What do you mean by saying that the corpses I sew are all ominous creatures?

After laying the groundwork for a few days, when I go to the western suburbs again, I will only look like a tourist wandering around Beijing.

It will not arouse anyone's suspicion.

After making up my mind, I took a shower, sat cross-legged on the bed, closed my eyes, and began to nourish the evil core within my body.

For the next two days, I perfectly executed my "strolling" plan.

In addition to popular tourist attractions, I also occasionally visit some remote places.

However, what struck me as odd was that I waited for two whole days, but the General Administration still hadn't sent any news about the Class A warehouse.

Zhao Mingxuan calls me every morning, and his tone remains warm and attentive.

They asked me if I was eating well and if I was comfortable with my accommodation.

But the approval process was never mentioned again.

This is somewhat illogical.

Even if the General Administration's procedures are complicated, the reward payment for an A-level consultant should not be delayed to this extent, without even a definite timetable.

However, I didn't pay much attention to it.

Perhaps the General Administration in the capital is indeed this busy, after all, they are in charge of folk customs affairs across the country.

Or perhaps, some senior figures in the General Administration are deliberately keeping me waiting, wanting to see if this young man from Jiangcheng has enough composure and patience.

I don't care what the reason is.

If they're willing to delay, then I'll take advantage of that time difference to do my own thing.

On the afternoon of the third day, which was the evening of July 8th.

Just like the previous two days, I walked out of the alley and hailed a taxi.

"Driver, go to the western suburbs. Just keep going west along Fushi Road."

I opened the passenger door, got in, and gave them a general direction.

"Alright, young man, fasten your seatbelt."

The taxi driver was a talkative middle-aged man. He stepped on the gas, and the car merged into the evening rush hour traffic.

"Why are you going to such a remote place in the western suburbs so late at night? There's nothing fun there."

"I have a distant relative living over there, so I'm going to visit him on my way."

I made up a reason on the spot and calmly watched the street scene receding outside the window.

The car kept stopping and starting on the ring road.

As you move further away from the city center, the towering glass-walled skyscrapers outside your window gradually decrease, replaced by older six- or seven-story apartment buildings and abandoned factory gates.

The number of pedestrians on the road has also become sparse, and the streetlights seem to be dimmer than in the city.

After driving for about an hour, the car stopped on a slightly dilapidated street.

"Sir, let's stop here. I can walk the rest of the way myself."

I paid the fare and got out of the car.

The air here lacks the heavy smell of car exhaust typical of the city center; instead, it carries the cool, damp atmosphere unique to old bricks and air-raid shelters.

Following the map route I had memorized, I walked along the street and through a narrow alley.

At the end of the alley, a row of somewhat old bungalows came into view.

Above the door of one of the bungalows hangs a wooden plaque with four large characters written in slightly faded red paint: "Veteran's Teahouse".

The teahouse had a small storefront with two dark red wooden doors that were wide open, and a heavy military green curtain hung at the entrance.

I stood at the doorway, took a deep breath, and then lifted the curtain and went inside.

The teahouse was dimly lit, lacking the exquisite decor of upscale teahouses, and there was no melodious guzheng music playing.

The ground was rough cement, with several peeling paint square tables and long benches.

Several faded old posters were pasted on the wall, and there was even a somewhat rusty military canteen in the corner.

The entire space was filled with the smell of cheap jasmine tea mixed with tobacco, exuding a strong sense of vicissitude.

At this time, there were no other customers in the teahouse.

There was only one middle-aged man wearing a faded camouflage vest and sporting a buzz cut, sitting behind a table, head down wiping a set of rough porcelain teaware.

The man had dark skin and several noticeable scars on his arms.

Although his muscles weren't as exaggerated as a fitness coach's, they had a rock-hard texture.

I could sense that there was no internal energy fluctuation from him like that of a cultivator.

But as he sat there, he exuded a steely aura that could only be cultivated through battlefield experience and life-or-death struggles.

Hearing footsteps, the man stopped what he was doing, looked up and glanced at me.

His eyes were calm, yet sharp as an eagle's.

In just a moment, he scanned me from head to toe.

"Young man, would you like some tea?"

The man's voice was deep and resonant.

"We only have broken tea leaves and large bowls of tea here; we don't have any good tea leaves."

"Let's have a pot of Gao Sui (a type of tea) to quench our thirst."

I smiled, walked to the table closest to him, and sat down, placing my hands flat on the table, appearing very proper.

Without saying much, the man turned around, picked up a large aluminum kettle, grabbed a handful of broken tea leaves, and threw them into the coarse porcelain teapot.

As boiling water was poured in, a strong but not particularly sophisticated jasmine fragrance immediately filled the air.

He carried the teapot and two cups to me and placed them heavily on the table.

"Judging from your appearance, you don't seem to live around here."

The man pulled out a stool, sat down opposite me, and stared directly at me.

"Why are you here so late at night? Are you lost, or looking for someone?"

I know this is most likely a test.

I picked up the rough porcelain teacup, gently blew away the tea leaves floating on top, and instead of drinking it, I looked up.

Meeting the man's sharp gaze, I spoke clearly, word by word:

"I'm not lost. I'm here to find someone."

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, leaned forward slightly, and his aura of steely resolve intensified instantly: "Who are you looking for?"

"My name is Chen Yang."

I put down my teacup, looked into his eyes, and calmly gave him my name.

"I arranged to meet someone here."

Upon hearing the name "Chen Yang," the man's pupils contracted slightly.

His previously tense and defensive body relaxed instantly, but his eyes became even more profound.

He didn't question my identity; he just stared at me for a full ten seconds.

It seems to be searching for the shadow of an old friend through my face.

A moment later, the man stood up, walked to the teahouse door, closed the two dark red wooden doors with a creak, and then bolted them shut with heavy bolts.

"Come with me."

The man turned around, his voice no longer as cold and hard as before.

He walked to the innermost door of the teahouse, which was covered by a curtain, lifted the curtain, and gestured for me to go in.

I stood up and, without the slightest hesitation, stepped through that door.