I was writing the last line of code when my phone vibrated.
What popped up on the screen was a message from Lin Yue: "Seven o'clock in the evening, the same place, don't forget to work overtime again."
I looked at the time, 6:23 pm. There's enough time. Turning off the computer, picking up the coat on the back of the chair, I habitually rehearsed tonight's process in my mind: forty minutes on the subway, ten minutes to walk to the restaurant, and arriving before seven o'clock was more than enough.
The moment I pushed open the company door, I looked up at the sky.
The sky was a normal blue, and the evening sunlight slanted through the glass curtain wall, reflecting dazzling light. But in that light, I saw something that shouldn't exist - a halo, floating over the city like an aurora, with a color between golden and transparent. Unless you look carefully, you wouldn't notice it at all.
I blinked and the halo was still there.
People were coming and going on the street, some were checking their phones with their heads down, some were walking quickly with cigarettes in their mouths, but no one looked up. It's like that halo doesn't exist at all.
