Today is my birthday. On my way home from work, I bought myself a bubble tea and a small cake.
Just as I reached the building entrance, two or three men blocked my path.
"You're Ye Harver's daughter."
"Boss, the photo's spot on—his daughter's a cripple."
I eyed them warily.
"What do you want?"
The leader, a man with tattooed arms, drew a fruit knife.
"Your father owes me two hundred thousand. He said you were his daughter. You pay up. Hand over the money now."
"I have no parents," I said. "He lied to you."
They wouldn't let it go.
"I don't give a damn. Even if you're not, you're unlucky enough to cross paths with me. No money, I'll stab you to death."
They barged into my rented room and turned it upside down. All they found was six hundred yuan.
That was tomorrow's rent for the
