The night is like ink, dyeing the city into a painting soaked in oil. At nine o'clock in the evening, the lights in the office building went out one after another, like tired eyes closing. Wang Sheng pushed his creaking electric car and merged into the flow of people after get off work. The evening breeze carried a touch of sticky heat, which could not dissipate the tiredness all over my body. He is an ordinary programmer who has just finished another unpaid overtime shift, and his cervical and lumbar spine simultaneously protested with soreness. Life is like this congested road in front of you, dull, boring, with no end in sight.
"It's... Enough." He roared silently in his heart, but his face still showed the numbness that had been smoothed by life. When the green light came on, he turned the switch, and the electric car hummed slightly, driving him towards the rented narrow space that he barely called "home".
The turning point of fate always comes at the most unexpected moment.
In a dimly lit alley, an old man in simple clothes and a stooped figure took shaky steps as if he couldn't see the road clearly. Wang Sheng failed to brake in time, and the front wheel of the electric car lightly touched the old man's calf. The old man said "Ouch" and sat down on the ground.
Wang Sheng's heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly woke up from exhaustion. The words "touch porcelain" pierce into my mind like an ice pick. He quickly got out of the car, apologized repeatedly, and reached out to help: "Uncle, are you okay? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't pay attention!"
The old man stood up with his hand, moved his legs and feet, and waved his hands: "It's okay, young man, it's nothing serious. I was just shocked." Wang Sheng looked carefully. Although the old man's face was full of wrinkles, his eyes had a strange look.
