"Just do as I said," Meng Heming said in a deep voice.
The driver, intimidated by his tone, quickly replied, "Alright, I have prepared an umbrella in the car, make sure to take it when you get off."
"I know."
The rain kept falling steadily.
Meng Heming got out of the car by the roadside not far from the corner, holding an umbrella with a black overcoat draped over his shoulders.
The driver initially wanted to wait for him, but was refused, so he had no choice but to drive away.
A tall man stood by the roadside on the sidewalk, rain falling like strands of thread, dripping from the umbrella, with many droplets splashing on his sharp trouser legs, quickly soaking a patch, with chills seeping into his legs. He watched the intersection ahead intently, trying to find something within.
This street was not unfamiliar to him.
Previously, when he rode the bus with the little girl, they got off here.
