In the reed marsh of a tributary of the Bianhe River, Wu Aixi woke up from the cold.
The biting cold seeped into her skin along the burlap, and she opened her eyes suddenly. She saw the dusty sky, and in her ears was the noise of the flapping wings of water birds. This is not any place she is familiar with - there are no oil fields lined with derricks, no customers in suits, and no sales reports that keep popping up on her mobile phone.
"Hiss..." She sat up with her support on the ground, feeling a dull pain in the back of her head. She stretched out her hand to touch it, and the sticky touch made her fingertips stiff. When I looked down, I saw dark red blood stains on the hem of the coarse cloth skirt, mixed with mud and water and forming hard lumps.
The last frame of my memory is a thunderstorm night in the desert oil field. As the sales manager of East China District, she is
