Nan County. A torrential downpour.
It was already dusk. Tu Hengsha, wrapped in a raincoat and clutching her equipment tightly, was soaked to the skin as she ran towards Nan County Central Primary School.
Due to the flood, large areas of Nan County had lost water and electricity. Currently, only the county government and the higher ground at the central primary school had power. Refugees were camped out on the floors in the school auditorium, classrooms, and offices.
Tu Hengsha rushed into one of the classrooms, hastily took off her raincoat, and started uploading photos and writing articles near an outlet. Raindrops dripped from her hair onto the keyboard. She wiped it off casually with her wet sleeve and continued writing.
She was originally just a photojournalist; writing wasn't her task. But there was no other way. Hao Ren hit the nail on the head; she hadn't found Su Ronggui.
From the moment she arrived in Nan County, it hadn't stopped raining. Fortunately, she had the foresight to bring a raincoat. Draped in her raincoat and carrying her equipment, her first task was to search everywhere for Su Ronggui: the county government, the guesthouse, the school, the disaster sites. She felt she was just shy of turning Nan County upside down, but she still couldn't find her colleague, Su Ronggui. The only information she had was his phone number, but she couldn't get through. Considering the widespread power outage in the county, whose phone could possibly stay charged?
Not finding Su Ronggui was a minor issue; the reporting task was vital. She couldn't delay any further, so she started taking on the task alone with her equipment.
From the county government, to the flood control command, to the flood control frontline, she ran around until dusk, finally finding a place with electricity to write the article and send it back to the newsroom. But facing the computer, she kept writing and deleting, then deleting and writing, almost to tears. It wasn't that she wasn't capable of writing, but rather, the material she gathered was too scant.
At the command center, the leaders were on the flood control frontline; at the flood control site, the armed police were too busy fighting the flood to have much time to "chit-chat" with her; she finally found a leader, but barely exchanged a few words before an emergency required handling...
She took plenty of photos, but in the age of rapid self-media and internet development, the public's images and videos were likely uploaded faster than the journalist's.
Thinking of this, she took out her phone and went online for a moment.
As expected, there was already a trending topic about flood control online—from armed police wading through mud and water, to how the people were relocated. The public uploaded their own images and videos, and internet big names forwarded them. The entire online network was inundated with images and videos.
"Dear, change your wet clothes first, so you don't catch a cold," an elderly woman's voice spoke up.
Tu Hengsha looked up and saw before her an old lady with kind eyes and a benevolent face. Her gray hair, cut ear-length, was pinned back with a black hair clip. She held out a cup of water to her. "Just boiled, it's hot."
With tap water cut off throughout the city, having hot water to drink now was truly a rarity.
The grandma thrust the cup into her hands, and feeling the warm rim with her fingertips, she couldn't help but shiver. Only then did she realize how cold she really was...
The wet clothes clung to her skin uncomfortably, and her shoes were soggy and sticky. She looked down and saw that not only were her shoes wet; everything below her knees was covered in mud. Her feet were soaking in the slurry, and every time she moved, her shoes made a squelching sound.
"Drink up, quickly. Your lips are turning white! After you drink, change your clothes," the grandma said, lifting her chin towards her, repeating the suggestion.
"Tha... thank you..." She truly needed the hot water. Her hands trembled as she held the cup, though she had always been diligent about staying warm for over twenty years.