I didn’t dare linger at the school gate and turned to leave.
With fifty yuan in my pocket—a fortune—if someone robbed me, I’d be done for, and no amount of crying would help!

Nervous, I didn’t want to head back too early.
If someone saw me hiding money by the river, I’d never have a safe place for it again.

So, I went to a nearby Shaxian Snacks shop and ordered a five-yuan lean meat fried rice noodles.
The owner eyed my ragged appearance, doubting I could pay.

I paid upfront, and his expression softened slightly.

After he cooked, I knew my place and didn’t eat inside.
Instead, I sat on the steps outside, facing passing pedestrians and vehicles, eating slowly from the plate.

The soy-sauced noodles, lightly yellow, looked appetizing and tasted great.
The precious bits of lean meat, even the crumbs, I ate, leaving only a thin layer of oil on the plate.

Chances to eat well were rare, so I cherished this dinner.
I spent one yuan on a grape-flavored slush pop to treat myself.

Imagining myself as a high-society figure from a movie, I swirled the pale purple slush in my hand.
It wasn’t wine, but it symbolized the success I yearned for.

Snapping the slush pop in half with a crisp sound, I stuffed both pieces in my mouth, puffing out my lips, showing my white teeth.

I lived a life of constant worry, but food I’d licked was truly mine—no one would touch it.

I didn’t know why others were so picky; I never minded eating leftovers.

Using my front teeth, I tore the wrapper, squeezing a bit of slush into my mouth, icy and tart, making my teeth ache.

For the rest of the time, I wanted to rest and avoid robbery risks, waiting out the students’ active hours before heading back.

With money in my pocket, I felt bold and sat on the ground in front of a convenience store, watching TV!

As night fell, more people gathered to watch—mostly shirtless men, less interested in the TV than in bragging on their stools.

I occasionally eavesdropped on their chatter but mostly focused on the TV, watching until ten.
My butt went numb, and I could barely stand.

I watched two movies: Terminator and Titanic.
After the latter, I swore off boats—though that was wishful thinking; I’d likely never get the chance.

When the movies ended, the crowd dispersed.
The owner moved the freezer inside and prepared to close.
I patted my pants and headed back.
The old town was quieter at night, with no students lingering—there was no nightlife nearby.

Turning into the alley, the stench of cat urine hit me.
My home was an illegal structure, built against a residential building to save on one wall.

It lacked refined craftsmanship, with just a single layer of bricks, looking shaky but actually quite safe.

As a kid, Grandma and I saved up for secondhand red bricks—demolition leftovers, still intact, and cheap even now.

At first, we didn’t use cement.
Grandma cleverly stacked the bricks in a semicircle against the building’s wall, two layers thick, but the space was so low she had to hunch to sleep inside.

Later, we bought cement and more bricks.
Grandma personally mixed the cement, reshaping the house into a rectangle, raising the height to 1.65 meters, with an interior about one-and-a-half wooden doors wide.

During typhoons, we had to evacuate the alley—the roof was just a tarpaulin.
We couldn’t afford iron bars or concrete for a proper ceiling.

“I’m back… Grandma!” I shouted, but she didn’t appear.

Looking at where she fell, pain stabbed my heart like a needle.
It’s okay—I believed she’d come back.

Nearing home, I noticed the wooden door on the wall swung wide open.
Had someone broken in?

Closer, I heard snoring.
What? Someone else in my home?

Calming myself, I carefully passed by, first hiding my money by the river.
Returning, I smelled foot odor from outside—worse than me.

At the entrance, he lay on my bed, under my scavenged blanket, on my scavenged pillow.
I grabbed a flashlight from inside and shone it on him—a middle-aged man, at least 1.8 meters tall.

Skinny limbs, long scraggly beard, tattered T-shirt with holes, as ragged as me.
My first thought: a fellow scavenger.

He couldn’t sew—a useless beggar, haha…

Wait, why was I laughing?
How dare he be here? This was mine and Grandma’s home!

Fury surged.
I drew my kitchen knife, ready to kick him hard, but hesitated, fear creeping in.
He was a tall adult—what if he was unhinged?

I’d seen crazies before, yelling at passersby, terrifying.

I weighed my options.
No! If I backed down, who’d protect our home?
How would I face Grandma if she returned?

Panicked but determined, I gritted my teeth, stomped my foot, and kicked: “This is my turf!”

He jolted upright, dazed.
I pointed the knife, stepping back: “Get out!”

He focused, seeing my long hair and youthful face, his eyes turning greedy.

I knew that look, gripping the knife tighter: “I’m a guy. Wanna see me strip? Stay, and I’ll chop you!”

Mimicking delinquent kids, I threatened him.
He dropped the greedy look, shaking his head to clear it: “Little sister… brother! I’ve always lived here. Wrong house?”

I blinked.
The nerve of this guy!

I scoffed: “Neighbors can vouch for me. When my dad gets home, you’re done!”

I was panicking—there was no dad, just bluffing.

He smirked, sneering: “Your dad lives in this doghole? How tall is he? Can he take me? Come on, I’m a dead man walking. Chop me if you dare.”

He moved to lie back down, enraging me.
Threats weren’t enough.
I bent, swinging the knife down!

I aimed for the floor, not him.
He flinched, pulling his foot back as the knife sparked against the ground.

I feared he’d attack, my hands shaking, anger clouding my mind: “Don’t leave, and you’ll never leave! I’m a minor—killing’s not a crime!”

He realized I was serious, standing.
Too tall, he hit the tarpaulin, hunching to step out, staring as he left.

He towered over me, but I couldn’t back down.
I raised the knife, pretending to chase: “I’ll kill you!”

He bolted, vanishing down the alley.
Shaken, I collapsed, trembling, a faint smile on my lips.

“Grandma, I protected our home.”