Eight thirty.
At last, someone unlocked the post office's glass door.
A woman in a work uniform, bundled in a thick padded coat and carrying fried dough sticks and soy milk, was about to go inside.
She paused when she saw someone there so early.
"Here to take care of something? You're early."
Pu Yu nodded and followed her inside.
With trembling hands, she took the thick stack of remittance slips from her pocket and pushed them across the counter along with her ID.
"Hello, ma'am."
Her voice was a little hoarse after a sleepless night in the cold. "Sorry for the trouble, but could you help me check whether these remittances were all sent by the same person?"
The woman set down her soy milk, picked up the slips, and frowned. "So many? These go back more than a year."
She looked at Pu Yu's delicate face, red from the cold, and her bloodshot eyes, then reassured her.
"Don't worry. Give me a moment. I'll check the system."
The woman put on her reading glasses and checked the computer, then picked up one of the slips to examine the signature.
Suddenly, her gaze stopped.
"Oh!" She slapped her thigh. "It's that boy!"
Pu Yu's heart leaped into her throat. "You remember him?"
"Of course! How could I forget?"
The woman pointed to the signature on the slip. "That young man always deliberately wrote with his left hand. Tall and handsome, with a very cold look about his eyes, but he was actually very polite. He came every month without fail. Sometimes there were terrible blizzards and the buses stopped running, so he walked here."
Pu Yu's eyes stung at once.
"I asked him once why he didn't just transfer the money on his phone. It's so convenient these days.