The raindrops hit the asphalt road like beans, making a crackling sound. Yan Wushe wiped the rainwater from his face. The water dripped down his chin and soaked his work vest with "Lightning Express" printed on it. As soon as he stuffed the last package into the rusty mailbox in Tongzilou in the old city, the phone in his trouser pocket vibrated.
"Hello? Webmaster?" Yan Wushe put the phone between his shoulder and ear, freed up his hands to twist the corners of his soaked clothes, and water dripped down, "The last order has been delivered, I will go back to the station to check in... What? Rainstorm subsidy? Just five more yuan? Webmaster, you are more ruthless than Zhou Papi... Okay, okay, I got it, I'll be right back."
