Night Market Snack Street

At 11 o'clock in the night, Lin Yuan, who had finished working overtime, dragged his exhausted body into the old street behind the company and followed the smell of oil smoke to find a wonton stall converted from a tin tricycle. The stall owner, Lao Zhou, was in his fifties. His apron was stained with flour. He didn't speak and just buried himself in making wontons. Lin Yuan ordered a bowl. When the steam came up, he saw programmers who had just gotten off work, delivery riders and salesmen in loose suits sitting next to them - everyone was eating a bowl of hot wontons with their heads down under the warm yellow light. After that night, the night stalls on this old street became the secret base of the entire office building. The sound of spatulas, laughter, and the aroma of spicy oil mixed together, like the gentle patch the city quietly applied every night.