unyielding behind the sound.

In this cold street corner, she reminds us with the sound of pot lids: no matter how the times change, the voices of the grassroots are still important, and those who are alive are still worthy of respect. Ju Fufu is not alone, her voice is the cry of millions of voiceless people, and the deepest call for social justice.

And are we willing to stop and listen to the sound of pot lids knocking on fate? Are we willing to light a lamp for those who have been forgotten in this cold city? This is not only Ju Fufu’s story, but also a mirror of our times, a torture of human nature and a test of conscience.