I stared at the string of numbers in mobile banking and felt the air thicken.
356 Yuan and 7 cents.
The rent is still 4,000 yuan short, Huabei is due next Monday, and there are only three eggs and half a bottle of Lao Ganma left in the refrigerator. The most terrible thing is that my dad just sent a WeChat message - the son of Lao Wang next door won some kind of "Young Antique Appraiser Gold Award" this year.
I didn't dare to reply.
Three days ago, I was sitting in the backstage of the "Yayunge" antique store in the east of the city, facing a blue and white porcelain bowl imitated from the late Qing Dynasty to the Ming Dynasty, and swore to the customer that it was "genuine and has not escaped." As a result, the customer took it to the machine and found that it was a handicraft that had just been produced in Jingdezhen last week. My boss fired me on the spot, without even issuing a resignation certificate. He threw an envelope into my hand, which contained this month's basic salary of two thousand, and he didn't give me a penny in bonus.
I cursed God for three days.
On the fourth day, when I was thinking about setting up a street stall to sell fake beeswax, my phone rang.
It's Shen Xiuyun.
