The neon lights in New Shanghai City always smell like disinfectant, especially late at night, when the advertising screens suspended in mid-air are reflected on the wet asphalt road, like diluted fluorescent agent splashed all over the floor. Fan Zhou was wearing an apron that had been washed white, and was wiping the wooden sign of "Spike Noodles" with a rag. His fingertips rubbed the oil stains in the scratches, and he suddenly remembered the days when he carved wooden guns for children in an abandoned factory.
