National Forensic Doctor

The wind rises.

The dark clouds in the sky move swiftly, like an accelerated scene from a movie, heralding the departure of bad weather and the imminent return of a once clear and endless sky.

On the streets, vehicles too unconsciously speed up, as if responding to the sky above.

Only by lowering one’s gaze, looking towards the lower echelons, can one see the frowns on pedestrians’ faces, their expressions of annoyance, sighs of resignation, and the silhouettes dashing against the wind, who, despite their skirts being lifted, can’t run far.

A Ford Transit prison van, sturdily parked in front of the police station.

"Get off the bus slowly, no noise, hey, don’t make trouble for me, don’t add to your sentence!" the officer in the passenger seat jumped down from the vehicle, speaking in an unpleasant tone.

Several handcuffed criminal suspects were escorted off the bus. Leading them was a man with grizzled whiskers and well-developed muscles, whose expression remained tranquil as he walked forward two steps and stood still, then began to inspect the red banner on the building ahead:

"Solidly advance the summer security crackdown and rectification campaign!"

The man’s eyelids twitched: "So early this year."

"No talking, line up and follow me." The transporting detective ignored him.