The day my sister left, the faucet was still on. She didn't turn it off. She always kept it tight. I took over everything she left behind: a half-torn list, a ring engraved with the date, a USB flash drive hidden in the ceiling, and a lie she had told for eight years. Zhang Weiming said that your sister will come back the day the papers are put together. When he said this, the sun outside the window was setting. I'm just down to the last piece now.
