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

Chapter 136 The Living Man Tests the Ghostly Rice with Sludge, the Old Pancake Grid Resonates in the Underground Street

Tong Kexin held the long spoon horizontally to block Aunt Wang.

"Don't touch the car."

Aunt Wang gripped the rolling pin, the flour still smeared off the back of her hand.

"That's Sister Zhou's car."

Tong Kexin stared at the handlebars. "I know it's hers, that's why I can't touch it—"

Cheng Xiaojin stood up straight from the cart, his two livid hands hanging at his sides. Tang Wanqing stood half a step away from him, a silver needle between her fingers.

"Don't go near the well."

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at her.

"I'll take the car."

"Even a car won't do."

Tong Kexin turned around and glared at him.

"No matter how talkative you are, I'll smear your mouth with old soup oil."

Tieguai Li, carrying his toolbox, squatted down next to the pancake cart.

"I'll do it."

Cheng Xiaojin shook his head.

"Don't rush to dismantle it."

Tieguai Li's hand stopped on the box buckle.

"It's already moving on its own, why are you waiting for it to make you a set with crispy crackers?"

Cheng Xiaojin raised his chin, gesturing towards the row of fake neighbors near the well.

The fake Old Zhao, the fake Aunt Zhang, and the fake old man selling candied hawthorns all stood outside the gray circle.

He didn't hand over the ticket again, his face was unsteady, but he still held the wet ticket in his hand, water dripping from the edge of the paper, watermarks sticking to the cracks in the blue bricks, crawling toward the pancake cart.

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the watermark. "Let's check the meal accounts."

Han Shaobai squeezed through the crowd, clutching the account book.

"How do we check? What do we check?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Old Li.

"Check the tofu pudding first."

Old Li was taken aback. Before he could finish speaking, the rough blue-rimmed porcelain bowl next to the tofu pudding bucket made a sound.

*Thud*, the bottom of the bowl hit the cutting board with a crisp, hollow sound.

Old Li's face fell.

"My bowl was just sitting by the bucket!"

Tong Kexin stepped over, used a long spoon to lift the rim of the bowl, and found it clean, without any braising liquid stains, tofu residue, or pickled vegetable bits.

Old Li reached out to take it, but Cheng Xiaojin stopped him.

"Don't touch them."

Old Li withdrew his hand and cursed.

"Which scoundrel stole some tofu pudding and even licked the bowl clean?"

He wiped his hands with his apron, feeling embarrassed.

"After the fake Old Zhao finished causing trouble, another Old Zhao came. He was wearing a military overcoat and his hat was low-brimmed. He gave me a ticket, and the ticket wasn't wet."

Cheng Xiaojin asked.

"Salty or sweet?"

Old Li's lips twitched.

"Salty mouth."

Liu slapped the edge of the pot.

"Old Zhao has a sweet tooth, so add more sugar!"

Old Li stuck the spoon into the bucket.

"Fine, I admit defeat."

Han Shaobai's pen fell to the ground.

"Fake Old Zhao No. 2, a bowl of salty tofu pudding, there's something fishy going on with the deal."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the small iron box next to the cutting board.

"ticket."

Old Li opened the tin box; the change was still there, with a five-yuan note on top.

The paper is dry, and the edges are dull.

Cheng Xiaojin's livid hand hovered half an inch above the ticket, the sound of water hidden beneath the ink, the outside still smeared with the sweat of a living person's hand.

The dead man's ticket had passed through the pocket of the living man, and then he took it out to buy food; the method was now more subtle.

He withdrew his hand. "The joss paper core is real money."

Old Li got anxious. "Can I still sell this pot?"

Tong Kexin lifted the lid of the tofu pudding bucket, and steam rushed out. She looked at the clean bowl.

"It's sealed off."

Old Li's eyes widened. "I got up at three o'clock to start the fire!"

Tong Kexin looked up. "If someone opened a whole street selling pots like yours, would you still dare to keep selling them?"

Old Li moved his lips twice and pressed the spoon back into the bucket.

"I'm not selling it anymore."

Han Shaobai raised his hand.

"Boguzhai will provide you with a pad."

Tieguai Li looked at him.

"When your dad checks the accounts later, he'll think Boguzhai has changed its business."

Han Shaobai paused, pen in hand.

"The expenses recorded in the accounts are for the living, and have nothing to do with tofu pudding."

Cheng Xiaojin didn't reply and walked to the newsstand at the street corner.

Old Zhao himself huddled behind the newsstand, his cotton hat pulled down to his eyebrows, holding a half-full cup of hot water in his hands, with white steam rising from the rim of the cup.

He was cursing, "Who's spreading rumors about me? When did I ever eat savory tofu pudding?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked down at his feet.

The area in front of the newsstand was covered in a thick layer of dust, with the imprints of two cotton shoes firmly set in place, and specks of cigarette ash nearby.

What should I eat for breakfast?

Old Zhao rolled his eyes.

"I find fried dough rings, sweet tofu pudding, and even half a piece of pickled vegetable too salty."

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

"That thing wasn't fully served, and even those who are greedy will eat the wrong thing."

Old Zhao pulled an old bamboo pole from under the newsstand.

"Next time it bumps my face, I'll poke it."

Tieguai Li patted him on the shoulder.

"Poke the ground and see if there are any footprints."

Old Zhao looked down at his own shoe prints, then at the wet footprints on the street that hadn't been covered in dust, and his cursing subsided by half.

Cheng Xiaojin returned to the tofu pudding stall and pointed to the clean bowl.

"Look carefully."

The vendors gathered around; the bottoms of the bowls gleamed, the white porcelain bases so dry they were unrecognizable.

Even if a living person eats tofu pudding carefully, there will always be a ring of braising liquid, a few pieces of tofu pudding, and a few bits of pickled vegetables left over.

This bowl couldn't even hold any attention.

Tong Kexin stuck the long spoon into the edge of the cutting board.

"From today onwards, Huguo Temple will have one more road."

Aunt Liu asked.

Which one?

"The bowl is so shiny after you finish eating, you're not giving change."

Old Li frowned.

"Just this?"

Cheng Xiaojin continued.

"If you don't give change, the bill will hang there. A hanging bill can't go to the bottom of the well, and the pile at the bottom will be missing a brick."

Tieguai Li spat on the ground, "Let him build that illegal structure!"

Aunt Wang slapped the lid of the steamer.

"Then I won't give it to them. If anyone makes a fuss, I'll smear a dumpling wrapper in their face."

Aunt Liu asked, "What if they're real guests?"

Tong Kexin looked at the street and said, "Even if a real customer is short a penny, they'll still complain."

Old Zhao shouted from the other end of the newsstand.

"I'll just curse."

A few laughs rang out in the street, and the row of shadows by the well were swept away by the laughter, their faces covered in a thick layer of smears.

Han Shaobai recorded the new rules in the ledger, and the black ink on the cover of the ledger receded to the width of a finger joint.

Tang Wanqing hung the red rope and copper buckle on the side of the tofu pudding bucket and tested it. The copper buckle made a soft sound, and the muffled sound from the bottom of the bucket subsided by half a mouthful.

She looked at Cheng Xiaojin.

"I can hold out until noon."

Cheng Xiaojin shook his head.

"If we can't hold out until noon, we can steal a bowl of rice from the bottom of the well and open up a whole street tonight."

Tong Kexin looked at Sister Zhou's pancake cart.

"Is Sister Zhou next?"

Cheng Xiaojin didn't answer; his livid hand hovered above the clean bowl.

A slight sound came from deep within the bowl.

It wasn't the sound of the bowl; it was the sound of batter being poured onto the heated metal plate and being pushed aside by the spatula.

Cheng Xiaojin looked up.

"It's already been stolen."

Aunt Wang's expression changed.

"Sister Zhou is still down there."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the well opening.

"They used the living remains of her to make molds."

Tong Kexin hoisted the long spoon onto her shoulder.

"She's not dead?"

That sentence was thrown onto the street, but no one responded.

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at Tong Kexin.

She didn't look at him, she just stared at the pancake cart.

"Since Sister Zhou isn't back, the stall can't be considered unattended."

Tieguai Li opened his toolbox. "Then let her guard the car."

Tang Wanqing stopped her.

"First check the resonance point, under the car."

Cheng Xiaojin nodded. The sky was getting a little brighter, but the sun hadn't yet risen.

Dew dripped from the stall onto the tarpaulin, making a soft pattering sound. The fake neighbor retreated to the wellhead, his wet ticket hanging from his sleeve, and remained silent.

They're waiting, and the underground street is waiting too, waiting for some stall on the surface to break the rules.

Tieguai Li crouched down next to the pancake cart and shone his flashlight under it. The wooden planks under the cart were old, the angle iron was rusted, and there was a ring of dry flour in the seams of the base.

The iron griddle was not lit, but it was emitting heat.

Tieguai Li reached out to try the whole thing, but was stopped by Tong Kexin's long spoon.

"Don't burn yourself."

Tieguai Li looked up.

"I'm not that kind of person."

Cheng Xiaojin squatted beside the car, his hand three inches off the ground.

Tang Wanqing stared at him.

"Don't let your hand touch the ground."

"Know."

He closed his eyes, and the sounds of the street separated layer by layer within his iron-blue bones.

The pancake cart on the ground had an empty axle, thin dough, and shallow grooves left by Sister Zhou shoveling batter along the edges over the years.

The trough was slick with oil, and in the oil were flour, eggs, scallions, and the voices of travelers urging her to hurry up.

Further down, the water chamber beneath the blue bricks was cold, and deeper still, the framework of an empty street was being built.

The stall is located directly opposite Huguo Temple.

Braised pork stalls, steamed bun stalls, fermented mung bean juice stalls, tofu pudding stalls—they're all there.

There was another cart parked under the spot where Sister Zhou's pancake cart was located.

The vehicle had no wheels; it was supported by four bone pillars, which were fastened together.

Someone below was imitating her making pancakes.

Place the spatula against the metal, push it in a circle, move it back half an inch, and then apply oil.

The technique was correct, but the rhythm was too synchronized.

The half-beat pause when Sister Zhou was scolding people was gone, as was her extra scallion for regular customers.

Cheng Xiaojin opened his eyes, his face darkening.

There's another car down there.

Aunt Wang gripped the rolling pin tightly.

Who pushed it?

"There's no one alive to push it."

Tieguai Li asked.

"Where's the line?"

Cheng Xiaojin is pointing to the front beam under the car.

"The flour in the base is clumped together."

Tieguai Li used a screwdriver to probe inside and gently pried it open.

Dry flour fell out of the crack.

The powder didn't scatter after landing; instead, it rolled one by one towards the wellhead.

Tong Kexin stepped on one of the powder balls, and water seeped out from the sole of her shoe.

She frowned.

"The flour contains well water."

Tang Wanqing picked up a bit of powder, and the tip of the silver needle turned black.

"The moisture carries a layer of oil."

Han Shaobai hugged the account book to his chest.

"Can I throw it away?"

Cheng Xiaojin shook his head.

"Throw it down there and it will keep growing; we need to break the connection between it and Sister Zhou's car."

Tieguai Li pried open the outer shell of the base, revealing a clump of flour about half the size of his palm.

The clumps were stuck to the wooden board, their color was bluish, and they were jumping around inside.

With each beat of that sound, the iron slab heated up.

Old Li was standing far away, his neck stretched out very long.

"This thing can even breathe?"

Tieguai Li looked up.

"Your tofu pudding has been eaten by ghosts, and you're still worrying about this?"

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the clump.

"Don't knock, don't smash."

Tieguai Li put down the wrench.

"Then what should we use?"

Tong Kexin opened the small aluminum kettle.

"Old Tang?"

Cheng Xiaojin nodded, then quickly shook his head.

"Old broth alone isn't enough; for Sister Zhou's car, it needs the flavor of her cooked oil."

Aunt Wang immediately ran to the steamed bun stall, "The scallion oil she lent me yesterday is still here."

Aunt Liu called out, "I have some fried dough sticks."

Old Zhao pulled a small glass bottle from under the newsstand.

"She stored the chili oil with me last month, saying it was to prevent Kexin from eating it secretly."

Tong Kexin turned her head, her voice choked with emotion, "She's talking nonsense."

Tieguai Li chuckled.

Tong Kexin tapped the long spoon against the side of his shoe.

"Shut up and get to work."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at those items and pointed to the old soup pot.

"Use the old broth oil as a base, then mix in the dry flour paste from Sister Zhou's rag."

Tang Wanqing frowned.

"The rag moves."

"Cut off a corner, so it doesn't touch the handlebars."

Tieguai Li used pliers to clamp the edge of the rag and cut off a small piece.

As soon as the clip was cut, the handlebars shook twice, indicating their displeasure.

Aunt Wang's eyes reddened.

"Sister Zhou, even a little bit will save your car."

The handlebars stopped, and Tong Kexin took the small piece of cloth and put it into the broken bowl.

A little bit of each: stock oil, scallion oil, fried dough ring oil, and chili oil.

As soon as the chopsticks were stirred, a hot aroma wafted out, and the green dough knot under the car jumped even more rapidly.

The fake neighbors at the wellhead all turned their heads, raising the wet tickets in their hands by half an inch.

Cheng Xiaojin said, "They're afraid of this."

Tieguai Li sandwiched the oilcloth ball between the bamboo strips.

"Where to put it?"

"On the left side of the front beam, avoid touching the center; apply the adhesive along the edge."

Tieguai Li lay down, and the bamboo strip went in.

A faint sound came from under the car, and the sound of shovels on the street below was about to begin.

The shovel went round and round, trying to remove the oily smell from the ground.

Cheng Xiaojin's hand hovered over the blue brick, his iron-blue knuckles bending.

Tieguai Li said in a muffled voice, "It's on."

"Press it in half an inch."

"If you press it any harder, it will clump together."

"Let it smell it, but it can't eat it."

Tieguai Li pushed the bamboo strip in half an inch, muttering something under his breath.

"I'll learn how to whet your appetite."

Hiss! White steam billowed out from under the car.

Hot oil on wet noodles, the sour smell makes people wrinkle their noses.

The green knot under the car shrank back, and something inside started to jump and throb.

The sound of shovels on the ground was chaotic. One push, half an inch stuck, another push, and the head hit the edge of the griddle.

Clang!

Cheng Xiaojin's eyes lit up. "It's stuck."

A crisp sound came from below the wellhead.

One earthenware pot broke, then three or four more broke in quick succession.

The watermark around the gray circle at the wellhead shrank back, the wet ticket in the fake Old Zhao's hand was missing a corner, and the eye on the fake Aunt Zhang's face fell off by half an inch before being glued back on.

Han Shaobai's pen flew across the paper.

"Sister Zhou's old griddle broke and was used for casting in the well; the earthenware pot shattered."

Tieguai Li patted the screwdriver.

"It's a two-yuan item, but the broken earthenware pot underneath is probably worth more than my whole family."

Han Shaobai nodded and wrote the words down.

Aunt Wang looked at the pancake cart and asked in a low voice, "Can Sister Zhou hear me?"

Cheng Xiaojin took half a step closer, and Tang Wanqing pressed her silver needle against his sleeve.

He stopped, his livid hand hovering below the handlebars, not touching the old rag.

The sound still lingered in the car, but Sister Zhou's car remained motionless.

But underneath, the hot oil tank heated up a bit.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Aunt Wang.

"This car recognizes us."

Aunt Wang sniffed and put the rolling pin on the cutting board.

Tong Kexin tightened the lid of the old soup pot, rubbing the oil off her fingers on the handle.

"Did the bottom mold break?"

"It's broken here."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the well opening. "The fake street hasn't closed yet."

The underground street was partially blocked by Sister Zhou's car, while the other stalls were still taking shape.

The sound of pot lids has decreased, while the sound of footsteps has increased.

A row of fake figures stood by the well, their faces slowly returning to their blurred state.

They no longer use old relationships to buy meals, and they no longer pass on the wet tickets.

The fake Old Zhao opened his mouth, but without Old Zhao's accent, he uttered a sales pitch.

"Fermented mung bean juice and fried dough rings".

Aunt Liu's expression changed.

The next moment, the fake Aunt Zhang also spoke up.

"The steamed buns are hot."

The fake old man spoke.

"The sesame seed cakes are fresh out of the oven."

One after another, more sounds surged up from the bottom of the well.

Braised dishes, tofu pudding, jianbing guozi (Chinese crepe), stir-fried liver, mutton soup.

The price also came out accordingly.

Not a single point off —

But the sounds were too synchronized; even the beads on an abacus weren't this rigid.

No wheezing, no coughing, no that tightness or muffled sound in my throat when I wake up in the morning.

Tong Kexin's face darkened. "They've started making noises."

Cheng Xiaojin looked up at the sky; the gray and white sky seemed to be deepening, and the morning market was about to awaken.

This is the most opportune time; not everyone has arrived yet, the pot has just boiled, and the street hasn't started arguing.

Yin Cheng chose this moment to speak out, as the third incident is easily mistaken.

Zhou Banxian is not here, but the compass remains in Master Ma's courtyard.

But Cheng Xiaojin could hear that the Zhenhai Iron rod under the blue bricks was tilting slightly.

It's not too far off.

Once the underground hawking sounds fill the air, the fires on the ground will have to be lowered.

Tieguai Li raised the pliers. "Can you cut shadows?"

Tang Wanqing shook her head.

"It's pointless to try and thread the red thread through."

Cheng Xiaojin stopped him.

"Don't knock on the manhole cover. If you make a sound at the manhole, they'll amplify the noise by using the metal."

Han Shaobai was holding the account book.

"How much of the bookkeeping is done?"

"Half a percent".

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the stall owners.

"This time, the living person has to shout it themselves."

Tong Kexin stood in the middle of the street, raised the long ladle, and pointed the ladle towards the well.

"Go back to the stall."

Aunt Wang didn't move.

"Those things are still there."

"Don't be afraid, they don't have a physical form."

Tong Kexin looked at her.

"If you don't shout, the people below will shout for you; this morning market will become a well-dwelling marketplace."

Old Zhao holds up a bamboo pole at the newsstand.

"Can I set up a stall?"

Cheng Xiaojin said.

"Of course it counts."

Tieguai Li said.

"Pick it up fresh, don't lose to a dead man."

The fake neighbors' hawking voices grew closer and closer.

Water vapor from the wellhead spread onto the street, and the wet tickets trembled in their hands, turning into pieces of mushy paper tongues.

"Fermented mung bean juice and fried dough rings~~"

"The steamed buns are still hot!"

"Braised pork and baked wheat cakes, time!"

"Jianbing~~Guozi~~!"

The sound was built up again and again.

The white foam in Aunt Liu's pot was suppressed, the steam from Aunt Wang's steamer also subsided, and the steam from Old Li's tofu pudding bucket swirled along the rim without rising.

Tong Kexin returned to the braised pot.

She didn't rush to call out, but scooped up a spoonful of broth and swished it halfway around the edge of the pot.

The bottom of the spoon hit the iron pot.

when!

This sound carried the spiciness of oil, salt, and the anger from not sleeping last night.

The row of shadows at the wellhead paused for a moment.

Tong Kexin stepped onto the long bench, rolled up her sleeves to her forearms, and sweat reflected off her face from the firelight.

"Braised pork belly with baked wheat cakes, three yuan a bowl. If you think it's too expensive, don't eat it. Even if it's delicious, don't lick the bottom of the bowl. The living line up, the dead get out of the way!"

Aunt Liu picked up a spoon.

"Fermented mung bean juice and fried dough rings—the sourness is just right. If you don't like the strong flavor, don't pretend to be a Beijinger!"

Aunt Wang lifted the lid of the steamer, and hot steam billowed out.

"The steamed buns are hot, so hurry and they're gone! Get lost if you've got wet bills!"

Old Li coughed. "Tofu pudding, sweet or savory, just tell me. No sales to those who don't breathe properly!"

Aunt Zhang tapped the edge of the oven with her sesame seed cakes, making a crisp sound.

Old Zhao stood behind the newsstand for a long time, then shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Morning paper, evening paper, old newspapers—if you don't pay after reading them, I'll curse you out of the street!"

The sounds of people were a chaotic mess, with broken voices, coughs, spatulas hitting pots, and steamer lids banging against wooden boards.

The orderly hawking sounds from the underground stalls were dispersed.

The fake Old Zhao had the words "braised pork" and "douzhi" stuck in his throat, unable to pronounce them properly; the fake Aunt Zhang's voice came out as "baked bun price"; and the fake Old Sun uttered a phrase from the morning and evening newspapers, his face immediately crumbling.

Han Shaobai laughed as he wrote: "Living people shouting, fake streets and wrong accounts."

The cracked red needle made a soft sound as it struck the bamboo tube against his chest, and the mold shrank by half a circle.

Tang Wanqing used a cloth to pad the bottom of the bamboo tube.

"Don't let the red stamp listen directly to the sound at the wellhead. If it's cracked, it will recognize half of the underground secrets if it listens to it too much."

Han Shaobai moved the bamboo tube outside his clothes and wrote even faster.

Cheng Xiaojin stood in the middle of the street, listening to the underground; the wave of hawking rushed down, and the stalls in the underground street shook.

The pancake cart of Sister Zhou was blocked by the tarpaulin, and the sound of breaking pottery was still rolling deeper into the area.

But there was still a hand at the bottom of the well that hadn't let go.

It's stealing sounds, stealing air vents.

The fake neighbors no longer shouted out complete sentences; instead, they began to mimic the stall owner's inhalation, pause, cough, and the sudden, forceful breath before cursing.

Cheng Xiaojin's expression changed.

"Don't stop."

Tong Kexin's face darkened, and she slammed the long spoon against the edge of the pot.

Cheng Xiaojin looked out at the street.

"Speak in a chaotic manner, don't queue up."

Tong Kexin raises a spoon.

"Everyone shouts their own lines; whoever has the worst voice shouts a few more lines."

Old Li was unhappy.

"Who are you going to confront?"

Aunt Liu glanced at him.

"Even a dead person wouldn't dare imitate your voice."

Old Li lifted the spoon.

"Tofu pudding, cough cough, sweet or salty, cough cough, less sugar or more sugar, cough cough."

The laughter of the living person started again, and this time, the rhythm was completely disrupted.

Those who were learning about air vents at the bottom of the well couldn't keep up; the fake neighbors opened and closed their mouths, but couldn't produce a complete sound.

Just then, the griddle on the pancake cart heated up again.

This time the heat was even more intense, and the tarpaulin wad under the cart was pushed out half an inch. Tieguai Li rushed over and used a bamboo strip to hold it in place.

"It still wants to vomit."

Cheng Xiaojin turned around.

The old rag on Sister Zhou's pancake cart was shaking incessantly, the wheels were turning gently, and someone was pulling it down from underneath.

From deep within the well, the sound of another shovel could be heard.

At first, they learned from Sister Zhou, but then things changed. Someone started using Sister Zhou's stall to teach fake neighbors how to breathe.

The spatula is used to make a full circle, pausing for half a beat in the middle, and then deliberately tapping it.

That half-beat was just the right amount of time to fit in the rhythm of a living person inhaling.

Tang Wanqing's face darkened.

"Is there a supervisor downstairs?"

Cheng Xiaojin listened for a while.

"The clay pot that just broke was the molded pot from Sister Zhou's car. The main pot is at the intersection of Jingdi Street."

Tong Kexin jumped off the bench.

"Can it be broken?"

"It can't be broken now."

Cheng Xiaojin raised his livid hand and pointed to the bottom of the pancake cart.

"Let's bring Sister Zhou's car back first."

Tieguai Li asked.

"How do I pull it?"

Cheng Xiaojin visits Aunt Wang.

"The first thing Sister Zhou says when she sets up her stall."

Aunt Wang paused for a moment.

"She didn't even try to sell it; she just started cursing about the axle."

Old Zhao immediately took over.

"Yes, she curses me every day, and she'll dump this piece of junk on the road sooner or later."

Aunt Liu also remembered.

"Still slamming the griddle? Tell them not to rush it, or I won't give you a raise."

Tong Kexin bit her lip and took a while to finish.

She also said, "Kexin, don't let your pot smell like mine."

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

"call."

Aunt Wang walked to the pancake cart.

Before I even touched the car, my throat was already hoarse.

"I'll dump this piece of junk on the road sooner or later!"

After scolding her, he paused for a moment, then wiped his face with his sleeve.

Aunt Liu leaned forward with the spoon of soy milk, her mouth moving faster than her brain.

"Sister Zhou, don't scrape the batter completely, leave a little bit, we can return it tomorrow—"

She got stuck on the second half of the sentence, rubbed the spoon handle on her apron a couple of times, and finally managed to get it out.

"We'll be open again tomorrow."

Tong Kexin stood at the back, a long spoon hanging down beside her.

She looked at the old rag, her words caught in her throat twice, but she didn't utter a sound the first time.

Tieguai Li placed the toolbox at his feet without urging him to hurry.

Tong Kexin swallowed. "Sister Zhou, I'll treat you to braised pork when I get back."

Tieguai Li added in a low voice.

"She thinks your braised dishes are too salty."

Tong Kexin did not turn around.

"Please do that, I'll make her something not salty."

The piece of green dough at the bottom of the pancake cart trembled twice.

The rag was pushed back in, and half of the heat was absorbed, causing the shovel at the bottom of the well to make a stuck sound.

Crack! Immediately afterwards, a series of loud clattering sounds came from underground.

The main jar wasn't broken, but it cracked.

Cheng Xiaojin heard a sound of air leaking from the crack, and the breathing technique that the fake neighbors had just learned immediately dissipated.

The hawking cries became uniform again, empty, and fake.

Tieguai Li loosened his grip on the bamboo strips and sat down heavily on the ground.

"Sister Zhou has a tough temper; she won't let anyone steal from her stall, even when she's working in the lower ranks."

Aunt Wang wiped the flour with her sleeve.

"She's been cursing axles for ten years, who can learn that?"

Han Shaobai wrote the last line of the account page.

"Sister Zhou's old stall recognizes the living and curses the old, the voice from the bottom of the well is like a puppet master with a cracked jar."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at him.

"Further note: Sister Zhou's stall was not lost."

Han Shaobai nodded vigorously, and the tip of his pen poked a hole in the paper.

As the line in the ledger fell, the iron wheels of the pancake cart came to a stop.

At the edge of the gray circle around the wellhead, the fake figures took a half step back.

Cheng Xiaojin heard many tiny footsteps approaching from deeper in the well.

The fake neighbors no longer emerge one by one; they want to steal the voice of the entire street.

Tong Kexin heard it too, and paused with her long spoon.

"Don't rest, everyone."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at both ends of Huguosi Street.

"Wake up all the ones who are still asleep."

Tieguai Li stood up and slung his toolbox over his shoulder.

Han Shaobai clutched the ledger tightly and followed.

Tang Wanqing took a section of the red rope and copper buckle from the silver needle box, walked around to a spot three feet outside the well, and hung the buckle on the old street lamp pole.

Ding! The falsetto that rose from the bottom of the well was a bit shorter.

Tang Wanqing looked at Cheng Xiaojin.

"Half an incense stick's worth."

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

"Enough to wake up an entire street."

Old Zhao, holding a bamboo pole, knocked on doors in the alley.

"Get up! Get up! The dead are fighting over breakfast, or there won't be any left to cook!"

Someone inside was cursing.

"Old Zhao, are you out of your mind?"

One door opened, and another light came on.

Tieguai Li took a wrench and knocked on the iron railing.

Han Shaobai wrote his name behind the steamed bun stall, his pen flying across the paper.

The streets slowly came alive again, and the bottom of the pot kept rising one after another.

Someone came out wearing a cotton-padded coat, their face unwashed, their hair sticking up, and they started cursing Old Zhao as soon as they opened their mouth. Someone else was carrying an enamel mug and standing at the door, banging on the bottom of the mug.

Old Sun, who sells candied hawthorns, shuffled out of the alley on his cane and cursed at the shadow of the fake Old Sun.

"You're copying me? I never get up early when I sell candied hawthorns, what are you trying to imitate?"

Half of the fake old man's face collapsed.

Tieguai Li Xiao's straight-shot toolbox, "ancestor-level anti-counterfeiting".

Cheng Xiaojin stood outside the wellhead, watching the water vapor rising from the gray circle.

In the steam, the underground vendors' cries rang out once again.

This time there were even more, not just seven or eight shadows.

The shops on the fake street at the bottom of the well all woke up, and dozens of voices lined up in a row, pushing outwards from the well opening.

They have no physical form, so you can't fight them or cut them off.

But what they're after is sound, so let's throw back the sound of living people.

Tong Kexin stepped back onto the long bench, Aunt Wang lifted the lid of the steamer, and Aunt Liu held the bean curd spoon steady.

Old Li held the tofu pudding spoon, coughed twice, and found his hoarse voice.

Aunt Zhang tapped the sesame seed cakes against the edge of the oven.

Old Zhao set up the bamboo pole in front of the newsstand.

Sister Zhou's pancake cart was parked at the street corner. The old rag on the handlebars no longer shook, but just stuck to the iron handle, sticking to the heat from the pan.

Cheng Xiaojin's livid hands were tucked into his pockets, with half of the medicine cloth sticking out.

He heard the faint echo of Shen Jiulou's broken copper fragment from the crack in the main jar at the bottom of the well.

That thing is still being measured, measuring how many living people on this street are willing to open their mouths for a bite to eat for breakfast.

Cheng Xiaojin took the cigarette from behind his ear, bit it, but didn't light it.

"Listen to me."

17

The shouts, clattering of pots and pans, and footsteps on the street were a beat lower.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the well opening.

"Remember, don't shout in unison."

He raised his chin.

"Our morning market has many embarrassing aspects, many problems, and even our voices aren't all the same."

Tieguai Li had a wrench draped over his shoulder.

Speak like a human.

Cheng Xiaojin smiled.

"Shout with the most annoying force you ever use."

Old Zhao was the first to laugh.

"I will."

Tong Kexin raised her long spoon, and the chorus of voices from the fake street at the bottom of the well had already reached the edge of the gray circle.

In the next instant, it will cover the ground.

Tong Kexin smacked the edge of the braised pot with a spoon.

when!

"Warm up your voice!"