The summer rainstorms came suddenly and violently.
Lin Xiaoman and Li Zhou stood in the corridor, watching the landlord direct the workers to throw out their luggage one by one.
The cardboard box hit the concrete floor, and the splashing water wet Li Zhou's trouser legs.
"It's clearly written in the contract," the landlord said, cigarette in his mouth, a stack of documents in his hand. "If you're overdue for three days, the contract will be automatically terminated."
Li Zhou clenched his fists. "Our contract was due yesterday."
"Xinghui Finance's rules are that overdue interest is calculated hourly." The landlord grinned, revealing his smoke-stained teeth. "What you owe now is more than just rent."
Lin Xiaoman squatted down to pick up the scattered clothes and found that the things in the box had been turned over - several pages of her diary were torn, and Li Zhou's design draft was wrinkled, as if it had been crumpled into a ball and then reluctantly unfolded.
"Don't pick it up." Li Zhou held her back. "They did it on purpose."
In the heavy rain, they stood on the side of the road, dragging two suitcases and a worn backpack.
All the rental apps on their phones showed "This account does not meet the rental conditions", and they were even refused viewing of the partitioned rooms in the urban village.
Lin Xiaoman's canvas shoes were filled with water, making a squeaking sound with every step. Li Zhou suddenly stopped and pointed at a dark building in the distance: "Go there."
It was an unfinished building with its steel frame exposed, like a skinned beast.
The building is cleaner than expected.
Someone had sealed several windows with plastic sheeting, and the floor was covered with old newspapers and moldy tatami mats. Empty instant noodle boxes and beer cans were piled in the corner, clearly someone had taken refuge here before.
Li Zhou pulled a half-pack of wet wipes from his backpack and wiped a relatively dry patch of ground. Lin Xiaoman spread out an old shirt on the ground, using it as a makeshift bed sheet.
"At least there are no cameras." Li Zhou smiled bitterly.
Night fell completely, and the heavy rain turned into a fine drizzle. The lights of the distant city shone through the plastic sheeting, casting blurry spots of light on the ground.
Lin Xiaoman fished out half a bag of toast from the depths of his suitcase—it had been expired for two days, but it hadn't grown mold yet.
"The last of our food." She broke it in half and handed the larger piece to Li Zhou.
The bread was dry and hard, chewing like sawdust. Li Zhou suddenly stood up, picked up a few pieces of broken glass from the edge of the windowsill, wiped them on his shirt, and made two crude "cups" to catch some rainwater.
"Cheers." He clinked Lin Xiaoman's glass. "To celebrate our new home."
The rainwater tastes like rust, and when I swallow it mixed with bread, I feel a strange sense of satisfaction.
Damp summer air rose from the concrete floor. Lin Xiaoman's back was drenched in sweat, her shirt sticking to her skin. Li Zhou fanned her with cardboard, the drafts carrying dust that danced in the moonlight.
"Is it like the camping trip in college?" Lin Xiaoman suddenly asked.
Li Zhou smiled and said, "It's better than that time. At least there are no mosquitoes."
Actually, there were. Lin Xiaoman had three bites on her arm, but she didn't say anything. She looked at Li Zhou's profile, where beads of sweat slid down his jawline to his collarbone and disappeared into his collar.
They lay side by side on a "bed" of newspapers, with exposed steel bars and the starry sky above their heads.
At a certain moment, Lin Xiaoman felt as if he was back on the rooftop of the university dormitory, where they were huddled under the clothesline, secretly drinking beer and planning their life after graduation.
"Is it cold?" Li Zhou asked.
On a 38-degree summer night, Lin Xiaoman said, "A little bit."
Li Zhou opened his arms and she leaned over, hearing his heartbeat drowning out the noise of the construction site in the distance.
As dawn was about to break, footsteps were heard downstairs.
Li Zhou woke up immediately and pushed Lin Xiaoman behind the supporting column. Without a weapon, he picked up half a brick.
The footsteps stopped at the door, followed by the rustling of plastic bags. A hunched figure put something down and turned away.
They waited for a few minutes before they dared to check - there were two bottles of mineral water, a bag of steamed buns, and a box of mosquito coils at the door. The buns were still warm, and grease had seeped through the plastic bag.
"It's not Zhou Hui's man." Lin Xiaoman breathed a sigh of relief.
Li Zhou checked the bottle of mineral water, which was unopened: "It's from someone else who lives here."
They sat in the morning light, sharing the buns, the aroma of the meat filling exploding in their mouths. Halfway through her meal, Lin Xiaoman burst into tears, and the oil dripped onto her knees, forming a small, dark circle.
Li Zhou wiped her face with his thumb: "Salty."
"The buns are sweet."
"I mean tears."
The unfinished building looks like a steamer during the day.
They used the suitcase as a table to sort out the remaining things. Lin Xiaoman discovered that the photo album was still there - perhaps the landlord didn't think it was worth much and didn't take it away.
In the photo, they were standing at the university gate, Li Zhou had his arm around her shoulders, and the bright sunlight made both of them squint.
"I need to find a cash job." Li Zhou counted his last coins. "At the market or a construction site."
Lin Xiaoman pulled out her wrinkled teaching certificate and said, "I can be a tutor."
The midday sun streamed through the cracks in the steel bars, drawing streaks of gold across the ground. Li Zhou suddenly took off his T-shirt, revealing his sunburned shoulders. "Come on."
He drew a window on the cement wall with charcoal. Outside the window was the sea with a small island on it.
"When we save enough money," he drew a picture of a small boat, "we'll go here."
Lin Xiaoman took the charcoal and drew a small house on the island with heart-shaped smoke coming out of the chimney.
It rained heavily again in the evening.
They used plastic sheets to catch rainwater for showers, their laughter startling the pigeons from the rooftop. Li Zhou's hair was dripping wet, and Lin Xiaoman wiped his hair with her shirt, smelling a mixture of rain and rust on him.
Wet clothes were hung on the steel bars, and they shared the remaining buns in their last dry T-shirts. Suddenly, the sound of a car braking suddenly came from downstairs.
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