Tianjin, starting with unorthodox methods to achieve immortality

Du'e Zhai's shop was small and dimly lit.

Facing you is a heavy wooden countertop, its surface polished to a shine, with deep and shallow engravings along its edges.

On the wooden shelf behind the counter against the wall, there were some paper boys and girls, as well as paper horses and sedan chairs, scattered about, already covered with a layer of dust.

Chen Mo walked to the shop door and removed the heavy door panels one by one, stacking them against the wall.

His house's front door wasn't the typical double wooden door found in shops; instead, it was made of thick wooden planks pieced together vertically.

Each plank is about a foot wide, with mortise and tenon joints along its edges for interlocking.

During the daytime business hours, these wooden boards need to be unloaded piece by piece and piled up by the door; at night after closing, they need to be put back piece by piece.

These are the unique door panels of the old-style shops on Baishi Street. It is said that unclean things often push the door open at night, and the whole door is easy to push open. However, with these panel doors, even if a few panels are removed, the remaining panels can still be locked in place, making them more secure.

Chen Mo reached out and grabbed the edge of the leftmost door panel.

The wooden board was heavy and cold to the touch, with a surface that had been rubbed until it was shiny.

Pull it upwards forcefully, then pull it outwards.

With a soft "click," the door panel came off the tenon.

The morning light outside immediately poured in through the gap in the door, casting a rectangular patch of light on the ground.

Dust swirled within the beam of light.

Chen Mo leaned the door panel against the wall and went to remove the second one.

"Click, click."

He didn't open the door completely. His father had instructed him that shops on Funeral Street shouldn't have their doors fully open; they should be kept partially shaded and partially sheltered from the sun. That was the rule.

The cold morning wind, carrying the fishy smell of the river, immediately rushed in, causing the faded cloth banner of the Du'e Zhai (a type of ancient Chinese prayer flag) on ​​the lintel to sway slightly.

He picked up the broom from the corner and began sweeping the stone steps in front of the door and a small section of the street.

At this time, shops on the street began to remove their doors one after another, but they rarely greeted each other. They silently went about their business, and most of them had gloomy faces, revealing a kind of numbness formed from years of dealing with death.

Just as I finished scanning, Liu Shoucai, the owner of Fushou Coffin Shop diagonally across the street, strolled out with a pipe in his mouth.

He glanced at Chen Mo and slowly exhaled a smoke ring.

"Little Chen, you're open early today." His voice was a little hoarse, with its usual phlegm-like gurgling. "Has there been any news about your father yet?"

Chen Mo kept working without looking up: "No."

"Sigh," the shopkeeper sighed, whether sincerely or not, "This world is not peaceful... Your father is skilled and honest, but after so long without any news, I'm afraid things are not so good."

"You've already been three months behind on the Black Tiger Gang's sanitation fees. Do you think this shop can even hold on?"

These words sound like concern, but they actually conceal a test.

Although business on Funeral Street is considered unlucky, it's still a source of income.

Chen Dachuan's craftsmanship is renowned in Linhe County, and Du'e Zhai used to have a good business.

Now that the person in charge is gone, and only a half-grown child remains, it's inevitable that some people will have ulterior motives.

Chen Mo stopped sweeping, straightened up, and looked at Liu Shoucai. His eyes were calm and even a little tired from not sleeping well, but for some reason, Liu Shoucai paused slightly as he looked at him, his cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Whether we can hold out or not, we have to try," Chen Mo said calmly. "Thank you for your concern, Boss Liu."

Liu Shoucai chuckled twice, said nothing more, and turned back to his shop.

Chen Mo continued sweeping the floor.

He knew that his fellow practitioners on the street, and even some people nearby who knew about the current situation of Du'e Zhai, were probably watching and even planning how to take advantage of the situation.

The original owner of this body was timid and couldn't command respect. But now...

After sweeping the last stone step, Chen Mo gathered the dust and a few withered leaves and moved them to the ditch by the street.

The chill of the early morning seeped through his thin clothes, causing his already weak body to shiver.

He leaned on his broom and looked up. The entire funeral street looked like a giant gray worm that had just awakened, slowly wriggling, with a strong smell of incense and candles filling the air.

Just then, a series of clattering footsteps, mixed with impatient coughs and phlegm, came from the street corner.

Several men dressed in black short jackets, revealing either thin or bloated chests, strolled over. The one in the lead was not the scarred man who came often, but a skinny man with two mustaches, holding a dirty notebook in his hand, and conspicuously hanging a short knife with a handle wrapped in old cloth at his waist.

Scarface, the main character, followed behind with his arms crossed, his sinister gaze sweeping over each shop.

"Gentlemen, it's the beginning of the month! A clean street means better business for everyone. The Black Tiger Gang has worked hard to maintain it, so it's time to renew the sanitation management fee!"

As soon as he finished speaking, several muffled curses could be faintly heard from the various shops.

"Damn it, so early...unlucky!"

"Sanitation fee? Old Liu, the street sweeper, hasn't been seen for three months, but he's been collecting money frequently!"

"The Black Tiger Gang's territory is so badly damaged that it's practically being scraped clean..."

Despite the complaints, no one dared to actually voice them.

The business people on Funeral Street seemed to have become a little less daring due to the constant exposure to the gloomy atmosphere.

Chen Mo stood on his own steps, looked up at the horizon, where a pale red crescent moon still lingered.

I don't have a watch, but I can roughly estimate that it's between six and seven o'clock at most.

Since when did being a gangster also mean working 996?

The skinny man with the rat-like beard, along with his men, began collecting money from house to house, seemingly familiar with the place.

Upon arriving at Fushou Coffin Shop, Boss Liu had already prepared some silver dollars and handed them over with a smile: "Mr. Xu, good morning, this is just a small token of my appreciation, thank you for your hard work."

The skinny man with the rat-like beard took the money, weighed it in his hand, glanced at the several black-lacquered coffins in the shop, and said with a forced smile, "Boss Liu, business is booming! Next time, send some good timber to the gang. Our Second Master is thinking of getting one ready soon."

Boss Liu's smile froze for a moment, then he nodded repeatedly, "Definitely, definitely."

The process of receiving the money was not smooth sailing.

Upon arriving at Li's incense and paper money shop, Old Man Li, his neck stiff and face flushed, retorted, "I just paid last month! We just opened this month, where am I going to get the money?"

The skinny man with the rat-like whiskers wasn't annoyed; he simply tapped his palm lightly with his notebook: "Old Li, rules are rules. Look at this street; if it weren't for our Black Tiger Gang keeping things under control, how many foolish thieves would come and cause trouble?"

"The business has been disrupted, and the losses are far more than just a few dollars. The gang members also need to eat, so please be understanding."

As he spoke, two men behind him stepped forward half a step, their eyes filled with hostility.

Old Li's lips trembled, but he reluctantly pulled out two silver dollars under his wife's tugging.

The Black Tiger Gang members clearly understood this principle well, employing different strategies for different people.

For those who are honest and timid or whose business is doing well, add a hint or suggestion; for those who are slightly opposed, use a combination of rules and understanding to exert pressure in a soft but firm way.

Only when they encounter truly difficult opponents do people like Scarface, who are actually capable of fighting and killing, step in.

Soon, they arrived at the gate of the Du'e Zhai (a place for people to cross paths with evil spirits).