Chen Yi is like a stray dog that can never be tamed.
Miao Jing is stubborn to the core.
Tengcheng.
Just as she remembered it—hot, humid, and shaded by dense greenery. The air was heavy and oppressive, carrying the distinctive smells of midsummer: a faint sour staleness mixed with the fresh yet slightly bitter scent of lush vegetation.
The gate was still the same old iron gate, and the lock was the same mechanical one that had been replaced years ago.
Miao Jing knocked for a long time. Her gaze eventually settled on a peeling advertisement plastered on the wall:
"Lock opened in ten minutes."
The locksmith, an older craftsman, charged one hundred yuan. He casually inserted a piece of wire into the keyhole, gave it a twist, and with a click, the iron gate swung open.
“Do you need to see my ID?” she asked.
“Didn't you say this is your own home? No need.”
She dragged along two enormous suitcases. On the train she had spent the entire night lying awake, leaving faint bluish shadows beneath her eyes. The sour smell of instant noodles still clung to her clothes.
Judging from her accent, she didn't seem to be a local. The locksmith took a moment to look at her pretty face, then glanced at the simple furnishings inside the house. After that, he packed up his tools and left.


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