In the evening of June, the scorching sun finally lost its scorching edge and slowly sank behind the indigo outline of the distant mountains. The air was still steaming with the remaining summer heat from the day, and the sultry heat had dissipated, but the pressing and hot momentum had quietly retreated with the setting sun.
The weather station's warning is like a sword of Damocles hanging over our heads - this summer, our land may encounter extreme weather, and the severity of the flood situation may be far greater than in previous years. In the afternoon, the county government held a flood prevention mobilization meeting in full swing. Although flood prevention and emergency work are not directly under my charge, as the deputy secretary of the county government's party group, the executive deputy county magistrate, and the deputy leader of the county's flood prevention leading group, I am well aware of the weight on my shoulders. What's more, the county-level departments under my command, such as the Finance Bureau, are all key members of the flood prevention command system. Resource allocation and financial guarantees are all at stake. Thinking of the possible surging flood demon, a heavy worry quietly climbed over my head like the twilight, and it could not be shaken off.
After dinner, I was in a state of depression. I walked out of my house alone and came to the river that runs through the city. The riverside landscape belt and square carefully built in the new urban area are a vivid picture of summer life: the melody of square dance floats in the evening breeze, people enjoying the cool breeze chat with cattail leaves while waving their palm-leaf fans, the laughter of children chasing and playing is crisp and melodious, and there are young people speeding by on roller skates... This peaceful and harmonious scene is in sharp contrast to the solemn flood prevention deployment in the meeting room in the afternoon.
I quietly stepped onto the solid embankment and slowly walked along the river toward the downstream. Under my feet was the embankment that protected the city, behind me were the lights of thousands of houses, and on my shoulders was the heavy responsibility of preparing for the rainy day. Although my steps were slow, my emotions were like the undercurrent of the river, surging endlessly.
As dusk fell, the river breeze carried the damp summer air slowly. I was immersed in my thoughts when an agile figure, running at night, passed by me almost silently, bringing with it a faint, sweaty airflow.
The figure ran a few steps and then suddenly stopped. She turned around and waved gently in my direction.
I looked intently in the halo of distant street lamps and faint moonlight. In front of me was a woman wearing a professional tight sports suit. The elastic fabric perfectly wrapped her energetic body, outlining her graceful curves.
She was panting slightly, with a few strands of sweat-soaked hair scattered across her forehead, and her long hair was neatly tied back in a simple sports bun. This neat and capable image made me hesitate for a moment before I finally recognized her from the familiar outline - it was Peng Xiaohui.
Ever since that passionate kiss in the golf club room, with inexplicable feelings and almost out of control, although we often meet due to work, we always maintain a tacit silence. That incident is like a taboo that has been deliberately sealed, never mentioned, and never forgotten.
Perhaps in her heart, that kiss was due to my mistaking her for Xiao Min; and I was too happy not to break this layer of window paper that was as thin as a cicada's wing but as heavy as a thousand pounds.
"Hello, County Magistrate Guan," she took a few steps closer, her voice slightly panting after exercise, a polite but distant smile on her face, "From the back I saw the figure that looked like you, but the light was dim, so I couldn't be sure."
I nodded and took two steps forward, closing the distance between us. "It's Xiao Peng. I didn't expect you to run at night?"
I tried to sound as gentle and natural as possible.
"Well," she raised her hand and casually wiped the sweat from her forehead, her movements refreshing after exercise, "If I don't move around, I feel like all the 'parts' in my body are going to rust." She said half-jokingly, her eyes looking bright in the night.
I couldn't help but laugh, which sounded a little out of place on the quiet riverbank, with a hint of self-mockery: "If you are a 'parts maker', then people of my age can be sent directly to the scrapyard, right?"
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