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

Chapter 138 Sister Zhou's Living Bowl Appears, Iron Wire Falls into Well to Fish for Yin City Mold

Aunt Wang's steamer lid slammed against her knee with a dull thud, without bouncing back up.

The bowl rested in the steam at the wellhead, its bottom excessively clean, with a small piece of burnt pancake stuck to its rim. Three soft sounds of a shovel hitting the griddle rose from the bottom of the bowl, crawled along the well bricks, and stopped at the bottom of the gray circle.

Cheng Xiaojin heard more than just the sound of shovels.

The sound of the shovel carried the heat of the iron plate, the layers of oil, and the force of Sister Zhou's right wrist habitually turning outward.

He recognized the voice; he had recognized it for months.

But now, those three shovel sounds coming up from the bottom of the well, the temperature was fake, the smell of oil was fake, and the wrist technique was just a superficial imitation; the inside was so empty it could hold a mouthful of mud from Yincheng.

Tong Kexin's long spoon had already extended half a foot horizontally.

"Smash it."

Cheng Xiaojin didn't let her have it. He raised his hand and pushed her spoon aside. When the back of his hand touched the spoon handle, his bluish skin touched the cold iron and he felt nothing.

"Don't smash it."

Tong Kexin turned her head, her eyes red.

"What are we waiting for if we don't smash it?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the bowl.

The burnt edge of the bowl was still stuck on, stuck so firmly that it looked as if something was pressing it down from the inside.

"If you smash the bowl, Sister Zhou's fate will be tied to that fake street down there."

He stated, "Yincheng uses her as a mold, and the bowl is the door of the mold. If you smash the door, it's not breaking the deadlock, it's welding the door shut on her."

Tong Kexin pulled the long spoon back, gripping the handle tightly. She didn't say anything more, took half a step back, and stood next to the braised pot.

Tang Wanqing was already moving; she pulled the red thread from her sleeve, tied a slipknot, and threw it toward the well.

The red thread went into the water, and the moisture caused the end to turn black. The black color traveled along the thread toward her hand, and after traveling two inches, Tang Wanqing suddenly pulled the thread back. The thread broke above the water's surface, the cut end curling outwards, as if it had been scorched by fire.

"Black mud swamp".

She stared at the broken line, her face icy cold. "It's completely blocked. We can't get in using conventional methods."

Tieguai Li squatted next to his toolbox, pulled out half a roll of rusty construction steel bars, casually weighed them in his hand, and a handful of rust fell off. He cursed and used pliers to cut them open.

"Make barbs?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at him.

"Cut it into a fishhook shape, with the curved end facing outwards, and attach a red thread."

Tieguai Li pressed the pliers against the bend in the steel bar, gave it a sharp bend, and snapped the barb out, the rust carrying the old metallic scent.

"No red lines."

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Have Han Shaobai turn to the page in the ledger where the morning market rules are written, and tear it out."

Han Shaobai, clutching the account book, turned pale.

"tear?"

"The black water has receded completely; it's a yang curtain, pasted onto the hook."

Han Shaobai flipped through the ledger, his hands trembling slightly. He found the page, which was filled with the rules for this morning: no selling to strangers on the first bite, no accepting wet tickets, calling out when the bottom of the bowl reflects light, regular customers standing at the stall, calling out to the end of the line, and constantly changing the pot while the fire is burning.

The ink was real, the yang energy was real. Han Shaobai carefully tore the page off along the crease. The edges of the paper were neat and there were no fuzz.

Tieguai Li pasted the account book pages onto the hook, and Cheng Xiaojin looked at it and shook his head.

"Make the paste thinner, don't cover it completely, leave the hook tip exposed."

Tieguai Li started over, pasting two layers of pages, with the hook tip protruding half an inch from the edge of the paper.

Cheng Xiaojin raised his left hand, hovering it about two inches above the top of the steel bar.

His iron-blue hand was completely numb from the wrist down, but he didn't need any sensation; what he wanted was the resonance of the metal element.

He closed his eyes and listened into the rusty steel bar.

The steel bars are old, with thick rust layers, and have the dust and cement smell of old buildings inside. They don't have the same confidence as the steel bars in Mancheng Town and Haikou, but they share the same origin—they are all iron from this underground soil.

He felt the cavity inside the steel bar, found the frequency, and guided that frequency into his left arm.

The numbness started below the elbow, then it became a dull sensation, followed by a heavy feeling, as if the whole arm was sinking into the mud.

Tieguai Li held onto the steel bar, and Cheng Xiaojin urged him on with his strength.

The resonance occurred, the steel bar trembled slightly, and another layer of rust peeled off.

"down."

Tieguai Li pushed the steel bar into the wellhead, and the hook head went into the water.

The black water around the gray circle touched the hook tip and receded half an inch. The pages of the account book were wet, and the paper seeped through. The writing on the Yang account book spread along the paper grain in the water. The words that spread out were the rules of the morning market. When the black water touched them, something in the black water hid to both sides.

The steel bars continued downwards.

The bowl at the bottom of the well was still nestled in the steam, its scorched edge untouched, and the sound of the shovel had stopped.

The hook plunges ten feet into the water, but the bowl remains below.

Cheng Xiaojin pushed the Xin Jin resonance of his left arm deeper into the steel bar. The steel bar trembled in Tieguai Li's hand, and the frequency of the trembling was close to the residual sound of the Zhenhai Iron at the bottom of the well. When the two frequencies connected, the barb of the steel bar deviated slightly towards the bowl.

Tieguai Li asked in a low voice, "Have we arrived yet?"

"Soon."

The hook tip touched the rim of the bowl, causing the bowl to sink, only to be supported by something else.

It was supported by black water, which accumulated at the bottom of the bowl, thick and stuck to the scorched edge of the bowl.

The hook tip snagged the edge of the bowl, the curtains pressed against the rim, and as the heat of the curtains met the damp water at the bottom of the bowl, a dull thud came from the well.

It's not shattering, it's a clash, two things colliding.

The sound traveled outwards from the water cavity, and all the pots on the ground of Huguosi Temple shook at the same time, their lids jumping up and then falling back down.

A puff of steam rose from Aunt Liu's soy milk bucket, fine bubbles appeared on the surface of Old Li's tofu pudding, and the steam from Aunt Wang's steamer basket drifted to the side.

Tong Kexin pressed her hand down on the lid of the braised pot, holding it in place, and the lid stopped jumping.

After the impact at the bottom of the well, there was a two-breath silence, followed by a series of cracking sounds.

It's not a clay pot, it's a piece of clay.

Cheng Xiaojin heard the fake street's disguise being torn apart.

The thing that covers the fake street is a shell. Inside the shell is the street that Yincheng built at the bottom of the well. There are seven stalls on the street, and under each stall is an earthenware pot. The pot contains sounds, smells, odors, and rules stolen from the ground.

The shell cracked, and the earthenware pot followed suit, making a chaotic sound. The smell of fermented bean juice clashed with the smell of sesame seed cake, and old oil clashed with fake brine, creating a complete mess.

The facade of the fake street has crumbled.

After it broke apart, what was underneath was revealed.

Cheng Xiaojin opened his eyes. "There's a pancake cart at the bottom of the well."

"There are iron chains on the three-tenths seal of Zhenhai Iron, and the chains lock Sister Zhou under the pancake wheel."

Aunt Wang's steamer lid fell off with a bang.

Old Zhao reached out and caught it. Aunt Wang didn't thank him. She stood there, her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Cheng Xiaojin continued listening.

He heard the iron chain that locked up Sister Zhou. The rusty smell of the chain was the same as that of the Zhenhai Iron in the whole city. The knife marks from the batch of Zhenhai Iron pulled out were in the iron and also in the chain.

It was the same group of people who did it.

He could hear the chain's cavity, fatigue points between the links, and a wear pattern where the wear was deeper than the surrounding area, indicating it had been pushed out by something over a long period of time.

That point of fatigue is the entry point.

Tieguai Li gripped the steel bar tightly. The water surged upwards from below, climbing along the bar. It was black as it rose, seeping into Tieguai Li's hand. Tieguai Li gritted his teeth, "This thing feels like needles pricking my hand, it's eerie!"

He doesn't let go.

Cheng Xiaojin said, "Hold the steel bar in place and don't move it. Let me hear you."

Listen for the point of fatigue in the chain, and find the location.

At the same time, he heard another voice.

The sound of a plate breaking.

Shen Jiulou's half-piece of bronze plate lies deep at the bottom of the well, not yet completely silent.

The broken disc was fed with a whistle, and the line climbed up along the steel bars, heading towards Cheng Xiaojin's wrist.

Cheng Xiaojin had known this lead was coming for a while, and he was waiting for it.

To put it bluntly, after running a stall for so many years, he's not worried if someone tries to rip him off; what annoys him most is when the other person pretends to be a good person, that's really irritating.

But he couldn't say this to anyone, because if he did, Tong Kexin would scold him for being a smart aleck.

The line climbed up, past Tieguai Li's hand, past the top of the steel bar, to below Cheng Xiaojin's wrist bone, spreading towards his elbow. The moisture carried the black energy all the way up. The icy feeling was not cold, but the feeling of water seeping into the bones. There was no tactile sensation, but the Xin metal energy could sense it. Once sensed, one could do something about it.

Tang Wanqing used her silver needles, her ten fingers working in rapid succession, piercing all the acupoints on Cheng Xiaojin's arm. The needle tips turned white, then black, as the silver needles exuded cold energy. It was unstoppable; she could only slow it down.

"Little Jin".

Tang Wanqing stared at his elbow, her voice hoarse with anxiety, "It can't go any higher."

Cheng Xiaojin waited for that voice, but there was no response.

He has found the location of the chain's fatigue point.

Tieguai Li took off his prosthetic leg, not for fighting. He placed it horizontally on the blue bricks along the well edge, using its weight to hold down the steel bars and prevent them from falling. This freed up his two hands.

"Old Zhao, give me the longest steel pipe."

Old Zhao didn't know what he was going to do, but he still handed over the steel pipe supporting the rain shelter next to the mailbox.

Tieguai Li caught it and placed it directly next to the prosthesis, doubly pressing down on the steel bars, stabilizing them and preventing them from falling further.

The waterline at the bottom of the well is still climbing, but slowly.

Cheng Xiaojin lightly pressed his left hand above the steel bar without touching it, leaving it suspended two inches above it, urging the metal energy to inject a second resonance into the rusty iron.

This resonance is not for hooking the bowl, but for conduction.

He needs to direct his energy to the point of fatigue in the chain.

He took a deep breath, trying to savor the taste of the tofu pudding he'd just gotten from Aunt Liu. The saltiness of the brine was still there, so he didn't swallow. He bit his tongue, sending the blood, mixed with the saltiness of the tofu pudding brine, down to the top of the steel bar.

It was a breath of foul air, heavy with the stench of the living, tinged with blood, carrying the mingled smell of all the pots and pans from the Huguosi morning market this morning.

Tong Kexin was standing nearby. When she saw Cheng Xiaojin's action, she didn't say anything, but silently gripped the long spoon tightly.

The foul air traveled down the steel bars and reached the book pages. The book pages were agitated by the foul air and caught fire at the bottom of the well.

It wasn't a big fire, but a small, bright yellow fire, about two fingers wide, burning the words pasted on the account book. The words burned out, but the fire didn't go out. Inside the fire were the rules of the Huguosi morning market, the clear rules, the white account book, and the breath of living people.

The fire landed on the chain's fatigue point.

The chain link clicked—

The tension that had been building for so long finally snapped, and Cheng Xiaojin heard it very clearly.

Tieguai Li felt the steel bar loosen downwards, so he immediately pushed the weight of his prosthetic leg upwards, pressing down on the steel pipe. He turned his head and asked, "It broke?"

Cheng Xiaojin said, "It's broken."

The steel bars were being pulled up from the well, and the white bowl that the barbed hook was holding was still hanging on the hook. The bottom of the bowl was cracked, but the crack was clean. It wasn't smashed; it was torn open from the inside. Half of the burnt edge of the pancake on the rim of the bowl broke off at the crack and fell into the water with a soft sound.

The fake street has completely lost its mold.

A series of shattering sounds came from the bottom of the well, not just one or two, but a whole chorus of shattering, a series of false sounds, false smells, and false images mixed together as they fell deeper into the well.

Cheng Xiaojin took a step back, his left leg touched the bench leg, he didn't fall, he held on.

Tang Wanqing immediately came over and pulled out the silver needles from his arm one by one. When the needles were pulled out, their tips were bent. Two of them were bent at a 90-degree angle, the angle of which was forced out by something from the direction of the needle tip.

She put the curved needle into the needle box, closed the lid, and made no sound.

The bluish-black discoloration below Cheng Xiaojin's elbow moved half an inch up to his wrist.

He stared at the wellhead.

The water line was still being withdrawn, and the withdrawal speed was faster than before. It made two turns on the way of withdrawal, and was pulled back from the foot of the stall and shrank into the well. The water marks around the gray circle dried one by one, leaving black mud spots. The mud spots were blown away into ash by the morning wind.

Something is pushing upwards from the bottom of the well.

Tieguai Li saw it and said, "Something is coming up."

Cheng Xiaojin had already heard it.

It was the wheel of the pancake cart, the iron wheel turning in the mud, making a rusting sound, and next to it was the sound of the chain swinging, the chain links loosening one by one, the iron hitting the metal as it loosened, the sound of the metal hitting the metal was dull, carrying the old water accumulated in the rust pit.

Tong Kexin put down the long spoon and took two steps to the edge of the well.

Tieguai Li turned the steel pipe horizontally, placing it across the width of the well opening to block Tong Kexin.

"let me."

The neighbors didn't know what had happened, but they saw the expression on Tong Kexin's face. Old Zhao handed over the steel pipe for the awning, Aunt Liu freed her hands, and Aunt Wang held the steamer lid in her arms.

The sound from the bottom of the well grew closer.

The sound of chains, wheels, and panting.

The breath was thin, hoarse, and had a fishy smell of black water in it.

Aunt Wang uttered just one word, then covered her mouth.

Tieguai Li lay on the edge of the well, inserted the steel pipe, and had Lao Zhao hold down the other end. He then shouted down.

"Grab the steel pipe!"

The bottom of the well was quiet for a moment.

Tieguai Li shouted again.

"Grab the pipe, I'm strong, someone will help you hold it down, don't worry about it falling."

A hand reached up from the black water, its fingers touched the steel pipe, and it grabbed it.

Tieguai Li exerted his strength, Lao Zhao helped press down, and Aunt Liu and Lao Li each put their hands on it. The steel pipe was pulled up along the well wall, bringing out a hand and an arm. The arm was covered in black mud, and the sleeve was wrapped in the mud. There were white marks of dried paste on the sleeve, and a little bit of green onion next to the white marks. It was scallion that had been rubbed on and dried.

Tong Kexin recognized the sleeve.

Tieguai Li exerted his last bit of strength, pulling the steel pipe outwards, and he followed, landing on the edge of the well. A pancake cart also fell out, its wheels spinning half a circle on the blue bricks of the well edge. The handlebars hit the ground, and two eggs spilled out of the cart. One egg broke, and the other rolled to a stop at Tong Kexin's feet.

The neighbors rushed forward and surrounded the man.

Sister Zhou lay on the blue bricks, panting heavily. With each breath, she spat out a little black water, which smelled fishy. She turned her head away and spat it into the crack between the bricks before panting again.

Aunt Wang rushed over and patted Sister Zhou's back. With each pat, a mouthful of black water came out. With another pat, more water came out.

Aunt Liu ran to fetch the soy milk, Old Li went to find the braising liquid, and Aunt Zhang moved a hand warmer from next to the stove and placed it next to Sister Zhou.

She felt the chill of being soaked in the black water of a well, a chill that didn't come from the weather but seeped out from within. The heat from the hand warmer warmed her hands, and Sister Zhou's fingers twitched as she gripped the brick seam, her fingernails digging into the black mud.

Tong Kexin squatted down and picked up the broken egg. Only the shell was broken; the inside was still intact. She caught the yolk in her hand without it leaking out.

Cheng Xiaojin stood three steps away, watching Sister Zhou, but didn't approach.

The frequency of Sister Zhou's breathing, the sounds in her lungs, the sounds in her bones—was there anything still left?

He listened for half a minute, and Zhou Jie was empty-handed.

It was an empty pot filled with water after it had been cleaned; her memories of the time she spent at the bottom of the well were washed away by the black water.

Even earlier, Sister Zhou's voice, her pancake stall, the smell of her old oil, the smell of that burnt edge—all of it remains, untouched.

Cheng Xiaojin breathed a sigh of relief, and as he exhaled, the heaviness in his left arm subsided by half.

Tieguai Li kicked the toolbox lid shut, clapped his hands, and said, "It's alive."

Han Shaobai held the pen in his hand above the ledger, the ink about to drip. He held back as he wrote the entry, and only then did his hand become steady.

"Sister Zhou was rescued, the Yin City mold was broken, and the third Zhenhai Iron Chain broke."

The black ink receded from the ledger in large patches. This time, it didn't just recede in one area, but from the edge of the page towards the center, until only a single ink dot the size of a coin remained hanging on the paper.

Han Shaobai stared at the ink spot, his heart skipped a beat.

"This isn't over yet."

Cheng Xiaojin had already walked to the edge of the well, squatted down, and hung his livid hand on the brick edge of the well without touching it, listening intently.

The chain connecting Zhenhai Iron at the bottom of the well broke, but Zhenhai Iron itself was damaged.

He heard the sound of the iron pillar at the bottom of the well; it wasn't resonance, but rather the force of something pushing upwards from directly below.

A section of mud broke off at the bottom of the iron pillar, revealing the rock strata that had originally gripped it. These rock strata were also moving, arching upwards.

The entire stake is leaning upwards.

Cheng Xiaojin stood up. "How many people are pushing under the pile?"

As soon as the question was asked, black water began to seep from the cracks in the bricks. The black water didn't come out of the well, but seeped out from the cracks in the bricks, one after another, spreading out of the well in all directions. It wasn't pushing water, but pushing something underneath trying to come out.

Tang Wanqing took out all her silver needles and stared at the crack in the ground. "The Qi of the road has been opened."

Tieguai Li kicked the toolbox to his feet. "Good heavens, he's been tied up all night, he got too hasty."

The neighbors helped Sister Zhou to sit against the wall. She was still catching her breath, but her hand had already reached for the handle of the pancake cart. It wasn't intentional; her hand just reached for it.

When Cheng Xiaojin saw her do this, he turned to look at Tong Kexin.

Tong Kexin had already carried the braising pot to the closest point to the well.

"explain."

"Pour in the old broth."

Cheng Xiaojin looked towards the wellhead. "All collapsed."

Tong Kexin didn't ask why. The pot tilted, and the ten-year-old broth poured down from the edge of the pot. The aroma of braised meat, the saltiness of stewed bones, and the sour flavor from the fermented bean juice all flowed into the well, into the cracks between the bricks, and into the black water below.

As soon as the old soup was poured in, the black water in the crack in the ground shrank back an inch.

But not enough.

The force of those things pushing the piles underground didn't stop. They pushed upwards from the bottom of the piles, and the bricks on the ground of Huguo Temple began to shake. It wasn't a tremor, but a slight tremor. There was something very heavy moving back and forth directly below.

The pancake cart's wheels vibrated and spun half a circle.

When Sister Zhou saw her bicycle wheel moving, she gripped the handlebars tightly to stop it from moving.

When Cheng Xiaojin saw Sister Zhou grip the handlebars, in that half-second, he thought of something.

Anchor for living people.

The third Zhenhai Iron, the first 30% of the seal relies on the smoke and fire from the pots and pans of Huguo Temple, the sounds of people, the smell of food from the stalls, and the smoke and fire formed by living people eating. That is the living atmosphere of thirty steps.

But today's action pulled Sister Zhou up from the bottom of the well, broke the chain, shattered the mold, and that breath of turbid air, that account page, that scorched edge, that pot of old soup—it was all fed into her by living people with real things, feeding her the accounts of this street over the decades.

The accounts on this street are even more substantial than those of the other three-tenths.

He stood there, mentally reviewing the matter and calculating the stress points at each stage.

On the left, Tieguai Li is still pressing down on the steel pipe.

On the right, Han Shaobai's account book was still open, with the ink dot the size of a copper coin still hanging on the paper.

Ahead, Tong Kexin's stew pot was empty, but the bottom was still covered with hot broth oil, which was seeping into the edges of the pot.

Sister Zhou sat against the wall, her hands firmly on the car handlebars.

Cheng Xiaojin walked over to Han Shaobai, took the ledger, turned to the page with the ink spot, and touched the spot with his finger—his bluish-black finger.

There was no tactile sensation, but there was a metallic aura on his fingers. When the aura reached him, the paper trembled slightly, and the coin-sized ink dot shook.

"Write one more."

He returned the account book to Han Shaobai.

"Write what?"

"Sister Zhou is back, the pancake stall is back, and we owe Yincheng no debts."

Han Shaobai stared at him for a moment, then put down his pen.

The ink dot, the size of a copper coin, shrank in the middle, then to the size of a soybean, then to the size of a pinhole, stopped, paused for two breaths, and then completely dispersed.

This page of the ledger is clean.

The tremors on the ground stopped, but not completely.

Cheng Xiaojin squatted back down by the well, his hand dangling, listening to the sound from the bottom of the pile.

The stake did not deflect back.

The force pushing the pile from below has been reduced by half, but the Zhenhai Iron has already been fixed at this angle. The mud at the bottom of the pile has solidified at this position, and the rock strata are also pressing down at this angle. The pile wants to straighten itself, but it can't.

He listened for a minute and confirmed it.

He stood up, letting his livid hands hang down at his sides.

Seeing his expression, Tieguai Li walked over and asked, "What's going on?"

"The stake is tilted."

Tieguai Li's expression didn't change; he just tightened his grip on the pliers.

"Can I go back?"

"It can't do it on its own."

The stoves are still burning on the street, people are still there, and the sounds of the living are still there. But in the Huguosi morning market area, the third stake underneath is tilted, forming an uneven axis. The smoke and fumes from the whole street rise upwards, but the axis underneath is tilted, causing the smoke to escape at an angle. It can't be covered properly, and where it can't be covered properly, black water is still seeping in.

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the empty stew pot, where the old broth oil was still at the bottom.

He stared at the oil, his gaze darkening. He didn't say what he was thinking, and the neighbors didn't ask either. They just watched him, waiting for him to speak.

Sister Zhou stood by the wall, her hands firmly on the car handlebars.

The pancake cart's iron wheels gleamed in the sunlight, the rims still embedded with black mud, the mud carrying the stench of the well bottom, yet the old rag still hung on the cart's cargo bed.

The paste on the rag dried layer upon layer, with old oil, the aroma of burnt scallions, and the marks of Sister Zhou's hundreds of early mornings wiping with the old rag, pressing layer upon layer, forming the sturdiest part of this vehicle.

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the car for a long time.

Tong Kexin walked over and stood next to him without saying a word. She loosened the bandage on her hand, revealing bloodstains on the loosened bandage, which had dried and had brown edges.

She rewound the loose bandage halfway around, her hand aching as she did so, but she didn't let it show.

Cheng Xiaojin saw it but didn't say anything.

Aunt Liu restarted the fermented bean juice pot, Old Li put the bowls back on his tofu pudding stall, Aunt Zhang added two pieces of coal to the sesame seed cake oven, and Aunt Wang put the steamer back on to steam a new batch of buns.

The pots and pans at the Huguosi morning market are being rekindled, one by one.

Sister Zhou stood by the wall, slowly taking her hands off the handlebars and placing them on her legs. She touched the griddle, finding it still warm, but not warm enough; it carried the lingering warmth of Yincheng.

She didn't say anything, but took the old rag off the handlebars and wiped the whole thing.

After wiping, the bowl was hot, really hot, the kind of heat that comes from charcoal fire.

Upon seeing this, Cheng Xiaojin turned around and looked at the well opening.

"good.

""

Tieguai Li didn't understand.

"What's so good about it?"