I didn't cry when I landed, but the midwife suddenly went crazy. A gentleman carrying a compass peered through the crack of the window and suddenly slumped down on the threshold. The compass needle spun crazily as if it was about to fly out. "There are eighteen holes embedded in this child's birth chart," he said in a wavy voice, "each hole needs a life to fill it up." My father picked up the pole to drive him away, but he said he would fill the first hole for me. As soon as he ran under the old elm tree at the entrance of the alley, he suddenly stopped and made a "ho-ho" sound in his throat. When my mother chased after him, the compass in his hand had been broken into eighteen petals, each petal stained with a little black blood. From that day on, no one dared to enter my alley again
