In the old and shabby residential area in the east of the city, the air is filled with the sour smell of braised hairtail mixed with sewer backflow.
Xia Zhizhi squatted behind the water tank on the roof of the opposite building, his telephoto lens like a greedy one eye, biting the half-open window on the fifth floor.
Sweat trickled down her temples and into her collar, making it itch terribly, but she didn't dare to move.
In the camera, a haggard middle-aged woman was standing on the balcony, holding several A4 papers in her hands.
"Tear it up." Xia Zhizhi chewed the chewing gum that had lost its sweetness, pressed the recorder, and spoke quickly and softly, "At 17:03, the wife of the deceased Lin Zhengde was tearing up the copy of the suicide note. Her movements were violent and without hesitation. Listen carefully -"
The wind carried the woman's cries across the street intermittently: "Old Lin would never commit suicide... He would... Not..."
