The Story of the Laboratory

It always rains in summer in Chungsan. This rain is not as lingering and soft as the common drizzle in Sichuan and Sichuan, and can fall in wisps all day long. The rain here is violent, falling all over the face. The big raindrops hit the concrete floor, the iron roof and the glass windows of the ward quickly, making a crackling and disturbing noise. The rainwater gathered into turbid water, running along the walls and ditches under the dim light of the street lamps, rushing to lower places, taking away the dust and fallen leaves on the ground, and also taking away the last trace of heat that had accumulated during the day, leaving only a wet and sticky coolness. The air seemed to be able to wring out water and inhale it into the lungs. It was heavy, with the smell of earth and the lingering aftertaste of disinfectant. The sound of rain is the only protagonist in this sultry summer night. It is monotonous and stubborn, washing over and over again in this place trapped in the mountain col, as if it is trying to erase something, and it is also like a tireless expulsion. However, there are always lights, shining in the endless rain. It was a window embedded in a gray building complex, a square square with grids of warm yellow. Some are in outpatient and emergency buildings, where the light of incandescent tubes is cold and steady, illuminating the figures who are constantly in the corridors, clinics and laboratory tables. Some are in the inpatient wards, where the light is softer, reflecting the beating green lines on the monitor screen and the blurry outlines that occasionally get up to check. There are also staff dormitories in the distance, sparse and tired, but stubbornly lit until late at night. The existence of this light itself is a kind of persistence. It's not about poetry, and it has nothing to do with romance. Stick to yourself It's the meaning