The sun in July was fierce, and the stone roads in Qingyang City were burned by the sun. Yichen was wearing a patchwork patchwork of coarse cloth, holding an oil paper bag tightly in his arms, and ran wildly in the alley. The debt collector yelled from behind: "You little bastard! You've owed gambling debts for three months and you still want to run away? If you don't pay back today, I'll break your legs!"
He nimbly turned into a dead end, secretly complaining that something was wrong. Looking up, I saw a three-foot-high blue brick wall blocking the way, with broken glass stuck on top of the wall. The footsteps of the pursuers were getting closer and closer. Yichen gritted his teeth, stuffed the oil paper bag into his arms, took a few steps back suddenly, and took off to run. Just when his fingertips barely touched the edge of the wall, the sole of his foot slipped and he fell backwards.
