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

Chapter 132 Wood chips half-sounded, fishing for cracked marks; frying liver pot ash sealed the evil wind.

"Little shrew, don't let Shao Bai's cracked mark get in."

The tobacco ash on the sawdust hadn't completely dried off yet, and Han Shaobai pressed his palm against the crack of the red stamp, the ink seeping out along the wood.

It was dark in color and had a slightly bitter taste, like overcooked tea leaves.

He stuffed the red stamp into his pocket, but then, afraid of burning the account book, he circled his hand twice in mid-air before tucking it under his elbow.

"Brother Cheng, can we trust Sheng'er?"

Cheng Xiaojin moved the tip of his shoe three inches in front of the sawdust, his hand wrapped in bandages hung at his side, his fingers didn't move, and he didn't answer him.

The ash on the back of the sawdust was yellowish.

The yellow hue still carries an oily sheen, the ash scraped from an old tobacco pipe. Yet, beneath the ash lies a subtle sweetness that seeps out along the wood grain.

Cheng Xiaojin took the cigarette out from behind his ear and bit it between his teeth.

Tang Wanqing stared at his wrist.

"Don't touch it!"

"I'm not stupid—"

Tieguai Li glanced at him and said, "When you're pretending to be stupid, you're even better at it than Sun Daqiang."

1

Tong Kexin placed the long ladle on the edge of the pot, and half a ring of mutton soup oil clung to the bottom of the ladle.

Stop joking and hurry up and tell the truth from the falsehood.

Through the crack in the door of the willow shop, Liu Bai's face was half pressed against the door frame, his forehead covered with a patch of old wood ash.

[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name 1110 ...

He picked at the edge of the door with his fingertip, and a clump of ash fell.

"I can borrow your voice."

Han Shaobai tightened his grip on his elbow again. "So, you can borrow that old energy too?"

Liu Bai's throat moved, and a bluish-white light licked out from behind his waist.

"Your father left behind cigarette ash and sawdust."

She paused for a moment, her fingernails digging into the door frame.

"Shen Jiulou used a copper plate to support his voice, kneading together half of his old voice, making it sound just like a living person, but his true nature might not be human."

Cheng Xiaojin squatted down, his knees not touching the ground, and the soles of his shoes ground the wet paper that had fallen from the paper cart into the cracks between the blue bricks.

Another tap into the wood shavings, the sound trailing off inwards, like the vertical hook of the Cheng family's tail.

Zhou Banxian chewed on the pipe stem, but the pipe bowl had no fire; it only made a soft grinding sound against his teeth.

"Can a vertical hook be borrowed too?"

Cheng Xiaojin stuck out the tip of his shoe, but instead of touching the wood chips, he pressed down a grain of fried liver sauce next to him.

"able----"

Tang Wanqing's face darkened, and Cheng Xiaojin looked up at her.

"I said I could lend it, but I didn't say I could lend it all."

Tong Kexin asked, "What's missing?"

"My dad taps a vertical hook, and the tail is pulled back quickly, which sounds like he's trying to cut corners."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the sawdust, the cigarette dangling from his teeth bearing a bite mark.

"We're leaving this tail hanging, waiting for someone to take the bait."

Tieguai Li chuckled for a moment.

"Are you Cheng family really stingy with your secret codes?"

"In poor families, every penny saved is a penny earned."

Han Shaobai failed; the red mark stuck to the fabric, and a black line had already seeped through the fabric.

He glanced down and his face turned pale.

"Brother Cheng, it's burning me."

Cheng Xiaojin lifted his eyelids slightly. "Don't loosen it!"

"What if I... what if I can't help myself?"

"Then go ahead and curse!"

Han Shaobai nodded and immediately began to speak.

"Shen Jiulou, you son of a bitch!"

A soft sound came from the wooden sign; something in the nail hole had sucked up some ink.

Liu Bai picked off a small piece of his fingernail, which fell onto the threshold.

"The crack mark has been remembered."

Han Shaobai almost threw the red stamp away.

Liu Bai looked at him.

"A complete red stamp indicates the entire ledger; a torn red stamp indicates only half of the ledger."

The bluish-white light behind his waist disappeared, and he squeezed out the words through clenched teeth.

"Half a ledger can reveal half the reputation of a family."

Zhou Banxian placed the compass on the blue brick, and as soon as the needle touched the ground, he poked it into the crack of the willow shop door.

"The wind blows through the tent opening, but not through the water outlet."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Han Shaobai, "I came here for you."

Han Shaobai tucked the account book back into his chest.

"These few chapters tonight are enough for my dad to break my legs."

Han Shaobai wiped his forehead, his hand smeared with ink, and then rubbed it against the edge of the account book.

The cover of the ledger was burned, leaving a black mark from being bitten, and he quickly withdrew his hand.

Tang Wanqing pulled out three large coins from her sleeve, the coins stained with blood from her palm.

"Give me the red stamp."

Han Shaobai shook his head.

"no."

Tang Wanqing looked at him.

"I'll use copper coins as a separator."

"Copper coins have also been used in battle; the Shen character coin is on the door."

Han Shaobai enunciated the words and pressed the red stamp back under his elbow.

"I'm afraid it'll steal it by following the scent of copper."

Tieguai Li snorted.

"The accountant has finally figured it out."

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Don't give the red stamp to anyone."

He pointed between the sixth and seventh lamps.

"Stay seven steps away from the door, lest you step on the lamplight."

Han Shaobai lowered his head and took a few steps, but his heels went awry. Tong Kexin grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him into the shadows.

"here!"

Han Shaobai looked down and saw that his toes were only half an inch away from the lamplight.

"Sister Tong, this dress was custom-made by Boguzhai."

Tong Kexin tapped his cuff with the handle of a spoon.

"If you keep dawdling, believe me, I'll alter it into a short-sleeved shirt!"

The bluish-white light from the crack in the willow shop door peeked out an inch.

Behind the wooden sign, thin black wisps of steam rose from the horizontal groove that was blocked by a piece of steamed bun skin and an old piece of dough.

The black mist carried the smell of the sea—salty, bitter, and with the aroma of burnt spices from Southeast Asia.

Zhou Banxian wrinkled his nose.

"Agarwood?"

A tooth mark was left on the cigarette in Cheng Xiaojin's mouth.

"Southeast Asian agarwood".

Tang Wanqing asked, "A wooden box?"

"The wooden box transmits sound, and the copper plate rotates."

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the sawdust on the ground.

"My dad's cigarette smell comes first, followed by the scent of sandalwood."

He took the cigarette from his teeth.

"If he really did pass on the message, then this stench of wealth and privilege would have followed."

Tong Kexin hummed half a hum, then immediately propped up the long spoon.

"The wind is picking up."

As soon as he finished speaking, a gust of cold wind squeezed out from the crack in the willow shop door.

The wind blew close to the ground, bypassing the tire tracks left by the fried liver stall, and went straight for Han Shaobai's wrist. Shaobai stepped back.

Cheng Xiaojin shouted, "Don't run away, it'll be even more accurate if you do!"

Han Shaobai's legs were rooted to the ground, and sweat dripped from his chin onto the cover of the ledger.

"So I'll just stand there and wait for it to collect it?"

"Stand and curse! Why did you stop?"

"Shen Jiulou, you...you bastard!"

Tieguai Li cursed, "Cursing relatives is useless; curse his skills instead."

Han Shaobai gritted his teeth.

"Shen Jiulou, your paper cart looks like toilet paper; you can't even steal all the red stamps!"

A cold wind blew for a moment, and Cheng Xiaojin picked up half a bowl of fried liver scraps from the ground with the tip of her shoe.

The sauce left over from when Grandpa Li splashed the paper cart was still clinging to the edge of the blue brick, filled with fatty intestines and pungent vinegar.

Cheng Xiaojin lifted his foot, flipped the rim of the bowl, and splashed half a bowl of fried liver in front of Han Shaobai.

The sauce was coated in a cold wind, and the oil droplets clung to the air conditioning, sticking to the cold air and sticking to the wind, leaving a layer of dirt on the surface.

Han Shaobai's eyes lit up.

"Did it work?"

Before the words were finished, a thin shadow stretched out from the cold wind, stiffening as it sliced ​​through the sauce.

Cut the stir-fried liver in half and spread the oil sauce to both sides.

*Rip!* Han Shaobai's sleeve was ripped open.

Small bumps appeared on his arm, and black fluid gushed from the red cracks, trickling down his wrist.

"Brother Cheng!"

Tang Wanqing tossed out the three large coins in her hand.

One nailed to Han Shaobai's feet, one nailed to the outside of the lamplight, and one stuck to the cover of the account book and fell to the ground.

The red thread passed through the coin's eye between her fingers, forming a triangular net. The cold wind struck the red thread net, causing it to make a soft rustling sound, and the coin's surface turned black from the edges.

Tang Wanqing tugged at her finger.

"The red stamp is a farewell gift."

Han Shaobai gritted his teeth.

"But it burrows into the flesh, sis—"

Tong Kexin picked up a long ladle, the bottom of which still had a layer of old soup oil.

"Stretch out your arm."

Han Shaobai did as instructed, and Tong Kexin smeared a spoonful of oil on the torn edge of his sleeve.

The moment the old soup oil touches the black water, foul smoke immediately rises.

Han Shaobai's heel slammed to the ground in pain.

"hot!----"

"Living is more expensive than clothes!"

Tieguai Li still had the willow shop sign on his head, a wrench stuck in the door crack, and with a twist of his shoulder, the old screws rattled twice.

"Cheng Xiaojin, where's the eye of the storm?"

Cheng Xiaojin tilted his ear; wood chips, red stamps, Shen-character coins, horizontal grooves—all sounds mingled together.

He tapped the blue bricks twice with his toes, "The eye of the storm isn't at the door."

Zhou the fortune teller asked, "Where?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the wood chips that the rotten belly of the paper car was spewing out.

"Inside its belly."

The sawdust turned over on its own, cigarette ash clung to the blue bricks, and black smoke billowed out from the cracks in the wood grain.

That low, smoky voice came through again.

"Little shrew, don't let Shao Bai's crack mark enter the door."

This time, the ending is even closer to Cheng Shouyi, even capturing the burning sensation at the back of the tongue after smoking.

Tang Wanqing stared at Cheng Xiaojin.

"Cheng Xiaojin!"

"Know----"

"If you dare touch it with your hands, I'll tie both your arms to the pot stand."

Tong Kexin chimed in, "I'll light it."

Cheng Xiaojin smirked. "Ladies, have some sense of the rule of law."

Tieguai Li cursed, "You should talk about human lives first."

Cheng Xiaojin drew a half-circle around the wood shavings with the tip of her shoe.

"This sound is based on my dad's old cigarette ash, breathed with Nanyang agarwood, and found by the red stamp crack mark."

He looked at the bottom of the mutton soup pot, then at the ashes from the stove next to the fried liver stall.

"To seal it, you can't use clean things."

Han Shaobai asked anxiously, "What dirty stuff?"

"Old oil at the bottom of the pot, soot at the bottom of the stove."

Tong Kexin frowned.

"Lamb soup is a staple at He Xiulan's house, and Xiaoxing is just getting used to it."

"No soup, just the last layer of dead oil at the bottom of the pot."

Cheng Xiaojin said, "That thing doesn't recognize food, it recognizes dirt, and it only blocks the incense of wealth and honor."

Grandpa Li immediately shouted, "There's soot on the bottom of my stall, it's shiny black."

Aunt Wang flipped the lid of the steamer basket over.

"I have some too, it's burnt dough that fell off when steaming buns."

Cheng Xiaojin shook her head, "The ashes have been bitten by someone; they're kept to protect the child."

He looked toward Grandpa Li's stove.

"Using ash from the bottom of a liver-burning stove will cause excessive liver fire."

Grandpa Li lifted his apron, squatted down by the stove, and scraped the bottom of the pot with an iron spatula.

"My stove ash isn't cheap."

Han Shaobai, holding the red stamp, shouted, "How much?"

"Two yuan for half a bowl of fried liver, with stove ash as a bonus."

Tieguai Li roared, "Did you hear that, Shen Jiulou? You lost because of the freebies!"

A cold wind swept over again, dragging Tang Wanqing's three large coins forward. The edges of the coins scraped against the blue bricks, sparking dark red embers.

The red thread on her palm dug into her flesh, and blood dripped down the line.

"quick!"

Tong Kexin used a small aluminum kettle to collect the oil from the bottom of the mutton soup pot. He Xiulan's red dress shadow shifted slightly in the pot, and the black mark on her neck gleamed against the edge of the pot.

Xiaoxing, clutching the steamed bun and keys, whispered, "Mom, can I borrow this?"

He Xiulan didn't look up. The layer of oil at the bottom of the pot slid out from the spout, dark red and black.

Inside were bits of lamb bones, the musty smell of the ash from the hanging rope forced out by the old broth, and the steam from the freshly cooked rice.

Tong Kexin handed the teapot to Grandpa Li.

"Ash."

Grandpa Li scraped off half a shovelful of stove ash with an iron shovel and poured it into a small aluminum kettle.

When the oil and ash touched, they turned into a paste, and the pungent smell made Han Shaobai lean back.

"Can this ward off evil spirits?"

Tieguai Li said, "Even if it can't, it can still be suffocated."

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the sawdust.

"Kexin, don't spill it, take it away."

"Where to deduct?"

"Don't touch the front of the sawdust, and pick up the cigarette ash on the back."

Tong Kexin turned the long spoon horizontally, with the rim of the spoon touching the spout of the small aluminum kettle, and slowly tilted it.

The cold wind blew back with the chiqiao tree.

Tang Wanqing's red thread net was cut open, and half of the money turned black. The black liquid from Han Shaobai's wrist dripped down his sleeve and onto the ground, where it bubbled as soon as it touched the ground.

Liu Bai shouted through the crack in the door, "It's going to poke the crack in the red hole."

Cheng Xiaojin didn't look up. "Who said we should stop them?"

Han Shaobai gritted his teeth.

"Brother Cheng, I can still hold on if it's within half an inch."

Hang in there.

A cold wind blew against Han Shaobai's wrist, and black liquid gushed out from the crack in the red poker.

Shuai Tianchi Qiao burrowed half an inch into his sleeve, trying to pry the cracked wooden handle out. Han Shaobai bent over in pain, the ledger pressed against his chest, and he was still cursing.

"Shen Jiulou, you stole someone's inkpad without a household registration."

Cheng Xiaojin simply said, "Deduct."

Tong Kexin flipped the spoon over, and the old oil mixed with stove ash from the bottom of the pot was slapped onto the back of the sawdust.

The cigarette ash was covered up, and the fragrance of the Nanyang agarwood instantly died.

Cheng Shou's voice changed from the wood shavings, the smoke cracked, and a sharp, coppery sound emerged from below.

"Little shrew, don't let Shao Bai's cracks get in—"

The latter half was blocked by grease in the wood grain, squeezing out a strange sound. Han Shaobai's wrist was so scared that the ruler Qiao lost its aim and darted wildly along the cuff.

Tong Kexin used the handle of a spoon to lift his sleeve open.

Tang Wanqing tightened the red thread, and three large coins framed the black water in the middle.

"Li Tiezhu!"

Tieguai Li's face darkened.

"Every time someone calls you by your full name, you're sure to meet a bad end."

He didn't have a pine wood brand; with his other hand, he grabbed the digging and breaking pliers.

The pliers had just hit a car; the jaws were covered in fried liver residue, ink, and soot.

With a twist of his wrist, Tieguai Li clamped the pliers onto Han Shaobai's sleeve.

In the dark water, Shuai Tianchi Qiao was caught halfway, and the jaws of the clamps slipped.

Tieguai Li gritted his teeth and pressed the handle of the pliers against the joint of the prosthetic limb.

"Don't be so cocky with your Nanyang ruler; even five-cent pliers can do your pedicure."

click!

A small section of the ruler's shadow broke off, fell to the ground, and turned into a patch of black wood spikes.

The wooden spikes were engraved with the fine character "Shen".

Zhou Banxian nudged it with his pipe stick, but it didn't touch him. The black wooden splinter retracted itself into the crack of the willow shop door.

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Don't let it go back."

Aunt Wang grabbed the steamer lid, slapped it horizontally, and the black splinter was stuck to the bottom of the lid. Smoke rose from the edge of the lid, and the back of Aunt Wang's hand was reddened by the heat, but she still pressed the lid down.

"I've been steaming buns with this lid for twenty years, and I've learned something new today."

Han Shaobai was panting, and one side of his sleeve was torn.

The red-stamped crack no longer oozed black liquid, but a bluish-black mark remained at the edge of the crack, and a layer of mold grew inside the wood.

Just as he was about to rub it with his thumb, Tang Wanqing immediately stopped.

"Don't wipe it!"

Han Shaobai withdrew his hand. "Can't I even wipe it? Do you think I should worship you?"

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at it and said, "Offer it, just offer it in my arms."

He paused, then changed his mind.

"The crack is dirty now. If Shen Jiulou wants to bring it in, he'll have to wash it again."

Han Shaobai's face twitched.

"My family's heirloom red stamp, and you call it a vegetable market rag."

Tieguai Li said, "A rag can save a life, don't look down on it."

Liu Bai pressed himself against the door frame, his breathing becoming erratic.

The bluish-white light behind her waist retreated back into the doorway, leaving half an inch of her shoulder exposed.

"The sawdust isn't dead."

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the gray paint of the Earth Fear Commander Group.

Beneath the grease, something is still pushing it up.

One tap at a time, fingernails tapping the curved surface through the thick cloth.

A small piece of the cigarette in Cheng Xiaojin's mouth was bitten off, and some tobacco fell onto his clothes.

"I heard you this time."

Zhou the Fortune Teller asked, "What did you hear?"

"The copper plate is spinning underneath." Cheng Xiaojin looked at the wooden plaque, "and it's still connected to the character 'Shen'."

Tieguai Li, with his wrench pressed against the crack in the door, twitched his arm.

"If you're handsome, just pry out the character 'Shen' from the coins."

Liu Bai immediately said, "We can't force it."

Tieguai Li glared at him.

"You Liao Liu family, you can't be handsome, you're practically riding on our faces."

Liu Bai pressed his fingertips against the door frame, his fingernails filled with blood and ash.

"The Shen character money card has a nail hole."

He coughed up some wood ash. "If you pry it open, it will create a horizontal groove. If you let the wind through half the door come out, the first thing you'll see is a red stamp."

Han Shaobai took half a step back, but Cheng Xiaojin didn't look at him.

"Brother Li, get the ink pad."

"Ink pad?"

"The stolen lipstick ink from between the Shen character money and the wooden plaque."

7

Tieguai Li squinted and looked over; indeed, there was still a bit of red squeezed out from the crack in the Shen character coin.

The red color was dark; the blood had mixed into the ink.

"This is a delicate job."

"Didn't you boast that you could pick up a fly's leg with a wrench?"

"I'm handsome, but I'm single more often than not."

"I'll keep you awake tonight, so you can have your way."

Tieguai Li spat, put the pliers in his mouth, switched hands, and extended the jaws towards the seam of the wooden sign.

From inside the willow shop came half a sentence from the fake Lu Mingzhu: "Xiao Jin, if you don't believe your mother, don't you believe your father?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the sawdust and said, "If my dad were really here, the first thing he'd say would be that I'm smoking expensive cigarettes."

The female voice effect for that half sentence got stuck.

Tong Kexin sneered, "Keep pretending, keep pretending—"

The fake Lu Mingzhu was replaced by Cheng Shouyi's husky voice.

"Xiao Xi————"

Cheng Xiaojin interrupted it, "Aren't you calling me 'Little Stingy' a little too often?"

He glanced through the crack in the door. "A real father wouldn't be this clingy."

Zhou Banxian tapped the compass with his tobacco pipe.

"That makes sense." He bit the pipe stem. "Cheng Shouyi is handsome but stingy; he won't even waste a few words calling his son."

A small bubble rose from the ash beneath the sawdust, and a screaming sound emerged from the bubble, clinging to the blue bricks.

The streetlights all seemed to dim, and under the seventh lamp, Xiaoxing's steamed buns wobbled.

Xiao Xing reached out to help, but Tong Kexin stopped her.

Don't touch the wick.

Xiaoxing withdrew her hand and used her body to block the light.

"I'll stay here."

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at her.

"Don't step on the shadow."

Xiao Xing lowered her head and moved her feet. Tieguai Li Shuai was beside her, and the jaws of the clamps finally gripped the red inkpad. The inkpad was like living flesh, and it shrank into the Shen character coin as soon as the jaws touched it.

Tieguai Li's hands were bulging with veins, and he mumbled curses.

"They're pretty good at dodging!"

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Don't chase it, block its escape route."

"What should we use to block it?"

"Let's use fried liver!"

Grandpa Li was stunned.

"Again?"

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

"Use cornstarch to seal the gaps."

Grandpa Li picked up the bowl; there was still a little bit of vinegar sauce left at the bottom.

"Okay, this time it'll be one dollar!"

Han Shaobai quickly reached for his money. "Cash." He pulled out several bills from his pocket, one of which fell to the ground, its corner stained with black water.

Just as Han Shaobai was about to stick his toes out, Tang Wanqing stopped him.

Han Shaobai looked distressed. "You can't even take the money?"

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Burn the 'Handsome Stick' for Shen Jiulou."

Tieguai Li cursed while holding the pliers in his mouth.

"Does he deserve it?"

Grandpa Li handed the vinegar sauce to Tong Kexin.

Tong Kexin used a long spoon to scoop up a little and smeared it along the lower edge of the seam of the wooden sign. The sauce turned white as soon as it touched the wood.

The red inkpad was blocked from retreating, and Tieguai Li took advantage of this moment to clamp the inkpad and the wooden splinter with his pliers and twist them outwards.

Creak! The wooden plaque sank halfway down, and half of the red ink was pulled out, along with a few thin black threads.

Tieguai Li didn't dare to pull hard, "because it's connected by a thread."

Cheng Xiaojin closed his eyes and listened. Through the thin black silk, he could hear the sound of account book pages turning, the sound of a copper plate turning, and the sound of Han Shaobai's red embossed wood grain cracking.

"Don't cut it!"

Tieguai Li was sweating.

"What if it's too cool? Should I wear it around during the New Year?"

"Lao Tang, please order.

Tong Kexin had already handed the small aluminum kettle to the side.

"What do you want?"

"Indigo root".

Tong Kexin picked up half a drop of the old soup and put it on the spot where the black silk and red ink met. As soon as the salt entered the seam, the black silk immediately shrank into a ball.

With a flick of his wrist, Tieguai Li pried half of the red inkpad, along with a splinter, from the seam of the Shen character coin.

As soon as Shuai left the wooden sign, his heart turned cold and he lost his backbone, wandering aimlessly. Tang Wanqing tightened the red thread net, encircling the black water in front of Han Shaobai's wrist.

"Pot lid".

Aunt Wang lifted the lid of the steamer. The black wooden splinter underneath had been softened by the steam. She flipped the lid over and placed it on top of the black water splinter.

Grandpa Li tapped it with an iron spoon.

Clang! The sound was not loud, but rather muffled.

Fang Liao also followed suit and started knocking~

The sounds of frying liver spoons, steamed bun steamers, mutton soup pot rims, and iron pot lids creating a chaotic cacophony.

This wasn't a formation, nor did it follow any rules, yet each strike carried the warmth of human hands.

Carrying the fire of the stall owners setting up their stalls at night, and the spittle of those who had just cursed, the cold wind was swirling around the noodles, its noise indiscriminate and chaotic.

Han Shaobai also picked up the copper abacus next to the account book, intending to tap it.

Cheng Xiaojin shouted, "Don't use the copper abacus!"

Han Shaobai quickly switched to a pen and tapped the ledger.

"Received, received, received."

Tieguai Li retorted, "Are you chanting scriptures?"

Han Shaobai retorted: "Professional habit."

The ash and oil under the sawdust stopped moving completely, and the handsome Cheng Shouyi's smoky voice was muffled inside, finally squeezing out half a word.

"Small----"

Cheng Xiaojin stood up, the cigarette butt dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"Don't be so stingy, we're not going to extend credit for family ties today."

The false voice faded away through the crack in the willow shop door, and the money with the character "Shen" on the wooden sign stopped sinking.

Tieguai Li placed the half-eaten inkpad he was holding in the pliers onto the blue brick wall. Cheng Xiaojin glanced at it but didn't let anyone touch it.

"Aunt Wang, Baozi."

Aunt Wang broke off a small piece of the bun that wasn't stuck to the key and pushed it over the steamer lid.

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Wrap it up and throw it in the ashes of the fried liver pan."

Han Shaobai asked in a low voice, "Is this also kept in the books?"

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at him.

"remember!"

He raised his hand and pointed to the location of the ledger in the air.

"The young master of Boguzhai ruined a piece of clothing, tore a stamp, gave out a piece of old money, and owes Aunt Wang half a steamed bun tonight."

Han Shaobai was stunned for a moment, "Brother Cheng, I feel quite wronged by your account."

Tieguai Li pushed the wrench back into the crack in the door. "Be confident, drop the 'tough' part."

Tong Kexin looked at Han Shaobai's tattered sleeves.

"What about shoulder-to-shoulder?"

Han Shaobai raised his hand, his mouth twitching in pain.

"It's not broken—"

Tang Wanqing wrapped the bandage around his sleeve.

"Don't stick the red stamp on the skin."

She tightened the medicine cloth, "If it gets too hot, come find me."

Han Shaobai saw the bloodstains on her hands from the red thread binding them, and his lips moved.

"Miss Tang, your hand—"

"Keep your stamps under control."

Han Shaobai immediately shut up, the sound of banging on the pot slowly stopped, and the seventh lamp lit up again, its wick curling up with a little yellow flame.

Xiao Xingshi stood by the lamp, her eyes fixed on the steamed buns.

"Uncle Cheng, was that handsome guy you just saw really not your dad?"

Cheng Xiaojin walked up to her, standing half a step away.

"It has a bit of his flavor."

Xiao Xing looked up and asked, "Aren't you upset, handsome?"

Tong Kexin paused for a moment while holding the spoon handle. Tieguai Li lowered his head to tighten the screws on his prosthetic leg, without interrupting.

Cheng Xiaojin took the cigarette that Shuai Jie had bitten off from his mouth, looked at it, and then put it back behind his ear.

"Even if you feel unwell, you can't use it to open the door."

Xiaoxing nodded and reached out to push the buns half an inch closer to the light.

"I won't open it either."

Cheng Xiaojin patted the air but didn't touch her head.

"Okay, let's both be frugal."

Liu Bai chuckled through the crack in the door, then coughed up a bit of wood ash.

"You're more clear-headed than I thought."

Cheng Xiaojin turned to look at him, "That sounds like a compliment, but Boss Liu, I won't accept it."

Liu Bai pressed his fingertips against the door frame, blood and ash mingling into a dark line.

"The sect has fallen apart, but Shen Jiulou didn't lose out."

Zhou Banxian picked up the compass; the needle was still swaying.

"His copper plate was silenced, his inkpad was removed, and he still hasn't lost money?"

Liu Bai's eyes were fixed on the cracked stab in Han Shaobai's hand.

"He measured it."

Han Shaobai immediately hid the red stamp behind his back.

"Measure what?"

"Whom will Liao protect? Who will stand where? Who will rush to take action?"

The bluish-white light behind Liu Bai's waist contracted and expanded.

"He heard everything, from how far Cheng Xiaojin could tolerate it to the end."

Tieguai Li's face darkened.

"Using our Liaodong region as practice?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked towards the tail.

"He never expected this rumor to sweep the red stamp."

Han Shaobai stuffed the red stamp into the ledger's inner compartment. "What's the point of him being handsome?"

Cheng Xiaojin said, "We're after the bottom line of Liaodong."

Tong Kexin rolled her eyes at him.

"Do you even need a map for this? Just ask around in Panjiayuan."

"Not all poverty is the same."

Cheng Xiaojin dabbed some stir-fried liver with sesame oil, soot, and steamed buns on the tips of his shoes.

"He needs to know what we in Liaodong have left that we can use."

Zhou Banxian took the tobacco pipe out of his mouth.

"Next time I'll avoid the broth, the soot, and the steamed buns."

Tieguai Li sneered.

"Will he be able to avoid eating in Beijing?"

Cheng Xiaojin's ears twitched.

The wind has stopped at the place where the car just came from in Qixikou, but at the entrance of the alley to the east, there is the sound of iron wire dragging on the ground.

No rush, one stroke at a time, the iron wire sweeps across the cracks in the blue bricks, carrying the sound of wet flesh and bone scraping together.

Tang Wanqing saw that Cheng Xiaojin's face showed fear and his banter subsided, and she pulled the silver needle out of her sleeve.

"Again?"

Cheng Xiaojin raised his hand, and the blue stain from the edge of the medicine cloth had seeped into his wrist bone.

He glanced at it, then let his hand fall back down.

"Iron wire".

Tong Kexin tightened the small aluminum kettle and held the long spoon horizontally in front of her.

"How many?"

Cheng Xiaojin listened for two breaths.

In the dark corner of the bridge, the sound of iron wire dragging on the ground rose up, one heavy and two thin.

There were echoes in the hollow bones, hollow sounds in his chest, the thumping of a wooden fish, and he uttered two words while holding a cigarette in his mouth.

"Three."

Han Shaobai didn't dare to ask and quickly tucked the cracked stamp into the inner pages of the ledger.

Liu Bai took a breath through the crack in the door, and a large piece of the ash from the door frame was scraped off by her fingertips.

"Shen Jiulou finished measuring his steps and switched to the real deal."

In the shadows, the first wire trails out a lamppost.

A thread was hanging from half a bone, the bone was white and cold, and when it was rubbed against the blue brick, it made a faint sound.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Shuai Jie, his cigarette breaking in two.

"Brother Li————"

Tieguai Li held the wrench horizontally.

"Um?

'

"Don't take back the five-cent pliers that the handsome guy just gave you."

Tieguai Li grinned, with a bit of ink still between his teeth.

"Even someone with a meager life can dabble in the real deal from Southeast Asia."