The neon lights on Temple Street are so bright that it hurts your eyes.
Li Ci leaned against the plastic shed of the food stall, holding an unlit cigarette in his hand and staring at the mahjong parlor diagonally opposite. There was smoke inside the glass door, figures were moving here and there, and the sound of banging on the table and swearing could be heard from across the street.
It's been three months.
He squatted in this place for three months, from summer to autumn, from squatting in short sleeves to wearing a thin coat. Every day I mingled in the crowd, watching the young and Dangerous boys coming in and out, and memorizing every face, every time point, and every order of goods coming in and out.
Tonight is the time to close the net.
