Beijing in October is a bit hot.
It's already this hour, and the sun is still as if it's welded to the sky, making people's heads buzz. Pei Xiang squatted on the edge of the flower bed at the east gate of the Xinglong Lane vegetable market, the back of his police uniform was wet and stuck to his body. He squinted at the broken battery car diagonally opposite, holding the cigarette between his fingers for a long time without putting it in his mouth.
