When the shuttle bus ran over the old bridge at the county boundary, Lin Che's temple suddenly twitched.
It wasn't pain, it was like someone had unscrewed a bucket of water in his head and splashed it away. On the dark yellow river outside the car window, the ripples on the water began to turn into streaks of red, expanding outward from the bridge piers, thin and with some ominous fluorescence, beating like an electrocardiogram.
He pressed his face against the car window and looked out. The row of red became denser and denser, spreading along the direction of the water flow, until it reached the old gate, and suddenly broke, like a snake being cut in two.
"Hongluo County, we've arrived."
The driver shouted lazily. In the car, several villagers who went to the city to sell vegetables carried bamboo baskets and squeezed down. Lin Che was sitting in the last row, carrying his old canvas bag, stuffed with the registration card and an unopened carton of soft Chinese cigarettes, which his father had stuffed in before departure. He mentioned that the work unit must be a good person.
He didn't move. The red line in my mind is still beating.
The thing showed a set of numbers in front of his eyes - [Through embankment and culvert pipe | Water seepage probability 72.6%]: He couldn't explain why, but he knew it. Figures for these three days. He looked up and found that he was alone in the car.
The shuttle bus stopped at the county bus station. It was in tatters. The sign next to it said you are welcome to come again. He lowered his head and read the words on the registration card again: Honglao County Water Conservancy Bureau. Select students.
The County Water Conservancy Bureau is on the third floor of the old government building. The stairs squeak when stepped on, and the walls are warped like a dry river bed. Office director Lao Liu saw him, scanned it up and down, and then smiled: "Hey, it's finally here. Top student, I will assign you to the lowest level. Don't think the temple is too small."
