At three o'clock in the morning, Chen Lin, a non-staff observer from the Meteorological Bureau, saw a pair of slowly opening eyes deep in a satellite cloud image with all data "normal".
Instruments can't see it, satellites can't photograph it, only he can see it.
Seven years ago, my father drew the same pattern on the eve of a typhoon landing, and then died in a typhoon that was not detected by any instrument. There is only one sentence in the manuscript he left behind.
"If you have seen it, please don't tell anyone."
Now, the same pattern is creeping into the sky over Jiangzhou again. A strange fog enters the city, the air pressure pulses, and the date is exactly the same as seven years ago.
Chen Lin held his father's manuscript in his hand, with only two paths in front of him. Pretend not to see it and live quietly. Or speak up and go back to his father's old ways.
He chose the third option.
He wants to write an observation report for this secret that humans can understand.
