My name is Ye Jing, and I was forced to remember the two most painful faces in my life:
One picture shows Officer Chen patting me on the shoulder at the border and saying, "Have a good life." The warmth still lingers in his palms.
The other picture is of the same man who was selling my 50,000 yuan at the Vietnam dock three days later, grinning and saying "Do it well".
In the scam factory in northern Myanmar, my hyperamnesia became a curse - I couldn't forget the broken families behind every scam. Until I saw his policeman brother who "accidentally died" three years ago in the list of victims.
It turned out that the people he was selling were all desperate people like his brother.
Now, I use this cursed ability to record every face in this hell. The first one is him.
