Summary
I picked up a little girl at home. Her features were both strange and familiar.
She said her name was Zhu Jinzhao, then asked me what my name was.
Looking at the eight-year-old girl, I answered, “Xiao Wu.”
She smiled, sweet and obedient. “Big sister, your name is so cute.”
I was lying to her.
My name is also Zhu Jinzhao-twenty-eight years old, wretched, down and out, and about to die.