The wind was picking up.
Li Zemin clutched a Baisha cigarette, standing in the corridor, gazing at the sky with a melancholic expression.
Above was a dusty yellow sky, thick dirt swirling in the air; the world seemed muddied as if a horde of demons was dancing. Sands flew, pebbles rolled, fine dust filled the space between the buildings, blurring them as if specters were roaming...
A figure emerged from the distance, slowly making its way forward, step by step. The pace was firm, the movements slow, leaving footprints like a giant, like a titan, like the descent of Thor, or rather, like Section Chief Yang Ling.
"Whoa, take it easy," Li Zemin quickly tossed away his cigarette and steadied Yang Ling, who was about to fall.
"Thanks," Yang Ling brushed the dust off her body, to no avail, and could only offer a wry smile, "The wind is too strong."
