Fog Tracking

The heavy rain came down at exactly nine o'clock in the evening. June in Lincheng was already sultry and humid, and this sudden rainstorm was like an out-of-control water gun, pouring the entire city's neon lights into pieces. On the old high-rise exterior walls of Binjiang Community, rainwater trickled down along the cracks in the tiles, and formed a thin stream at the balcony on the 18th floor. It dripped on the awning downstairs, making a crisp "tap-tat-tat" sound, and was swallowed up by the sound of thunder and rain. When Chen Mo's car parked at the gate of the community, a circle of residents had gathered in the rain to watch the excitement. Some were holding up their mobile phones to take pictures, while others were whispering to each other, their voices blurred by the rain. He pushed open the car door, and the hem of his black windbreaker was instantly wet by the rain, sticking to his legs with a biting coldness.