The sound of rain hitting the helmet was like the beating of ten thousand small drums.
I turned the switch, and the electric car drew a white line on the waterlogged road. The mobile phone is placed on the front of the car, and the mechanical female voice of the navigation is intermittent in the sound of rain: "Ahead... The destination... No. 1, Nantianmen Road... Is about to arrive..."
Nantianmen Road? Is there such a street name in this broken city that only emerges in the late stage of secondary disease?
The order popped up half an hour ago. There was a red warning for heavy rain, and the delivery fee tripled, but no one answered. The remarks column reads: "Add three parts of concentrate and deliver it to the door. Don't ring the bell, just knock three times. Li Er."
Li Er? The name is quite retro. The address was even more bizarre. The navigation led me to the edge of the old city, behind a shantytown awaiting demolition. The map showed that there used to be a small Taoist temple that had been abandoned for many years.
