On New Year's Eve in Hangzhou in the Jiachen year, the rain was torn into continuous cotton threads, falling from the leaden sky, wrapping the entire city in a damp and cold air. The transition between winter and spring brings with it an indescribable feeling of shrinking. When the rain falls, even the air is soaked in ice and breathed into the lungs, making the chest tighten with coldness.
I held an umbrella and stepped through the water under the steps in front of the law firm. The ripples on the water surface swayed with the dim light of the street lamp. The moment he opened the door, the sensor light above his head flickered faintly twice before reluctantly turning on. The faint yellow light illuminated the off-white skirting of the stairwell brightly - the dust that the cleaning lady had not wiped off last week floated in the light and shadow, like a translucent gauze covering the fatigue of this year.
Intention: Spring Festival of Year Jiachen