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

Chapter 135 The Sound Map Reveals the Underground Situation, and the Red Rope and Copper Buckle Lead to the Maternal Lineage.

The sound of cart wheels rolling twice more came from outside the courtyard gate.

Clunk, clunk.

The iron wheels rolled over the stone slabs, the axle was out of oil, the sound was faint and dissipated at the alley entrance.

Tong Kexin picked up the old soup pot and was about to leave when Grandpa Ma's pipe blocked her way.

"If we go now, we won't run into the person in question."

Tong Kexin stopped with her toes just outside the gray threshold.

"So, we'll just wait for them to set up their stalls?"

Master Ma pointed to the blueprints on the stone table.

"The morning market isn't open, the entrance isn't open, so we can only hear about it from afar."

Tieguai Li pulled up the toolbox, then put it down again. The bottom of the box hit the blue bricks, and the wrench and pliers made a dull thud.

"Okay, let's have a short meeting first."

Cheng Xiaojin's two livid hands hovered above the sound path map.

The corner of the sound map was lifted by the night wind, revealing the small vertical characters at the bottom.

Cheng Xiaojin stared at those words, biting the cigarette in his mouth, then took it off and placed it next to the lid of the teacup.

Master Ma pressed the enamel mug down on a corner of the drawing.

"Listen."

Cheng Xiaojin closed his eyes, and the sound did not enter through his fingertips.

It circled around the bluish-gray bones and drilled in close to the eardrum.

The thick lines in the diagram represent water cavities, the thin lines represent sound paths, and the dotted lines are partially empty, with small, scattered ink dots indicating high humidity.

At the broken section of Deshengmen, the empty bricks of the old Liulichang shop, the wooden sign of the old Liu family shop, and the half-open gap of the seventh gate, segments of sound paths connected in his ears.

He didn't touch the paper, but his fingertips heard the remaining half-resonance from the old brass pipe.

The echo had a crisp tail, matching the sound of Shen Jiulou shattering the plate.

Cheng Xiaojin opened her eyes and pointed at the picture with her chin.

"With the Deshengmen branch broken and Shen Jiulou's bronze plate shattered, the main sound path is shortened."

Han Shaobai opened the ledger and began to write.

"The main entrance to Deshengmen is interrupted."

Tieguai Li leaned over and glanced at it.

"Make the characters smaller. If you keep writing them so wide, I'll have to write them down on a door tomorrow."

Han Shaobai paused his pen, "There is a cabinet door from the late Qing Dynasty in Boguzhai."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at him.

"Don't bring it into the hospital."

Han Shaobai shut his mouth.

Tang Wanqing looked at the half-slit of the seventh gate on the map.

"Still going to Liulichang?"

Cheng Xiaojin pulled his hand back half an inch.

"I'm not leaving. Shen Jiulou knows someone is waiting for him there."

Tong Kexin had a cold face.

"Huguo Temple is being watched."

Cheng Xiaojin's fingertip hovered above the small circle at the mouth of the Huguo Temple well.

"You can keep your eyes on the pot, but that doesn't mean you can keep your eyes on the rules."

Zhou Banxian squatted by the wall, his compass resting on his knees, and he rubbed the needle northward.

He pointed at the map with his pipe stick, "These short lines weren't marked Huguo Temple before."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the dark area.

"My dad added it later. Mo Xin, he finished writing in a hurry. He guessed that something bad would happen to the third case before he left."

The courtyard fell silent for a moment, and then Master Ma tapped the edge of the table twice with his pipe.

Tong Kexin tightened the lid of the old soup pot, then loosened it half a turn, and hot steam squeezed out from the spout, passing around the back of her hand.

"Mr. Ma, you've had this picture for twenty years?"

Master Ma didn't look at her.

"Keep it."

"You knew about the Huguo Temple route before?"

Master Ma placed his pipe next to the teacup.

"We know there's a road, but we don't know when that road will awaken."

Tieguai Li snorted.

"Old hands always have a tail in their mouths, nine out of ten sentences."

Master Ma looked over, and Tieguai Li weighed the pliers in his hand, then fell silent.

Cheng Xiaojin's pale hand stopped on the circle of Huguo Temple on the map.

Next to the circle, Cheng Shouyi drew a small pot, leaving a line at the bottom of the pot unsealed.

As Cheng Xiaojin watched for a while, he heard a faint sound from the bottom of an old pot.

An enamel basin bumps against an iron stove, half a mouthful of hot soup sloshing inside, the soup skin sticking to the edge of the pot, making a soft, sizzling sound.

Tang Wanqing immediately looked at him.

"What did you hear?"

Cheng Xiaojin withdrew his hand, and the moment his right hand left the drawing, the bluish tinge on his ring finger deepened further.

Tong Kexin glanced at him and put the old soup pot back under the stone table.

Master Ma folded up a corner of the drawing, revealing another thin line on the back.

"Did you hear the bottom of the pot?"

""

Cheng Xiaojin looked at him.

"You knew about this too?"

Master Ma said, "Cheng Shouyi left a message that the third human anchor would be half of the price of the pot at the morning market."

"What about your other half?"

The lid of the teacup was rubbed by Master Ma's thumb.

"Human mouth".

Zhou Banxian smacked his lips on the tobacco pipe.

"You need someone to chew your food, someone to hawk your wares, the pot needs to be hot, your mouth needs to be lively, and only then do you recognize the ground."

Cheng Xiaojin raised his hand, and the courtyard fell silent again.

"Draw the sound path first."

Han Shaobai pushed the ledger over and then quickly pulled it back.

"Brother Cheng, you tell me, I'll draw it."

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at the black book.

"It can even draw lines?"

Han Shaobai flipped to the back.

"This page was only dipped in the stir-fried liver sauce, not in the black liquid."

Cheng Xiaojin reports the line, Han Shaobai draws it.

The broken plate at Deshengmen, the old waterway in the northern city, the wellhead at Huguosi Temple, the old spot of Sister Zhou's pancake cart, the bottom of the braised pot, the lines of the morning market stalls—all these lines fall onto the paper.

Halfway through drawing the lines, the red stamp in the interleaved page slipped.

The wooden handle hit the corner of the table.

click!

A little mold seeped out along the crack.

Han Shaobai's pen tip drew crooked lines.

"It moved."

Tang Wanqing pressed the red stamp through the medicine cloth, and black spots immediately appeared on the edge of the cloth.

She moved the red stamp under the light. Black mold grew densely along the wood grain in the crack of the wooden handle, and had already climbed up to the bottom of the red stamp.

Master Ma picked up a bit of tea stain from the lid of the teacup.

"Rub the wooden handle with finely crushed tea leaves, and avoid touching the bottom imprint."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the red stamp, but didn't reach for it.

"Don't use plain water, as water will bring negative energy into the heartwood."

Tang Wanqing nodded.

"Don't try to pry into the deep part of the crack, or you'll split it in two, and each half will have to take responsibility for its own side."

Han Shaobai held the red stamp protectively in his palm, yet dared not put it close to his body.

Tieguai Li pulled out a broken bamboo tube.

"A welding rod tube, will it do?"

Cheng Xiaojin listened for a while.

"Yes, bamboo is hollow, so the air gets in slowly."

Han Shaobai placed a blue cloth on the bamboo tube, put the red stamp into it, and then closed the lid.

A muffled sound came from the bamboo tube.

The red stamp became quieter, and the ashtray in the main room stopped making a sound.

A faint wooden sign clattered in the courtyard. A piece of door trim sent by Liu Bai was hanging in Master Ma's courtyard, which was usually silent.

The thread taut for a moment, and Tang Wanqing used a silver needle to pick up the thread.

"Liu Bai".

Liu Bai's voice came from the other end of the thread, muffled by the wood and the crack in the door, carrying a hint of dampness.

"Don't touch the red stamp."

Tieguai Li's face darkened.

"You still dare to listen?"

Liu Bai coughed.

"The wooden sign in Liupu has the character 'Shen' on it; I can't avoid it even if I want to."

"There must be at least one family to feed the thirty-six mouths of people."

Han Shaobai was holding a bamboo tube.

What would happen if one less store were to be included?

"The Seventh Gate will settle old scores, and those people involved in those old scores may not still be alive."

There was a faint sound of fingernails scratching wood coming from Liu Bai's side.

"The Liu family has a history of such debts."

Tieguai Li sneered.

"Finally willing to smear soot on yourself?"

A cough came from the other end of the willow branch, and dust fell from the cracks in the wooden sign.

"Twenty years ago, the Liu family's old shop sold its seventh batch of old goods. The accounts were written as 'sold to living people,' and the goods were delivered to Shenmen."

Master Ma's eyelids drooped.

"Continue."

Liu Bai's voice was hoarse.

"The Liu family owes a debt, the seventh gate is half my body, and the thirty-six mouths to feed are to block thirty-six fake transactions."

Tieguai Li picked up the pliers.

"Don't believe Liu Bai's words about cigarette ash; you're not being wronged."

"7

The air in the courtyard felt a bit heavy.

Tang Wanqing pressed the silver needle onto the thread.

"What else are you hiding?"

Liu Bai said, "Lu Mingzhu visited Liulichang twenty years ago."

Cheng Xiaojin looked up but didn't say anything.

Master Ma asked, "Have you seen it before?"

"I was young then, and all I remember is that she had a red string and a brass buckle on her hand."

Liu Bai's voice was even lower.

"She stayed in the backyard of Liupu for a cup of tea. When she left, the old Liu family cabinet was missing a copper spring."

Tang Wanqing moved her sleeve and her hand touched the small cloth bag next to the silver needle box.

Lu Mingzhu's red rope copper buckle was originally hanging on the corner of the silver needle box.

It started swaying on its own right now.

Once, twice.

A copper clasp and a silver needle case.

Ding, ding.

The sound was clear and bright, quite unlike the opulent bronze smell of Shen Jiulou's purple copper plate.

Cheng Xiaojin stood up, and Tang Wanqing placed a silver needle on his wrist.

"Don't reach out."

"I know, I won't touch it."

Tang Wanqing took off the red rope and copper buckle and placed it on the upside-down white porcelain bowl.

The rope is old and its color has darkened, but the braided texture is still fine.

Cheng Xiaojin had seen this buckle before. Lu Mingzhu liked to wear this kind of buckle. When he was a child, he was playful and bit a small tooth mark on the copper buckle, for which Lu Mingzhu hit him on the forehead.

The tooth mark was still on the edge of the brass buckle.

Cheng Xiaojin stared at it for a long time before looking away.

"Liu Bai, you said the copper spring is missing?"

"Hmm, the falsetto of Shenmen Zitongqi."

Master Ma picked up the teacup, then put it down, the bottom of the cup making a dull thud.

"Safety bolt".

Tang Wanqing asked, "How do I use it?"

Master Ma looked at the copper buckle.

"The Shen family uses copper plates to project sound, and what they fear most is that a living person hides a reverse spring in the old copper plate. Once the reverse spring sounds, the falsetto tail cannot be stopped."

A thin thread on the surface of the red rope has come loose.

The thread curled up, revealing the grayish-white lines pressed inside—those were fingerprints.

Tang Wanqing used a silver needle to pry open a little.

The fingerprints, still damp with sweat, are on the inside of the red string, pressed for twenty years, yet the lines remain.

Han Shaobai took a half step closer, but Tong Kexin stopped him with the handle of a spoon.

"Don't try to impress other people's mothers with your rotten face."

Han Shaobai touched his nose.

"Three feet away."

Cheng Xiaojin's livid hand hovered three inches above the copper buckle as he listened with his eyes closed.

The inside of the brass buckle is made of old brass; it is thin, light, and very elastic.

If you stick human flesh on it for a long time, it will smell of sweat.

Immediately afterwards, a small mechanical sound came from inside the brass buckle, the reed snapped open and closed, the last note tumbling back quickly.

Cheng Xiaojin opened her eyes.

"There's a spring lock inside."

Master Ma nodded, "Lu Mingzhu improved the copper spring of the Liu family into the copper buckle."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the small teeth marks on the edge of the brass buckle.

He raised his hand to reach for a cigarette, but stopped halfway because he couldn't feel any warmth, and there was no point in reaching for a cigarette.

Tong Kexin took the cigarette from behind his ear and placed it on the table.

Liu Bai coughed again, "Don't put the brass buckle in the ashtray."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the end of the thread.

"Who taught you that phrase?"

Liu Bai answered quickly.

"The Seventh Gate".

"Does the seventh door teach you to be a good person?"

"It only eats people who go to the wrong door."

Liu Bai paused for a moment, "When the copper clasp is put into the ashtray, the sound of the finger bones will connect with Lu Mingzhu's old voice, and that's what Shen Jiulou wants."

""

Master Ma's face darkened.

Tang Wanqing threaded the copper buckle back onto the red thread, and then threaded the red thread around the inner hole of the copper buckle and threaded three copper coins through it.

The red thread had just been straightened when the copper buckle jingled, and the wind outside the courtyard gate subsided.

Cheng Xiaojin heard it clearly.

The old copper echo in the crack of the alley wall was half cut off by a copper buckle.

Master Ma said, "Go with Tang girl."

Tang Wanqing fastened the copper buckle to the silver needle box.

"I brought it with me."

Tong Kexin asked, "How many times?"

Tang Wanqing fastened the lid of the box tightly.

"Let's see how many plates Shen Jiulou has left."

Tieguai Li chuckled.

"If there are any scraps left, just use a spatula to blow on them."

Han Shaobai was busy making up the accounts.

"Lu Mingzhu's copper buckle, Ke Shenmen's purple copper falsetto."

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Remember this: Liu Bai admitted that the Liu family had sold seven sets of old items."

It's quiet over on the other side of the willow line.

Tieguai Li raised an eyebrow, "Afraid of debts?"

Liu Bai said softly, "I'm afraid."

This one word is more effective than ten rounds of verses.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the loose thread.

"I'm afraid they'll just spill the old list of thirty-six companies."

"I don't have the list."

"At the seventh gate?"

"No, in the broken meal ticket locker."

Han Shaobai's pen trembled slightly. "That cabinet is even spitting out words in cigarette ash."

Cheng Xiaojin twitched the corner of his mouth.

"I'll treat it to stir-fried liver with cornstarch later."

Before he finished speaking, the old telephone in the corner of the main room rang.

The sound echoed twice in the yard, and the compass needle also tilted slightly.

Tong Kexin was the first to go over. The phone was placed on a small wooden table next to the door of Master Ma's main room. It was a black dial with a torn outer casing wrapped with duct tape.

She answered the phone, and as soon as she uttered a single word, her expression changed.

"Aunt Liu?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked up.

Noise could be heard from the other end of the phone: pot lids rattling, plastic sheeting being blown off by the wind, and someone cursing in the distance.

Some people at Huguo Temple have already woken up.

Tong Kexin gripped the microphone.

"Don't take the money, put the ticket by the pot, don't let it touch the soup."

Aunt Liu's voice trembled on the other end of the phone.

"Kexin, the person is still standing here, wanting two bowls of douzhi (fermented mung bean juice). The bills are wet, like they were pulled out of a well."

Tong Kexin looked at Cheng Xiaojin, who was already standing next to her.

Tang Wanqing tucked the silver needle box back into her sleeve, the red rope and copper clasp gently touching the corner of the box.

A slight static came through the phone, and the well water sloshed in the porcelain bowl.

Cheng Xiaojin stood half a step away from the phone, his livid hand hovering beside the receiver.

"Aunt Liu, is the person buying food breathing?"

Aunt Liu's voice was a little softer on the other end of the phone.

"I didn't hear it."

"Is there a sound underfoot?"

""

"No----"

Cheng Xiaojin said into the phone, "Don't say you won't sell it."

Aunt Liu grew anxious, "Then what should I say?"

"The fermented mung bean juice isn't served to strangers until it's boiled."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

"Does it work?"

"Let it air dry for now."

Tieguai Li had already picked up his toolbox.

"Walk."

Tang Wanqing stopped Cheng Xiaojin.

"You'll stay in the hospital."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at her.

"They've already called, I have to go."

"Your hand was just crippled."

Cheng Xiaojin spread out his iron-blue hands.

"This is an upgrade."

Grandpa Ma walked to the courtyard gate and used his pipe to brush a small clump of ash from the threshold.

"Go, everyone. I'll guard the courtyard."

Cheng Xiaojin turned around. "Where's the ashtray?"

Master Ma looked towards the main house.

"It won't speak again tonight. Shen Jiulou's line has turned to the north of the city. There's sixty years of old ash in the courtyard, so he can't find his way in."

Liu Bai's voice came from the other side of the willow line.

"Cheng Xiaojin".

Cheng Xiaojin stopped.

"Don't burn the wet tickets; keep the water smell so you can match the sound map."

Tieguai Li carried his suitcase out the door.

"The half-bolt is still useful."

Liu Bai didn't take it; the thread had come loose.

Tang Wanqing wrapped the red rope with a copper buckle around her wrist. The buckle was attached to the silver needle box, making a clear sound.

Han Shaobai stuffed the cracked red bamboo tube into the interlayer of the account book, thought for a moment, then took it out and hung it around his neck.

The Boguzhai cart at the entrance of the alley was indeed parked there.

A small lamp hung on the handlebars, its cover cracked, casting a skewed yellow light.

Han Shaobai patted the car side panel.

"Brother Cheng, get in the car."

Cheng Xiaojin is looking at the car.

"I'm not old enough to ride in a hearse."

Tieguai Li pressed down on his shoulder.

"Enough talk, let's go."

Cheng Xiaojin sat down, his hands dangling on his knees, without touching the wooden board.

There were nails in the old wooden planks of the cart, and he was close enough to hear a murmur.

The wooden plank was pulled over the cabinet, over the porcelain basin, and over an altar with a broken leg.

The legs of the offering table were covered with incense ash, and the smell of incense ash was fleeting, but it was quickly masked by the smell of rust from the direction of Huguo Temple.

Cheng Xiaojin looked up.

"quick!"

Tieguai Li pedaled the bicycle, the prosthetic pedals making a clattering sound.

Han Shaobai held the ledger in the back, panting after running a few steps.

"Those who contribute capital cannot fall behind."

Tang Wanqing followed beside the carriage, the red rope and copper buckle jingling softly with each step.

Tong Kexin walked at the front, a long spoon across her shoulder, a small aluminum kettle swaying in her hand, steam rising from the spout.

Before the street corner of Huguosi was fully lit, a gray-white streak appeared on the horizon.

The stalls lined the roadside, the woks weren't fully heated yet, and the smoke hadn't risen.

A crowd had already gathered at the wellhead.

A man in a military overcoat stood in front of Aunt Liu's soy milk stall.

From behind, he looks about the same as Lao Zhao.

His shoulders were slumped, his hat brim was low, and he was clutching two wet tickets in his hand.

Water dripped from the banknotes, and one drop landed on the blue bricks without splashing; it seeped directly into the cracks between the bricks.

Aunt Liu held the spoon, with the tip pointing at him.

"I told you, it wasn't boiled."

The man didn't move or speak.

Tong Kexin walked over and placed a long ladle on the edge of the pot.

"Old Zhao!"

The military overcoat slowly turned around.

The face was Old Zhao's, but the eyes lacked sparkle, and the yellowish-brown mark from Old Zhao's cigarette was gone from the corner of his mouth.

Cheng Xiaojin sat on the cart and did not get off the ground.

Tang Wanqing stood beside him, a silver needle between her fingers.

Tieguai Li took half a step forward, carrying his toolbox.

The man in the military overcoat spoke up, "Two bowls of soy milk, please."

The sound is right, the old Beijing flavor in Huguosi Hutong.

But this sentence was too clean, lacking the phlegm-like sound that Old Zhao always made when he opened his mouth.

Cheng Xiaojin raised his hand, then stopped in mid-air.

Old Zhao doesn't drink soy milk in the morning.

11

Aunt Liu immediately took over.

"Yes, he complains that it's too sour and says my stall smells too strong every day."

The fabric of his military overcoat tugged at his face, causing the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards, only to fall back down halfway.

"Buy two bowls of douzhi (fermented mung bean juice)."

Tieguai Li cursed, "You're a broken record, aren't you? You son of a bitch—"

Han Shaobai, supporting his knees, panted as he flipped through the account books.

"The fake Old Zhao wanted to buy two bowls of douzhi (fermented mung bean juice), but the deal fell through."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the two tickets.

"Give it to me, don't touch it."

Aunt Liu held out the enamel tray, and the soldier in the overcoat placed the wet ticket on the tray.

As soon as the bills were placed on the plate, a ring of rust formed on the bottom of the plate.

Aunt Liu shrank back.

Tong Kexin used a long spoon to hold the edge of the plate, preventing it from tipping over.

"Cheng Xiaojin".

"Don't burn it."

Cheng Xiaojin's iron-blue hand hovered three inches above the plate.

The wet ticket smelled of paper and contained fibers from burning paper.

The finest fire paper, soaked in well water and then dipped in a little ink from real money, is used to create the appearance of real money.

The technique is meticulous; even if the paper money is burned for the dead and soaked in water, it still looks like the dead person.

Cheng Xiaojin opened her eyes.

"Paper soaked in well water".

Tang Wanqing asked, "Did Shen Jiulou make this?"

"Shenmen provided the way; the ticket-making equipment is underground."

The military overcoat was still standing.

Tong Kexin stared at it, "It's not cooked yet, so we won't sell the first bite to strangers."

He raised his arm slightly to grab the edge of the pot.

The red rope and copper buckle jingled, and the hand stopped in mid-air. The buckle interrupted the sound of Old Zhao's voice that it had borrowed by half a beat.

The old Zhao face on the military overcoat started to blur.

Liu Duanshao stepped back, and Tieguai Li opened his toolbox and took out a pair of pliers.

Cheng Xiaojin spoke.

"Don't hit him!"

Tieguai Li's hand stopped on the handle of the pliers.

"They're all reaching for the pot."

"Without a physical form, you can't hit it."

Everyone looked down. The soldier in the overcoat stepped on the blue bricks, his shoes leaving no dust marks. A wet shadow trailed behind him, leading all the way to the well.

Tang Wanqing flicked out a red thread.

The red thread passed through its arm, fell to the ground, and smelled of well water.

Tang Wanqing retracted the red thread and rubbed it between her fingertips.

The thread has turned black.

"projection."

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

"Those from Yincheng, learn to buy breakfast first."

Tong Kexin opened the old soup pot, and as soon as steam rose, her military overcoat slipped half an inch.

It retreated too late; it didn't know how to respond to this move.

Han Shaobai said in a low voice, "Hehe, so refusing to sell is the problem?"

Cheng Xiaojin got off the cart, and his foot wobbled when it landed. Tang Wanqing held him by the cuff of her sleeve.

"Yincheng learned to give money for food, refuse customers to live people, haggle, and curse, but it didn't learn the whole thing."

Tieguai Li laughed, "He just lacks education."

Tong Kexin looks at the military overcoat.

"Go back and catch up on your studies. At the Huguosi morning market, they don't accept wet tickets, they don't sell the first bite, and they don't give change to the dead."

The face of the military overcoat was pulled again by the inner seam, and it slowly retreated.

I retreated to the edge of the wellhead, my body releasing a layer of water vapor, and slid down the well bricks.

The two wet tickets were still in the enamel plate.

Liu held the spoon, but his arm trembled, and the soy milk in the spoon spilled back into the pot.

"Gone?"

Cheng Xiaojin is looking at the wellhead.

"I'm going back to report the expenses."

1

Han Shaobai's pen fell to the ground.

"Fake Old Zhao, not a single deal completed, wet ticket kept as evidence, go back to the bottom of the well to report the expenses."

Tieguai Li glanced at him.

"That's a good line; it makes Shen Jiulou's heart ache."

Tong Kexin walked to the pot and stirred it with a spoon.

The soy milk hadn't boiled yet, but the sound from the bottom of the pot was off.

Cheng Xiaojin also heard it; the sound was muffled, the bottom of the pot was covered with wet paper, and the fire couldn't reach it from below.

He squatted down, his bluish-gray hand hovering beside the coal stove, without touching the sheet metal.

Inside the furnace, the charcoal fire crackled softly. A live fire would have a popping sound, but this fire was held back by the water vapor at the bottom of the well, so the sound was short at the beginning and long at the end.

Tong Kexin's face darkened.

"Did someone touch the pot?"

Aunt Liu quickly shook her head.

"I get up at 3:30 and it's like this: the fire can be lit, but the soup won't boil."

Cheng Xiaojin stood up and looked out onto the street.

Over at the sesame seed cake shop, the oven door was half-open, and the flames were low.

At the tofu pudding stall, steam swirls along the edge of the pot, not rising upwards.

Aunt Wang's steamer basket wasn't even steaming yet, and water droplets were seeping out from the seams of the lid.

Before the morning market at Huguosi Temple had fully awakened, people at the bottom of the well had already reached their hands under every pot.

Tong Kexin carried a long ladle and walked towards the braised food stall.

Where's my pot?

Several people followed them over. The stew pot was still there, the lid was on, and oil was dripping from the edge of the pot.

Tong Kexin lifted the lid, and the aroma of meat wafted out, but it was thinner than usual.

She looked at Cheng Xiaojin.

"Is that Old Tang's voice?"

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

He squatted in front of the stew pot, his hand hovering three inches outside the pot's belly. The old broth in the iron pot usually made a deep, resonant sound.

Bone broth, intestines and lungs, roasted pork belly, saltiness, and old oil from the bottom of the pot—all mixed together, bubbling away all over the street.

Now the bubbling sound has been shortened, and there's an extra hollow sound at the bottom of the pot.

Cheng Xiaojin looked towards the wellhead and then pointed to the empty bowl in front of the stall.

"Things from Yin City can learn to buy food, give money, beg for food, imitate clothing and appearance, and replicate appearances."

He paused for a moment, pressing his ear against the street.

From beneath the blue bricks of Huguo Temple, the sounds of another morning market could be heard in the distance.

The pot lids rattled together, and the wooden table fell down in unison.

The hawking cry hadn't even fully formed; it was stuck in his throat.

Qi's appearance was chilling.

Cheng Xiaojin continued, "But they don't make any noise like living people eating."

Tieguai Li said, "Chew, swallow, blow on it to make it hot, and also—scolding it for being too salty."

There were still crumbs left at the bottom of the bowl.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Aunt Liu.

"A living person drinking soy milk wouldn't lick the rim of the bowl until it's as clean as if it were brand new."

Aunt Liu slapped her thigh.

"Yes, Old Zhao always leaves half a sip, saying that drinking too much will give him heartburn."

Tang Wanqing looked at the well opening.

"I'll come again."

Cheng Xiaojin stood up straight, his livid fingers hanging down.

"He'll definitely come. This time, Shen Jiulou won't kill corpses or send threads; he'll have Yincheng learn from the living."

Tieguai Li twisted the pliers.

"Can you learn it?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the stalls that hadn't fully caught fire.

"You can steal flavors, you can splurge on tickets, you can borrow faces."

Tong Kexin continued, "You can't steal a person's humanity."

She tapped the long spoon against the side of the pot.

when!

As soon as he made that sound, several stall owners on Huguosi Street looked over.

Aunt Wang peeked out from the steamed bun stall.

"Kexin, what happened?"

Tong Kexin stood in the middle of the street.

"Listen up, everyone. The first meal today will not be sold to strangers. Wet tickets will not be accepted. If you see a bowl with a clean bottom that reflects light, call out to the person who provided it."

Aunt Wang was stunned for a moment. "This is... a dead person eating breakfast?"

Tieguai Li carried his toolbox.

"Even the living find it too expensive, but the dead are willing to spend it."

Aunt Wang spat.

Several stall owners gathered around one after another.

Old Li was holding a bucket of tofu pudding, Aunt Zhang was holding a sesame seed cake tongs, and Aunt Liu was carrying an enamel tray for holding wet tickets.

Cheng Xiaojin used two bamboo chopsticks to pick up the wet ticket, and the water dripping from the ticket fell into the broken porcelain bowl.

Tang Wanqing placed the red rope and copper buckle on the edge of the bowl.

Ding!

The water in the bowl developed ripples that stretched northwards, directly opposite the wellhead of Huguo Temple.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the water ripples and put down the bamboo chopsticks.

"The water tastes right."

Tang Wanqing asked, "Can it be broken?"

Cheng Xiaojin shook his head.

"If we break it now, the bottom of the pot will be damaged as well. If it follows the rules of the morning market, we'll fight back with the rules of the morning market."

Han Shaobai turned the page.

"How do we fight?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Tong Kexin.

"You decide."

Tong Kexin raised an eyebrow.

"I?"

"The hot pot at Huguosi Temple is yours, and the third thing I'll do is accept your soup."

Tieguai Li nodded.

"Cheng Xiaojin is now the useless consultant, and you are the frontline pot commander."

Tong Kexin didn't stand on ceremony, slung the long spoon over her shoulder, and looked at each stall owner one by one.

"Sanjo."

Liu immediately moved closer.

"you say."

"First, we don't sell to strangers; even long-time neighbors have to call out our names and respond."

Aunt Wang nodded.

"become."

"Secondly, the wet tickets should not be put on the pot; they should be placed on a plate for Cheng Xiaojin to hear."

Old Li asked, "What about the real customer's tickets that got soaked in water?"

Tieguai Li chuckled.

"I used my water-soaking ticket to buy tofu pudding early in the morning to help him sober up."

Tong Kexin continued, "Third, after finishing your meal, make sure the bottom of your bowl is spotless, don't give change, don't pack up, and call for help first."

Han Shaobai's pen stopped at the edge of the ledger page.

"What's this one called?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the empty bowl.

"Traditional methods for testing ghost food."

Han Shaobai wrote it down quickly.

After writing those five words, the black watermark on the cover of the ledger faded by about the size of a fingernail.

Han Shaobai's eyes lit up.

"Refund."

Tang Wanqing looked over and saw a bit of the original paper color showing through the edge of the account book, and the cracked red bamboo tube made a soft sound.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the receding black water.

"Remember the living rules, and the underworld accounts must be refunded."

Han Shaobai immediately sat up straight.

"Then I'll have to memorize this more; it's interesting."

Tieguai Li slapped him on the back of the head.

"Don't write things down randomly. Even writing something wrong in the books is considered falsification."

Han Shaobai covered his head, "I am now a mortal's accountant."

"Even the mortal realm can be attacked."

On the street, the first pot finally boiled.

Aunt Liu's soy milk foamed and smelled sour, and the flames in the sesame seed oven rose half an inch.

Steam began to rise from Aunt Wang's steamer.

Just as this spark of life was beginning to rise, soft footsteps came from the wellhead.

Water slowly seeped from the ground outside the gray circle, and the watermarks formed a row of footprints.

An old woman in a blue cloth jacket stood by the well, her face blurred, clutching a wet ticket in her hand.

A child followed behind her, the child's head was down, and his feet were not dirty.

When Aunt Wang saw the old lady's clothes clearly, she almost dropped the rolling pin in her hand.

"Aunt Zhang?"

Old Li's expression also changed.

Aunt Zhang has been gone for seven years.

The old woman in the blue cloth jacket looked up, her facial features slowly moving closer to Aunt Zhang's face.

The mouth is formed first, then the bridge of the nose, and the eyes are added last.

It's just that—the error was made.

Aunt Zhang had a mole under her left eye when she was alive, but this one doesn't.

Tong Kexin shoved the long spoon into the ground.

"What did Aunt Zhang hate eating the most when she was alive?"

Aunt Wang immediately called out.

"Braised, she said the intestines smell too strong."

The old woman in the blue cloth jacket spoke up, "I'll buy a bowl of braised pork."

Tong Kexin smiled.

"It's outrageous that scholars don't even check people's backgrounds first."

Tieguai Li lifted the pliers, heard Cheng Xiaojin cough, and then put them down again.

Han Shaobai stood by the stall and flipped through the account book.

"This fake Aunt Zhang is ordering braised pork; it defies common sense."

The child looked up; his face wasn't fully developed yet, but his voice was already coming out.

"Grandma—I'm hungry—"

Aunt Wang rubbed her fingers on the rolling pin a couple of times.

Cheng Xiaojin noticed that her eyes were red and immediately spoke up.

"Aunt Wang, what's Aunt Zhang's grandson's name?"

Aunt Wang gritted her teeth.

"Xiao Bao".

Cheng Xiaojin asked the child, "Xiaobao, what's your mother's last name?"

The child stopped, and a sound of water came from below the well.

Someone was flipping through old files. After a short while, the child spoke.

"Buy a bowl of braised pork."

Tieguai Li cursed, "The files aren't connected to the network."

The tension among the neighbors was slightly eased by those words.

Someone chuckled, and as soon as the laughter of a living person came out, the shadows by the well swayed at the same time.

Tang Wanqing raised the red rope and copper buckle, which jingled twice, making the borrowed voices of the shadows all sound shorter.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at them.

"Shen Jiulou is cunning enough."

Tong Kexin asked, "How so?"

"He wouldn't let the corpses be thrown into the pot; instead, he made the dead wear the clothes of the neighbors and use old relationships to buy food."

Aunt Wang slammed a rolling pin onto the work surface.

"You have to save face while you're alive. You can't cut in line after being dead for seven years. No way."

The old lady in the blue cloth jacket looked a bit pale.

More wet tickets were handed out from the wellhead.

The fake Old Zhao, the fake Aunt Zhang, and the fake old man selling candied hawthorns—their faces floated in the morning mist.

The vendors at the Huguosi morning market began to shrink back.

What I'm afraid of isn't being attacked by ghosts, but mistaking someone for someone else, and being too soft-hearted to sell the first bite of the pot.

Cheng Xiaojin stood beside the stall, his hands hanging limply, his face ashen and cold as if he were not human.

He looked at the fake neighbors, then at the real, living stall owners on the street.

Finally, our attention turned to Tong Kexin's pot.

"satisfying."

'

"explain."

"Let me borrow the pot to listen."

Tang Wanqing turned the silver needle horizontally.

Cheng Xiaojin raised his hand.

"Remotely".

Tong Kexin lifted the pot lid half a finger off.

Steam rose up.

Cheng Xiaojin's hand hovered above the pot lid, and he heard the broth at the bottom of the pot simmering as the row of fake neighbors pulled at it.

The City of Shadows is being replicated.

A fake braising pot has already taken shape underground.

There was broth at the bottom of the pot, and the flavor was about 70% right, but it didn't have the old blemishes of this pot of old broth.

There was no metallic stench from the broken thread of the skeleton that fell in last night, no aroma of dough from Aunt Wang's steamed buns that had been smeared with the black wood thorns of the character "Shen," no half a sesame seed that Xiao Xing dropped in when she was guarding the ninth lamp, and certainly no confidence from Tong Kexin that her pot never sold out.

Cheng Xiaojin opened her eyes.

"They stole the flavor, but not the living people's debts."

"Remember this: at each stall in Huguosi, the first bite goes to regular customers, strangers go to the back, wet tickets are refused, and fake names are not sold."

Han Shaobai's pen flew across the page, and the black ink in the ledger receded slightly.

The fake neighbors began to stir, holding up their tickets and repeating their pronouncements.

"Buy a bowl of braised pork."

"Buy two steamed buns."

"Buy tofu pudding."

"Buy sesame seed cakes."

The voices grew increasingly synchronized, becoming frighteningly uniform.

On Huguosi Street, the sound of a live vendor cooking was almost drowned out.

Tong Kexin stepped onto the long bench in front of the stall. The wooden board creaked as she raised the long spoon, the tip of which touched the edge of the pot.

when!

"What are you all standing there for? Start cooking, start cursing, start bidding!"

Aunt Liu snapped out of her daze, picked up her spoon, and yelled.

"Fermented mung bean juice and fried dough rings, drink it or don't, if you think it's too sour, go home and add sugar—"

Aunt Wang yanked open the steamer lid.

"The steamed buns are hot, first come, first served, or your wet ticket is gone!"

Old Li stuck the tofu pudding spoon into the bucket.

"Salty and sweet, speak human language; dead people don't need to queue."

A few incoherent shouts rushed out.

The scene was disorganized, and the fake neighbors, still sullen and angry, immediately erupted into chaos.

One of the fake Old Zhaos uttered both "douzhi" (fermented mung bean juice) and "luzhu" (braised pork) at the same time, causing his face to twitch.

Tieguai Li found it amusing.

"The first lesson for the morning market: Don't memorize a script."

Cheng Xiaojin heard that deeper in the well, a street was unfolding.

Spreading cart wheels, pot lids, paper tickets, fake footsteps.

There was also a whole pancake that shouldn't have been making noise on the ground, which was gently heated up.

This sound is wrong; it's not the kind of lively sound Zhou Jie makes. Someone is stealing the stall she left behind.

Cheng Xiaojin's face darkened.

Tong Kexin looked at him.

"What happened now?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the empty pancake cart at the street corner, with an old rag left by Sister Zhou hanging on the handlebars.

Even without wind, the rag moved slightly.

From the bottom of the well came a soft sound of a shovel hitting an iron plate.

Cheng Xiaojin raised his hand, signaling everyone to stop talking, and the shouts from the morning market gradually subsided.

The fake neighbors also stopped.

The pancake cart, which no one was pushing, spun half a circle on its own.

Thump—

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the bottom of the car, his two livid hands slowly rising inch by inch.

"Shen Jiulou has started to take over Sister Zhou's stall."

,,