The smell of disinfectant seemed to have grown legs, traveling from the nose all the way into the lungs, with a cheap eagerness to cover up something.
Su Wanyin stared at the dazzling red number on the screen of the self-service payment machine - "Arrearage: ￥21,350.78", Her face expressionless.
She opened mobile banking, and the number in the balance column was more concise: 7.21 Yuan.
Enough to buy three and a half steamed buns, or to allow her brother Su Wanzhou to breathe oxygen for three more hours.
The screen's fluorescent light reflected on her face, which was an overly delicate but bloodless face. It was once praised as "God's masterpiece" under countless high-definition lenses, but now only a kind of numbness remains after being repeatedly crushed by life.
Next to her, a young nurse poked her head over, with "Zhang Xiaowen" written on her badge.
