*SCREECH—!!!*
The rust-gnawed chain of the dilapidated Flying Pigeon bicycle protested with a metallic groan as it jerked to a halt before the imposing wrought-iron gates of the Municipal Party Committee compound. Worn tires scraped against polished granite, leaving faint gray smears.
Yang Xiaochuan braced one leg on the ground, his sweat-bleached work jacket clinging damply to the ridges of his spine. Head bowed, he fumbled with the coarse hemp rope securing a swollen, corner-frayed kraft envelope to the rear rack. The bag sagged heavily, its "Qingshan County Health Bureau" stamp blurred by rain.
Beneath him, dust-caked rubber boots—soles cracked, edges embedded with brittle grass blades and grit—stood in stark dissonance against the obsidian marble entrance floor, polished to
