In the public laundry room, the roar of the drum washing machine was like bursts of dull thunder.
Shen Qingqiu stared at the white mass that was constantly spinning and entangled in the glass window. It was the only white shirt she could hold.
The air was filled with the pungent aroma of cheap laundry detergent, mixed with the moisture coming back from the old sewers.
This feeling of dampness crawled up her ankles, making her gather up her white-washed knitted sweater with some discomfort.
With a bang, the old spring door was slammed against the wall.
A man with a shaved green skin and a thick gold chain hanging around his neck walked in with two followers.
Liu Biao's nondescript suit was stretched tightly across his body, as if it would be stretched open at any time.
He locked the door with his backhand, and the small space was instantly filled with the mixed smell of cheap tobacco and low-quality cologne.
"Shen Daqiang, are you hiding here to wash clothes?" Liu Biao pulled over a rickety plastic stool and sat down with his toes on the edge of the washing machine. "It is only natural to pay back debts. Your father jumped off the building, so the debt cannot be jumped with him. Three hundred thousand, no money today, and you can't even think of giving psychological counseling to people with your hands."
