The day before the Mid-Autumn Festival, my parents forced me to sell overpriced mooncakes on the street at just eight years old.
A strange couple suddenly appeared, smiling as they offered to take me to find my mom and dad.
I knew they were probably human traffickers.
If I went with them, I might never make it home again.
But I still smiled, nodded, and said, “Okay.”
I just wanted to find somewhere no one knew I was a filthy bastard, and try to stay alive.
