Beijing is defined by polluted beauty. Heading into the city by train takes you across cropped fields where old men tend the soil by hand, or with the help of an ancient horse and cart. Everywhere, there is the threat of expansion: these old farms suddenly turn into immense building sites, with dozens of identical dusty red dump trucks waiting to move vast amounts of land from point A to point B, where ever that it. And this all takes place under a glowing red disk, the sky so polluted you can look straight into the sun without straining your eyes. It’s a strange type of beautiful.