The night was as thick as ink that could not be melted. The last corridor light in the museum was extinguished, plunging the white marble steps into silence.
Su Che carried the tool box and walked down the steps, rubbing the sore eyebrows.
Dealing with the corrosion problem of the Warring States Bronze Relic for seventy-two consecutive hours was extremely draining.
The evening breeze carried the slightly turbid smell of the industrial area on the edge of the city. He looked at his phone. It was one fifteen in the morning.
At this time, the subway had already stopped running, and the number of queues displayed on the taxi-hailing software was disappointing.
He remembered that the old guard at the museum had mentioned that there was a No. 55 Night bus stop two blocks east, which would take him to the block close to his apartment.
Although it takes some detours, it is better than waiting.
Su Che tightened his thin windbreaker and walked in that direction.
The platform was empty, and the street lights stretched his shadow into an elongated shadow.
The night bus had extremely long intervals. He leaned against the rusty stop sign and browsed the unread documents on his phone in the dim light.
In the distance, two dim car lights pierced the night, slowly approaching.
It's Route 55.
