At dawn, the city's smoke and dust mixed with the humidity after the rain, and the billboards in the alleys were still flashing the neon lights that had not been extinguished last night. Gu Wu jumped out of the taxi, throwing his black windbreaker on his shoulders. His steps were almost silent, but there was an aura that made the surrounding air tremble slightly.
This is the third time she has stepped into this old street. The facades on both sides of the street are old, with faded red banners pasted on the iron rolling doors, and moldy cardboard boxes and worn-out plastic barrels piled in the corners. People come and go, and the smell of the streets is chaotic—roasted sweet potatoes, gasoline, light reflected from puddles of trash.
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