"Little girl."
I looked up.
An old man in a gray cloth gown stood in front of me. He was as thin as a bamboo pole, with a smile on his face and wrinkles as deep as if they had been carved with a knife.
"Are you short of money? Very, very short." He spoke in a very calm tone, as if he was asking me if I had eaten today.
I looked at him warily. There are some weird people in the hospital. There are people selling medicine, people selling cemeteries, people introducing folk remedies, and so on.
"I can help you." He said, took out a card from his sleeve and handed it to me.
The card was black without any patterns. There was only one address printed on it: No. 17 Wutong Lane, West City, named Pawn Shop.
"Exchange what you don't need for what you need." He said with a smile, showing his yellow teeth, "For example, your name."
