At two o'clock in the morning, the lights of Chang'an Street are still brilliant, but this alley that straddles the junction of the CBD and the old city seems like a corner forgotten by time.
I was standing at the entrance of the alley holding a faded cowhide tool box.
The raindrops were thin and woven diagonally into a net under the dim street lights. The air was mixed with soil, rain, and a faint smell of paper ashes—that was someone secretly burning paper money deep in the alley.
The phone vibrated and a message popped up:
"Yuanbao, have you arrived? The same place, under the third lantern."
