Let me tell you the ending first: I have been in jail and I deserve what I have done. I admit it. Five years ago, the phrase "a monthly salary of 30,000 yuan includes air tickets" deceived five brothers in our dormitory across the river. Iron gates, IOUs, scripts, and crocodile ponds—there, people are goods numbered by their worth, and family affection is a bargaining chip weighed by the gram. Some people wear gold chains and work as thugs, some people bet their lives on a comment, and some people exchange a line of code for the dawn. And there is only one thing I can do: keep accounts. Write down every blood debt and every name and bring them back alive. This is the self-narration of a person who was deceived, and it is also an account written for those who have not yet been deceived. The more people who listen to this story, the less people will get on that plane.
Reader comments
This is a masterpiece of contemporary literature that uses "keeping accounts" to resist forgetting and "repays accounts" to redeem humanity.
It is a bluestone tablet erected in words, with three words engraved on it - live, keep accounts, and wait for dawn. The account has been settled, but no one has left.
This is a masterpiece of contemporary literature that uses "keeping accounts" to resist forgetting and "repays accounts" to redeem humanity. It is a bluestone tablet erected in words, with three words engraved on it - live, keep accounts, and wait for dawn. The account has been settled, but no one has left.