At the Capital Airport late at night, the cold wind carried scattered raindrops and slapped against the glass curtain wall, tapping the silence like countless tiny knuckles. The lights in the VIP aisle were pale, reflecting the shadow of Lu Chen dragging his suitcase, thin and silent, like a forgotten scratch.
He was wearing a black mask and sunglasses covering most of his face, only revealing his tight jaw. Three years ago, the news poster that was plastered all over the electronic screens at the airport has still not been removed - "Players with bad deeds will never be hired". The picture shows him kneeling on the court and covering his knees. The title is as dazzling as a knife: "Lu Chen plays passively and will be removed from the national team."
He didn't raise his head, and there was no pause in his steps. The wheels of the suitcase made a dry friction sound on the floor tiles, like a rusty bearing in his heart. Some people recognized him and whispered to each other, and some people held up their mobile phones to secretly take pictures, but he seemed unable to hear and walked out of the airport and hailed a taxi.
"To the east of the city, over there from the aging factory, is the abandoned arena." His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against iron.
