A tin box. Welded. It fell out of the wall.
There is nothing else inside. There was only one bronze medal, the size of a palm, and the patina was black.
He asked me for fifty dollars.
I gave. He's gone.
The ledger turned to that page, ten years ago. Two hundred thousand orders. 20,000 Deposit.
The payment column is empty.
Someone came to the door the next day - Gray Windbreaker, calling himself Xiaoyun.
"No. 16, Hefang Street, in three days. The owner of the cargo himself will come. When you come, things will be different."
A note was slipped into the door, with only two words on it: Don't go.
The date on the bronze medal is the same as today. Someone figured it out. Someone has been waiting.
There's only one problem - there are seven people handling it.
The seventh one is myself. But I don't remember.
Then dig through that wall.
