傻柱 baked awake, groaning. Cold hit him like a fist. Another February morning in Beijing, the windows ice-crusted with frost. Light slanted in through the lattices, pale as a freezer bulb. His mother jolted awake, mumbling, "Shithead, get up. Don't freeze to death!"

He dragged himself out of bed, shivering. The -5°C air froze the breath in his lungs. Downstairs, the kitchen was a disaster. The porcelain drum radiator was cracked, leaking cold air like a broken dam. Water was pooling on the linoleum floor.

"Damn it," his mother grumbled, scraping ice off the floor with a kitchen knife. "Another one bites the dust. Where are we gonna get the money fixes this?"

Sitting at the kitchen table, shivering,傻柱 idly picked at a loose floorboard. His fingers brushed against something hard. He dug it out. A crumpled piece of paper.

He smoothed it out. It was an old lottery ticket. The numbers were faded, but he could make them out. He squinted. Today's draw.