"Crash-"
Heavy raindrops hit the glass, forming muddy water marks, making the world outside the window blurry like an out-of-focus, inferior oil painting. The nights in Xinqiong City are always shrouded in continuous acid rain, which cleans the air and the last trace of the city's lively popularity.
Ling Ye's detective agency was huddled in an old commercial building on the edge of the city. In the air, the boring smell of cheap instant noodles and the slightly sweet smell of mold in the corner are engaged in a tug-of-war. He himself was slumped on a creaking second-hand office chair, with his feet propped up on the edge of a table filled with clutter, and his eyes staring blankly at the patch on the ceiling that was yellowed by water seepage.
The old-fashioned mobile phone in the pocket suddenly made a sharp and inappropriate ringtone, like a rusty saw cutting people's eardrums.
