Raindrops pelted the asphalt like scattered beans, crackling in a steady roar. Yan Wushe wiped the water from his face. It streamed down his chin, soaking the work vest printed with “Lightning Express.” He had just shoved the last parcel into the rusty mailbox of an old apartment block in the city’s historic district when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Hello? Station manager?” Yan Wushe wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear, freeing a hand to wring out his soaked clothes. Water poured down in streams. “I’ve delivered the last order. I’m heading back to clock out... What? A rainstorm bonus? You’re only giving us five yuan extra? You’re even meaner than Zhou Papi, boss... Fine, fine, got it. I’m on my way back.”
