At the age of seventeen, I had been working as a dishwasher at a restaurant under the walls of the Western Capital for a whole year.

When the boss first hired me, he said I didn't look sixteen at all, more like thirteen or fourteen.

I still remember the first time I met Boss Song, the way he scrutinized me from head to toe.

Prior to that, I had been to various restaurants, enduring countless scrutinizing gazes.

After sizing me up, those people would just say, "We don't hire child labor here," and wave me off.

Only Boss Song, after scrutinizing me, said, "At your young age, you can only work as a dishwasher in the kitchen."

I didn't understand what he meant by "can only work as a dishwasher."

What's wrong with washing dishes? It's much simpler than cutting pig grass or carrying dung water.

No need to wake up before dawn every day, and no need to worry about getting beaten.

Plus, I could have steamed buns with white flour for every meal.

For me, this was already a heavenly life.

During the six months as a dishwasher, I rarely thought about my mom and brother.

Words like "burden" and "debt collector" only appeared in my dreams occasionally.

Late-night memories only brought me pain, no sweetness at all.

So, every day, I kept myself busy.

After washing the dishes and chopsticks, I helped with selecting and washing vegetables, mopping the floor, and emptying the slop.

Others had two days off each month, but I didn't need a break.

During the day, I washed dishes at the restaurant, and after work, I slept on the floor in the shop, also helping to watch over the place.

Before long, I became the most diligent employee in the kitchen.

Gradually, I became known as "Little Liu" among everyone.

The kind-hearted one, Little Liu.