The Pale Garden
The neon signs of the Wan Chai district flickered in the drizzle, casting long, distorted reflections across the wet asphalt as the last of the office workers streamed toward the MTR stations, their umbrellas forming a jagged canopy of black and grey against the dying light. It was a Tuesday in November, the air heavy with rain and diesel, and the city hummed with the low, persistent vibration...
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