On the eve of autumn, the last touch of orange is dragging on the sky. The city seems to be shrouded in an invisible silk net, and the air is filled with the smell of moist grass. Sioux City, a small town shrouded in thick fog all year round, is quiet yet lively. The windows of the cafe on the corner that had been open for decades reflected orange light, as soft as a beacon for the lost.
Lin Qinglan pushed open the heavy wooden door of the cafe, and the doorbell rang loudly. She took off her light gray trench coat, her eyes quickly passed over the crowded tables and chairs, and finally settled on a chair by the window. She is a neurologist who has just returned from the provincial capital. She is thirty years old. Her long hair is hidden in a ponytail, and there is an imperceptible coldness and calmness between her eyebrows. There were too many unsolved mysteries hidden in the air of her hometown, and there were also unspeakable ties. When she stepped into this familiar yet unfamiliar cafe, complicated thoughts arose in her heart.
