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Pale red fog.
It gushed from every grain of dust, filled the streets and lanes of Beijing, and poured into all the places where it could be drilled. There she is.
The air smelled of fish.
In an alley built for decades, there are countless dilapidated quadrangles, far away from the bustling skyscrapers, filled with the smell of earth.
Wang Sao, pushing a tricycle to sell fruit, woke up in the morning, only feeling sore all over, cramping her ankle and being possessed by evil spirits. When she crossed the artificial leather bag with a pile of wool tickets, there was a little light and some noise in a quadrangle next door that had been abandoned for two or three years. Sister-in-law Wang shivered and flew away with a tricycle.
With a creak, a little head jumped out of the back door. A girl wearing a Spongebob mask sneaked out, holding a stained paint bucket in her left hand and a big brush in her right hand, and waddled towards the front door. The girl stood on tiptoe, tore up the Spring Festival couplets that had been posted for many years, and threw them into a 10 meter green dustbin.
She dipped the brush in the paint bucket and wrote three crimson words where the Spring Festival couplets were posted.
Ruyizhai
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