Folklore and Strange Tales: At the Start, You Retrieve the Sea-Suppressing Black Iron

Chapter 127 The Old Teahouse: A Scarred Nose Leaves a Last Word; A Black Magic Needle Takes a Life.

"May I ask you for a step?" Cheng Xiaojin stood under the eaves, her sleeves still tied with red thread, her toes not moving an inch.

The man outside the courtyard huddled in the shadows of the alley, his wooden ruler pressed against the blue bricks, and moved forward another half inch.

Before the ruler even touched the incense ash line, a grain of incense ash had already collapsed.

Tang Wanqing raised her hand, and three copper coins were laid out on the ground.

"If you measure again, I'll chop up your ruler."

Tieguai Li gripped the pliers in his palm; the jaws were chipped, but the bite was still strong.

A short laugh drifted out from the alley.

"The Cheng family is just one step away from the eighth generation; they'll recognize people by their ashtrays. Master Shen sent me to ask if they'll lend them that step."

Master Ma came out of the main room and tapped his pipe on the threshold.

"Shen Jiulou has broken the rules."

"Ma Wenchang, you measure doors with a Southeast Asian ruler, but you don't measure human lives."

"You measured how close he was to Cheng Shouyi's door."

The wooden ruler outside stopped, and Cheng Xiaojin leaned his shoulder against a pillar in the corridor and shouted towards the alley entrance.

"Go back and tell Shen Jiulou that the price for borrowing steps must be based on the Panjiayuan market."

The master craftsman didn't respond. Han Shaobai, hiding by the door of the main room, clutching a sack of cornmeal, asked in a low voice, "How much per step?"

Cheng Xiaojin did not turn around.

"Eight hundred for acquaintances, eighty thousand for Southeast Asians, and for a deadbeat like Shen Jiulou, at least eight hundred thousand."

Tieguai Li chuckled, then tapped the pliers against the doorframe. "Did you hear that? Cash on delivery, no card."

With a gentle stroke of the wooden ruler in the alley, a thin white mark appeared beyond the incense ash line.

Tang Wanqing's face darkened.

"He took away your step count."

Cheng Xiaojin spun his shoe, and the trace of old soup oil that Tong Kexin had applied smeared onto the brick.

"It can't be fully reproduced."

Zhou Banxian squatted down to look at the white mark. He didn't turn on his compass, but just touched it with the tip of his pipe.

"The smell of oil disappeared by half an inch; Tong Yatou's pot of soup blocked it for a moment."

Master Ma looked out of the courtyard.

"The reason why Master Chi dares to stand in front of the door is because the person with the nose scar is calling for his life."

Cheng Xiaojin tugged at the red thread on her cuff.

Tang Wanqing didn't let up. "You can't drink the tea, you can't close the door, you can't stretch out your hands, and one more thing, don't lend your feet either."

"My feet are inside my shoes, no one can take them away!"

Cheng Xiaojin tucked the short rolling pin under his arm and walked towards the door.

The red line was taut, and Tang Wanqing stared at him.

"Over at the old teahouse, I'll hang a copper coin at the alley entrance. If the coin falls to the ground, you'll have to leave."

"become."

"You agreed too quickly."

"Whether you refund or not, I'll listen to your copper coins when the time comes."

Tong Kexin poured a little bit of the old soup from the small aluminum kettle and smeared it on the edge of his other shoe.

"Stop joking, it'll still be hot when you get back. I'll save you that piece of tofu puff from the side of the pot."

Cheng Xiaojin looked down at his shoes.

"With this kind of treatment, where would Huguo Temple rank among the top?"

"After Old Lady Wang's child."

Cheng Xiaojin paused for a moment before speaking.

He nodded and stepped over the threshold.

The sound of the wooden ruler at the alley entrance had faded into the distance. Hugging the wall, they walked inch by inch toward the Bell and Drum Tower.

The man didn't run away; instead, he lay down in front to lead the way, while Tieguai Li followed two streets away, deliberately keeping the sound of his prosthetic leg down.

Han Shaobai didn't dare to leave the hospital. He stayed by the stove to cook porridge, his face covered in ash, looking like he had just crawled out of a coal pile.

The old teahouse lights were still on, and one of the doors was ajar.

Cheng Xiaojin stopped outside the threshold, rubbed the soles of his shoes on the blue bricks, leaving two oily marks from the old soup.

Someone inside is coughing.

"Cheng Xiaojin".

"If you cough twice more, the teahouse owner will have to charge you funeral expenses."

The man with the nasal scar sat at the broken-legged table against the wall, half of his face was blackened and rotten, and the wound was covered with wood ash.

The shadow beneath it was shorter, the tail had been cut off at the root, and it lay limply against the edge of the table. On the table sat a white porcelain teacup, the tea now cold.

Cheng Xiaojin sat on a bench near the door, a short rolling pin across his lap.

Seeing that he hadn't touched his glass, the man with the nasal scar twitched his lips.

"Ma Wenchang taught well."

"Without this set of porcelain, how many breaths do you have left?"

The man with the nasal scar raised his right hand.

His fingernails were cut short, and there was black blood between his fingers. He stretched out three fingers, but as soon as he managed to prop them up, his index finger drooped down.

"Two and a half bites."

"Sell it quickly if it's valuable."

Black blood gushed from the nasal scar's throat and was coughed up into the broken teacup.

"Shen Jiulou isn't afraid of you opening the ashtray."

Cheng Xiaojin didn't lift her eyelids.

"Is he afraid I won't open it?"

The man with the nasal scar stared at him.

"You know?"

"He's trying to force me to open the stall, but I refuse. He'll lose money. Everyone who sets up a stall in Panjiayuan understands this principle."

His nose scar was so big from laughing that the wound was bleeding.

"Cheng Shouyi also said that Shen Jiulou hates this about your Cheng family the most. Even with a knife to his throat, you can still bargain with him."

Cheng Xiaojin moved the rolling pin half an inch above her knee.

"The second sentence."

With his nose scar propped up on the edge of the table, he leaned forward.

"Nails aren't for opening doors, they're for recognizing people."

A gust of wind blew in from outside, causing the lamp wick to tilt slightly.

Cheng Xiaojin didn't speak. He listened to the shadow under the table, to the half-shadow at the foot of the nose scar. It was too quiet.

A person whose shadow is missing a piece should have sound leaking from the area around the shadow.

The half of the nasal scar looks like it's been covered with a black cloth.

Cheng Xiaojin pulled the toes of her shoes back half an inch.

"Whom do you recognize?"

"Recognize the heart of the living."

He coughed again, his nose scarred, and the blood in the saucer contained fine black residue.

"Liu Bai said the Seventh Gate is short of a loyal confidant. She didn't lie to you completely, but she left out a word."

"What are you talking about?"

"The nail doesn't recognize the door, it recognizes the person holding the nail."

Cheng Xiaojin stared at him.

"My dad, he received one back in the day?"

His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, but he didn't say anything.

Cheng Xiaojin twirled the rolling pin on his lap. "What's the third sentence?"

His nose was scarred, his lips were cracked, and the words he uttered were laced with blood and foam.

"Your dad didn't steal nails back then, he took them from—"

Beside the table leg, in that half-dead shadow, a dark spot emerged from the crack in the floor tiles.

Cheng Xiaojin had already lifted the tips of her shoes.

I didn't see the nose scar, but I was still pushing that half-sentence forward.

"From the hearts of the living—"

A jet-black copper needle darted out half an inch from the shadows, its tip coated with black oil from the South Seas, heading straight for the nasal scar and throat.

Cheng Xiaojin used the back of his foot to lift the chipped iron teapot from the ground.

The rust on the teapot's body absorbed the metallic tang from the shoe sole, and a dark blue light swirled around the teapot's belly.

Cheng Xiaojin didn't reach out, but flicked his ankle, causing the iron teapot to collide with the copper needle at an angle.

With a clang, the copper needle deflected and embedded itself in the edge of the table.

The overnight tea from the iron teapot splashed all over Nasal Scar's face, with tea stalks hanging on his brow bone. Nasal Scar gasped in pain, but his throat was saved.

As Cheng Xiaojin's shoe soles firmly touched the copper needles that had fallen to the ground, the layer of old soup oil on the soles of his shoes immediately began to smoke.

"Shen Jiulou planted a needle in your shadow, and you still dare to come?"

His nose scar was trembling violently, his fingers gripping the edge of the table.

He wouldn't let me finish.

"What follows is... it's... pulled out from the hearts of the living..."

As the nasal scar uttered its last words, it leaned back, its head hitting the wall, and the black blood in the saucer jumped.

Cheng Xiaojin didn't go over to help him; the soles of his shoes were still touching copper needles.

Outside the door, the sound of a wooden ruler scraping against bricks came back from the street corner and stopped three steps in front of the teahouse.

The shadow of a Southeast Asian ruler was pressed against the crack in the door.

"The eighth generation of the Cheng family."

Cheng Xiaojin hooked the iron teapot to his feet, and pressed the spout against the copper needle.

"Queue up. My nose scar just died. Cutting in line will cost extra."

The person outside the door said, "You heard the third sentence."

Cheng Xiaojin pressed down with his heel, and the copper needle made a soft sound in the crack of the brick.

"I heard you."

"Then you'll have to take this step even more."

Cheng Xiaojin looked up at the crack in the door.

"Go back and ask Shen Jiulou, whose blood was shed when the human heart nail was pulled from a living person's heart?"

The wooden ruler outside the door stopped, and a line of black oil characters suddenly seeped out from the ground beneath the body of the man with the nasal scar, where no shadow had appeared.

The character was not fully formed; only half of the character "沈" was visible.

Cheng Xiaojin glanced down and saw that the copper needle under his shoe was tapping towards the vertical hook of the ashtray.

The copper needle tapped twice.

Sometimes it faces north, sometimes it faces southwest.

The old soup oil on the soles of Cheng Xiaojin's shoes was burned through by the black oil, and a burnt smell came from the edge of his socks.

The ruler outside the door didn't come in; he slowly touched the threshold with his wooden ruler against the blue bricks.

"This needle belongs to Master Shen; you can't step on it."

Cheng Xiaojin hooked the iron teapot back and used the bottom of the teapot to catch the needle's tail.

"You Southeast Asians have a really unique way of speaking. You've already given away gifts, and you're still thinking about tracing your ancestry?"

Master Chi said, "You destroyed the needle, and the path to the soul of the nose scar is severed. No one can fill in the last half of the sentence."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the wall, where the nose scar was crooked, half of his face was covered with overnight tea stalks, and his eyes were half open.

The shadows had mostly dissipated, leaving only a dark patch under the table leg, its edges trimmed to a sickening neatness.

He was truly out of options, but the copper needle was still alive.

There was a spell coming from the eye of the needle, as thin as a worm gnawing at wood, as it burrowed up the sole of the shoe, around the foot bone, and tried to find his hand.

Cheng Xiaojin chuckled, "It's not your job to add the missing half-sentence."

With a downward stomp of his heel, Xin Jinqi smashed into the iron teapot through the sole of his shoe, causing the rust on the pot's belly to darken layer by layer.

This pot has been in the old teahouse for decades.

The spout is chipped, and there's a thick layer of tea stains around the bottom. I've seen the old shopkeeper close the shop, gamblers run up debts, and people from half the street sit here bragging.

It's rustic, old, and cheap, but the tea stains are full of human warmth.

When the black oil from Southeast Asia encountered it, it was initially hesitant.

It's not quite right to say I was afraid; I was suppressed.

The wooden ruler outside the door was pushed forward again.

The copper coin that Tang Wanqing had hung at the alley entrance jingled, and one fell to the ground. Cheng Xiaojin did not return it.

"Measure another half an inch, and I'll let you leave that end of the ruler here."

Two streets away, the sound of Tieguai Li's prosthetic leg came from the other side of the alley, as he deliberately banged his leg three times.

The ruler still hadn't left.

"Cheng Xiaojin, your hands are ruined, all you have left are your ears. Master Shen said that ears can also be used."

"Then why don't you measure how much I want to curse you right now? Oh, no, I want to curse your ancestors for generations!"

Cheng Xiaojin, with an iron teapot on his heel, used a copper needle to grind back and forth on the blue brick. The copper needle first became hot, and then black blood seeped from the needle.

When the black blood touched the tea stains at the bottom of the pot, it produced a fishy white foam.

Old Iron Rust fueled Xin Jin's anger, and he bit into the needle little by little, close to the needle shaft.

The ruler finally lifted the wooden ruler, and a small clump of incense ash on the threshold collapsed inward.

Cheng Xiaojin tilted his ear and heard a cracking sound from the ruler.

This is not a proper wooden ruler; its core is filled with human bones.

"Brother Li."

Tieguai Li answered quickly from outside the door.

"exist."

"The ruler's core is human bone; hit the ruler, but don't hit the person."

Tieguai Li rushed out from the alley diagonally opposite.

Instead of using pliers, he grabbed Aunt Zhang's spare rolling pin, smeared the tip with stove ash and dried ginger, and smashed it down on the middle of the wooden ruler.

Snapped!

The outer skin of the wooden ruler cracked, revealing half of a yellowish-white bone fragment.

With a flick of his wrist, the ruler swept across Tieguai Li's elbow. Tieguai Li didn't dodge; he used his steel pipe prosthetic leg to brace himself against the blow, while using his other hand to clamp the ruler's head with pliers.

"So you're a door measuring technician from Southeast Asia? First, measure whether these five-cent pliers are the right size!"

As soon as the clamps closed, fine cracks appeared on the bone fragments.

The ruler stepped back after pulling out his ruler, but his foot slipped and he stepped on the old soup stain that Tong Kexin had left on Cheng Xiaojin's shoe, causing him to stagger half a step.

Cheng Xiaojin didn't look outside; the copper needles were the real danger.

The incantation from the needle hole changed tone, and someone called his name across the water.

Xiao Jin —

Cheng Xiaojin's feet sank, the spout of the iron teapot pressed against the needle hole, and the bottom of the teapot ground hard along the brick seam.

Rust, tea stains, old soup oil, and a pungent metallic smell—four earthy things mixed together—ground a notch into the needle.

Black blood spurted from the copper needle, splashing onto the blue bricks and burning three small pits.

The master outside the door let out a sigh of relief.

Tieguai Li retorted, "No, you're implying that your ruler's stroke carries a collective penalty?"

Cheng Xiaojin gritted his teeth.

"If the needle breaks, he won't be able to measure the shadow of the nose scar."

"Then hurry up, my clamps are going to break again."

Cheng Xiaojin changed the angle of his heel and pressed the pot body downwards.

The iron teapot made a muffled sound, and the copper needle broke into three pieces.

The needle tip bounced twice in the crack between the bricks; that's all it's good for.

Cheng Xiaojin covered it with the bottom of the pot and continued to grind it until the needle tip could not move and the black oil stopped oozing out.

The ruler pulled back the wooden ruler; the bone fragment had already cracked to the end of the ruler.

He glanced at the nose scar in the teahouse, then at the broken teapot at Cheng Xiaojin's feet.

"Master Shen will remember this teapot."

Cheng Xiaojin kicked the pot to the door.

"Tell him to bring money to redeem it, eight hundred."

The master retreated into the shadows of the alley.

Tieguai Li raised his foot to give chase, but was stopped by Cheng Xiaojin.

"Don't chase after him! Master Chi has no murderous aura; he's just trying to lure you away from the teahouse."

Tieguai Li stopped and threw the half-section of leather he was holding in the pliers onto the ground.

"Where's the nose scar?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the wall; the nasal scar was now completely lifeless.

"It can't be burned—his shadow has been cut off, so we need to ask a funeral director to restore it."

"Master Chen is still with Old Lady Wang."

"Let's cover it with a cloth first."

Tieguai Li pulled out an old white cloth from behind the teahouse counter and covered his face with the nose scar. Tea stalks peeked out from under the cloth, forming small bumps.

Cheng Xiaojin bent down and used a rolling pin to scrape away the black grease from the table leg. Underneath half of the character "沈" (Shen), there was a thin vertical hook.

When Tieguai Li saw this, he swallowed the curse that was about to escape his throat.

"Left by your dad?"

"From the nasal scar."

"Who exactly is he working for?"

Cheng Xiaojin rubbed off the black paint edge with the toe of his shoe.

"Before he died, he did something important for himself."

Back at Master Ma's courtyard, it was still dark on the horizon, and the light bulbs in the alley flickered on and off.

The yin and yang separated this area, and all the phone screens were filled with static.

Han Shaobai held his phone and circled around the stove, looking exactly like a feng shui master searching for a signal.

"They're back, they're back."

His face fell again when he saw the soles of Cheng Xiaojin's shoes.

"Brother Cheng, do you need to change your shoes again?"

Tieguai Li threw half a ruler onto the table.

"Recorded in Shen Jiulou's account."

Master Ma sat in the main room.

Next to the ashtray, four bowls of porridge were half-cold. The vertical hook and horizontal line at the bottom of the ashtray were still there, and the small dot was rubbing downwards, not forming a complete code.

Cheng Xiaojin finished explaining the nose scar in three sentences.

No one in the room interrupted. Grandpa Ma's pipe bumped against the corner of the table, knocking off a small piece of old lacquer.

"Pull it out of the hearts of the living —"

Zhou Banxian opened his compass, and the needle circled the ashtray three times before finally pointing diagonally towards Liulichang.

"The nail that pierces the hearts of men—it feeds on the hearts of men—"

Tang Wanqing looked at Cheng Xiaojin's hand; the edges of the medicated cloth had turned bluish.

"Shen Jiulou forced you to open the vat because he wanted you to accept your filthy heart."

Tong Kexin poured the hot soup into a small bowl and pushed it in front of Cheng Xiaojin, not letting him reach out.

"The debt with Old Lady Wang has just been settled, and now another one from Liulichang? It's really disgusting."

Zhou Banxian flicked his compass needle twice, pointing southwest.

"Over at the seventh gate, there are thirty-six live meals, but one of them is not right."

Han Shaobai's face turned pale.

"I paid for this stall, who would dare to cheat me?"

Tieguai Li glanced at him.

"Money can hire people, but it can also hire sycophants."

Cheng Xiaojin placed the rolling pin against the edge of the table.

"It's not fake food."

Master Ma is holding a compass.

"dead.

"6

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

"Scarface's words, 'A nail recognizes a person,' were a clear indication of his intentions. The Seventh Gate was short of heart-shaped nails, so Shen Jiulou stuffed rotten hearts into the living rice orchid. When the ashtray was opened, the nail recognized that filthy breath."

Tang Wanqing pressed the medicated cloth back onto his wrist.

"You can't go to Liulichang."

"If I don't go, who will listen to the sound of food being eaten? It can't just jump out on its own, can it?"

Tong Kexin picked up the small aluminum kettle.

"I."

"Huguosi Hot Pot —"

"Aunt Liu is watching over him, Aunt Zhang is watching over him, and Old Li's voice isn't completely hoarse yet, it won't collapse."

Tieguai Li picked up the children's toy box.

"Let's go see which despicable bastard threw food from the dead at the seventh gate."

Han Shaobai grabbed his car keys, then remembered that Yin Yang Ge Lan's phone wasn't working, so he grabbed a handful of cash and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Me too! That's a nightclub I paid for. If anyone tries to ruin my livelihood, I'll fight them to the bitter end."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at him.

"Young man, don't go broke tonight."

Han Shaobai was stunned.

"Then why are you bald?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked towards the door.

"The smell of a bald man —"

As soon as he finished speaking, the small dot at the bottom of the ashtray slid down, leaving a half-character "仇" (chou) mark on the white ash.

Master Ma's face was grim.

That was a crooked and twisted character for "willow".

"willow?"

Han Shaobai stared at the bottom of the ashtray, the car key slipping through his fingers and about to fall into the porridge bowl.

Tieguai Li grabbed him by the back of the neck.

"Don't rush forward."

"Your brain is worthless; you'd be a real loser if you blocked the porridge's fumes."

Zhou Banxian put the compass back into Huailan's pocket.

"Liu Bai was half-stuck in Liulichang. When the seventh gate moved, there shouldn't have been no sound from that side."

Cheng Xiaojin stared at that half-character.

The ashtray settled down, the bottom half-circled with white ash, leaving only a tiny, thin, almost broken willow-shaped mark hanging from the edge of the fake burn mark.

Tang Wanqing covered the coarse cloth again, "Then let's first get rid of the odor of the live rice orchid."

"We'll settle this score with Liu Bai when we get back."

Master Ma nodded, "Let's go to Liulichang."

"Little Jin is only allowed to listen, not touch."

"Young man, bring money, but don't flaunt your wealth."

Han Shao's face fell. "Now I even know to count the zeros first when I take out my money."

Tieguai Li lifted his foot and walked out.

"That's called putting a whole bill in small change; don't try to make yourself look good."

The lights were still on in Liulichang at night.

Nine streetlights hung on the street, their flames flickering in the wind.

The stir-fry stall was steaming, the steamer baskets for buns were open, and the small stove for sweet soup was bubbling away.

At the entrance of Boguzhai, a tattered meal ticket lay on the blue bricks. The door was tightly closed, but a layer of fine bubbles bulged under the wood veneer.

As Cheng Xiaojingang entered the archway, he heard Zilan knocking on the door.

The sound was thinner than the sound of the orchid at the wellhead of Huguo Temple, and muffled than the sound of an ashtray. It sounded like someone was scratching at the wooden tenon with their fingernail, one scratch after another, making one's scalp tingle and goosebumps fall all over the ground.

Tong Kexin, carrying the small aluminum kettle, started snorting first.

"The mutton soup doesn't taste right."

Han Shaobai looked ahead and saw a newly opened mutton soup stall at the street corner.

The stall owner, Sun Daqiang, was wearing a black apron, which was covered in grease and dirt. His hands were covered in calluses from a boning knife, and his fingernails were stained with white grease.

The broth in the iron pot was boiling vigorously, with white bones tumbling beneath the surface, yet the steam didn't rise but swirl around the edge of the pot.

Sun Daqiang glanced at Han Shaobai and quickly greeted him.

"Boss Han, a bowl of mutton soup, please."

"The night is cool tonight, a sip of this will do the trick."

Han Shaobai looked at Cheng Xiaojin.

The soup was boiling vigorously; it was genuine mutton soup. The bones made a crisp, slightly hollow sound as they hit the bottom of the pot.

Sun Daqiang's pot was filled with dead ashes at the bottom, and the heat was trapped at the top, preventing it from turning over.

There was a muffled thud from the swelling of the hemp rope at the bottom of the pot.

Cheng Xiaojin stopped three steps away. "Boss Sun, how much is the soup?"

Sun Daqiang was rubbing his apron.

"Others pay eight."

"The people brought by Boss Han don't charge money."

Tieguai Li snorted at the beggar.

"You got a free meal, and now you're paying for it with your life?"

Sun Daqiang's face twitched.

"Master Li, your words are unpleasant to hear."

"I also set up a stall at night; everyone here is helping out at the Seventh Gate."

Tong Kexin threw the empty bowl onto the stall.

"Give me a bowl."

"It needs to have a bottom."

Sun Daqiang paused for a moment, his spoon still in his hand.

"Girl, mutton soup doesn't have a bottom. The bottom is all bone scraps. You only drink the top layer, which is much better. It's not like braised mutton soup."

"I just love drinking the dregs."

"That would require enduring the hardships of being a beggar."

Cheng Xiaojin pulled at the beggar's mouth.

"Boss Sun, even the counterfeit goods sellers in Panjiayuan aren't as protective as you."

Grandpa Li, who sells fried food next door, peeks out.

"Little Jin, is something wrong with the beggar?"

Cheng Xiaojin didn't answer, and turned to look at Han Shaobai.

Have you checked this stall?

Han Shaobai quickly flipped through the small ledger, the pages rustling.

"Sun Daqiang, he joined the team the other day."

"He said Jialan had an accident and he was short of money. I saw that there was an empty stall, so I let him fill in."

Cheng Xiaojin asked, "What happened to Jialan?"

Han Shaobai flipped to the booklet and his throat tightened.

"His colleague just died."

"My sister-in-law didn't even beg for money when she went to Qiuyue."

"Only the daughter of the enemy remains."

Tieguai Li's wrench struck the iron leg.

"How did he die?"

Sun Daqiang threw the spoon onto the edge of the pot.

"Are you checking household registrations?"

"I died of an illness at work, and my sister-in-law couldn't bear it."

"Everyone has their share of troubles."

Tong Kexin stayed with him.

"What about that girl?"

Sun Daqiang frowned. "Have a relative take them."

"What does it have to do with you if we fight over a nobody?"

The surrounding vendors looked beggars, and Grandpa Li put down his wok.

"Daqiang, your sister-in-law used to help you sell mutton soup at your stall. She's very efficient."

"I've met her daughter before; she called you 'Uncle' from afar."

Sun Daqiang curled his lip.

"Uncle Li, please don't listen to the nonsense outside."

"Her mother had a short life, and the house and the business couldn't be left to her child."

Tieguai Li took a step forward, pressing the beggar closer.

"Eating off the heirs of the family?"

As the three characters for "hatred" landed, the embers at the bottom of the mutton soup pot glowed with a bluish-green hue, and people licked them up the sides of the pot.

Sun Daqiang's face tightened, and he picked up a spoon to stir the pot.

"What's going on at Liulichang in Panjiayuan?"

"Even if Boss Han pays me, he can't just let you smash the rice bowl that was passed down from my ancestors."

Han Shaobai quickly raised his hand.

"I didn't let them smash it."

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at him, and Han Shaobai immediately changed his tune.

"But if you really put this kind of dirty stuff into the rice, I'd rather give you a pot than accept it as a waste."

Sun Daqiang's eyes darted around, and he shouted at the top of his lungs towards the street.

Come and see for yourselves!

"People from Panjiayuan are bullying beggars who are setting up stalls."

"Nightclubs are everyone's livelihood, and they just smash it like that. Is there no law?"

Several vendors surrounded the stall, some carrying rolling pins, some holding stove hooks, and others carrying cutting board knives.

Tang Wanqing's red thread slipped slightly off her cuff and then disappeared.

With too many people, it's difficult to set up a formation.

Cheng Xiaojin didn't rush forward; instead, she followed the sound of the pot towards Lan.

The contents of the packet at the bottom of the pot weren't completely gone; it contained ashes, hemp rope, burnt wood chips, and a little bit of Southeast Asian black oil.

His gaze fell on the firewood basket behind Sun Daqiang.

Those who sell mutton soup properly protect the soup, not the firewood.

Sun Daqiang deliberately blocked the firewood basket completely, with his legs pressed against the edge of the basket and his toes not giving way even a little.

Cheng Xiaojin spoke.

"Han Shaobai, let's talk twice."

Han Shaobai was stunned for a moment, then quickly reached for his money and slammed it onto the chopping board.

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Boss Sun, two bowls with the broth."

"The bag you just shook into the pot."

Sun Daqiang gripped the spoon tightly, the veins on the back of his hand standing out.

"I wasn't shaking."

"Then why are you protecting her so tightly?"

"Is this a family secret recipe that can't be exposed to the public?"

Sun Daqiang pushed the two blocks outwards.

"Get lost."

Tieguai Li grinned.

"They're not even making money, yet they seem to value the little bit of food at the bottom of the pot."

Cheng Xiaojin flicked the tip of his shoe, and an empty wine bottle rolled along the blue brick to the foot of the pot.

The bottle neck got stuck in a broken brick, cracked open with a snap, and cheap liquor spilled out. When it touched the green flame at the bottom of the pot, the flames shot up to half a person's height.

The people surrounding them all retreated.

The soup noodles were pushed up by the fire, revealing a piece of hemp rope knot that wouldn't disintegrate, about half an inch thick, with black wood ash embedded in the knot.

Grandpa Li accidentally dropped the spoon in the pot.

"Daqiang, isn't that the rope your sister-in-law used to hang herself from the roof beam?"

Sun Daqiang's face turned pale and then red, but he remained defiant.

"fart!"

"That's a big surprise."

"Medicinal herbs from the south."

Tong Kexin picked up the small aluminum kettle, with the spout pointing towards the edge of the pot.

"Medicinal ingredients?"

"I've seen pig intestines and lungs in my family's stew pot, but I've never seen medicinal ingredients made from a widow's hanging rope."

"Are you some kind of shameless beggar?"

Sun Daqiang grabbed the boning knife.

"Who dares to touch my pot!"

With a flick of her wrist, Tang Wanqing sent three copper coins flying across the cutting board, where they struck the back of the knife.

The dagger veered half an inch off course and slammed into the wooden table with a thud.

Tieguai Li stepped forward, grabbed Sun Daqiang's wrist, and slammed it onto the cutting board.

"Where is your Kobo-hen?"

Sun Daqiang bit him.

"none of your business."

"What happened to your sister-in-law's business?"

"She's dead."

"What about her daughter?"

"6

Sun Daqiang shrank back, his wrist cracking as Tieguai Li pressed down on it.

"I'll take care of it."

The sound of a child crying came from behind the tattered curtain of the stall, and everyone gathered around looked in that direction.

Sun Daqiang's eyelids twitched violently.

Cheng Xiaojin tilted his ear to the side.

Behind the curtain was a young girl named Qiu, her mouth stuffed with cloth and her hand clutching a bunch of keys.

The key was stained with blood; it had just been snatched from someone's hand.

Tong Kexin grabbed her spoon and rushed to the back of the stall.

In his haste, Sun Daqiang reached under the chopping board with his other hand, grabbed Qiu Huang's painting bag, and shook it at the bottom of the pot.

The remaining half-bag of black ash fell into Tanglan.

At the other end of the dilapidated meal ticket counter, the door creaked open.

The wooden tenon cracked a finger's width, and Cheng Xiaojin's face darkened.

"Kexin, ignore the beggar with the curtain."

Pressure cooker.

"7

Tong Kexin had already raised her small aluminum kettle, and poured the Huguosi Old Soup over her head onto the edge of the pot. The red oil mixed with the saltiness suppressed the green flames.

But once the layer of dead ash at the bottom of the pot gets into the soup, the whole pot of mutton soup still boils up with a dark red and greasy smell.

The little girl behind the curtain broke free of the gauze covering her mouth and cried out.

"mom!"

The mutton soup pot was filled with mutton, and the piece of hemp rope stood upright.