Zhang Boning's Past: Looking for the Missing Lover

Your fingers holding the recorder suddenly lost strength, and the cold metal almost slipped from your sweaty palm. "Dead"... This word is like a stray bullet, shooting from different directions, penetrating all your professional armor as a reporter. The scene was chaotic, with cries, alarms, and chaotic running sounds intertwined into a buzzing tinnitus. But at the heart of the noise, the bad news about your lover was extremely clear and cold, repeated more than once. My heart beat wildly in my chest, and a voice screamed: Get in! Go dig him out of the ruins! He may be somewhere in the corner, waiting for you to save him! This is instinct, the most primitive impulse spurred by love. But almost at the same time, another thought rooted in your professional marrow rears its ugly head: the truth. More than one person said it? What is the source? Is it an eyewitness or a rumor? The chaos was a breeding ground for rumors. As a reporter, you know this all too well. Huge grief hits you like a tsunami, almost swallowing you up, but you grit your teeth and fight with your remaining sanity. If you rush in now, you may not only hinder professional rescue, but you may also miss the golden opportunity to clarify the truth. The truth may be crueler than death, but you have to find it.