When we walked out of the hospital, it was already dark. I sat by the flower bed at the entrance of the hospital for a long time, with those numbers turning over and over in my mind. Three hundred thousand. I am a poor student, and even if I borrow money from usury, people still have to check whether I have the ability to repay.
The phone suddenly vibrated. It was a text message. There was no caller ID, no number, just one line:
"Want to exchange money? Give me your name."
