Becoming an immortal from a canal worker

The kitchen was located at the westernmost end of the dock, and you could smell a strong odor of cooking oil and sourness from a distance.

This is where the lower-level members of the Tsing Yi Society and the canal workers fill their stomachs. Several large black pots, each a meter in diameter, are placed under an open-air shed, with coal ash and rotten wood burning underneath, and flames leaping high.

The pot was simmering with some kind of offal, bubbling away with murky bubbles and a thick layer of oil floating on top.

Chen Ping walked to the window where meals were distributed.

The man in charge of serving the food was a fat man with a face full of scars, shirtless, with a chest covered in dark chest hair. He was holding a large iron ladle and impatiently tapping the edge of the pot, making a crisp "clang clang" sound.

"What are you doing? It's way past lunchtime!" The fat man glanced at Chen Ping sideways, his eyes looking at him like he was looking at a stray dog ​​begging for food.

"Ghost Hand Zhang told me to come and get the meat."

Chen Ping spoke calmly, pushing the hundred coins he hadn't even warmed in his arms further inside, leaving only a corner showing, before discreetly putting them back, making the fat man hear the sound.

Upon hearing the name "Ghost Hand Zhang" and the sound of money, the fat man's face twitched.

Without saying a word, he turned around and grabbed two palm-sized pieces of fatty meat from the ceramic basin on the cutting board behind him.

The meat had been cooked for who knows how long; it was all white and still dripping oil. There weren't any seasonings added, and it looked rather greasy.

"Take it! You're getting a good deal, kid."

The fat man casually tossed two pieces of meat onto the cutting board in front of Chen Ping with a "thud," splattering a few drops of oil.

Chen Ping didn't pay attention to the fat man's attitude.

He stretched out his finger and pressed the meat.

It's very elastic and has a thick layer of oil.

For manual laborers, fat is more precious than lean meat; it can stave off hunger and provide enough strength for half a day.

Without saying much, he took out a piece of tattered burlap from his pocket, wrapped the meat in it, and turned to leave.

Instead of rushing back to his shack, Chen Ping found a sheltered corner and squatted down.

This place faces the night market at the pier, but it's really just a piece of rotten land that the gang has carved out.

Several bonfires were lit, and a group of canal workers and their hangers-on, who had just finished work and had nowhere to vent their energy, gathered around them.

The shouts, curses, and the sound of dice hitting bowls and plates were all mixed together, making it so noisy it was giving me a headache.

"Open! Open! Big, big, big!"

"Damn it, we lost again! My wages!"

Chen Ping looked at the group of people.

Most of these people are like him, or even worse.

Exhausted like a dog during the day, he would take the thirty coins at night and throw them into the gambling den or sneak into the brothel next door with its tattered curtains.

Drink today, for tomorrow we may die.

This is the norm here.

Everyone feels they won't live to see tomorrow, so they want to spend all their money today.

Chen Ping opened the burlap sack, grabbed a piece of still-warm fatty meat, and stuffed it into his mouth.

It had no salty taste, only a fishy, ​​greasy smell.

But he chewed very carefully.

The teeth cut through the muscle fibers, and the oil exploded in the mouth.

"Plop...plop..."

The sound of someone smoking a pipe rang out nearby, followed by the pungent smell of cheap tobacco leaves.

"Cough cough... cough cough cough!"

Then came a violent coughing fit, as if the lungs were about to be coughed up.

Chen Ping continued chewing and glanced back.

In the shadows, a hunched old man crouched.

The old man held a well-worn tobacco pipe in his hand, tapping the ash off his pipe against the sole of his shoe.

Sparks flew in the darkness, illuminating his wrinkled face.

Only one of his eyes was open; the other eyelid drooped, like a withered tree hollow.

It's Old Liu.

This old man is an oddity at the dock.

He neither gambled nor frequented brothels. Besides working, he would squat in a corner smoking all day. He looked like he was about to die at any moment, but he lived longer than anyone else.

"Uncle Liu," Chen Ping called out, swallowing the meat in his mouth.

Liu Laoguo ignored him, only breathing heavily for a few moments, spitting out a mouthful of thick phlegm with blood streaks on the ground, before tilting his head and staring at Chen Ping with his one eye, then looking at the bulging copper coins in his arms.

"I heard you just killed a water monkey?"

The old man's voice was hoarse, like two pieces of torn sandpaper rubbing together.

Chen Ping nodded: "We were lucky."

"How much did Ghost Hand Zhang give you?"

"One hundred coins, plus these two pieces of meat," Chen Ping said truthfully, adding, "The cost of the whistle is waived."

"Hey."

Old Liu suddenly chuckled. The laughter was strange, carrying an indescribable mockery.

He picked up his pipe and pointed to the piece of fatty meat in Chen Ping's hand:

"One hundred coins for two pieces of rotten meat... and I sold my life."

Chen Ping frowned: "That's quite a lot, enough for three days' wages."

According to his calculations, this was indeed a worthwhile deal.

The risks have passed, and the benefits are real.

"Silly boy."

Old Liu took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling a ring of bluish-white smoke, his eyes somewhat unfocused.

"Do you know what price this water monkey is in the eyes of experts?"

Chen Ping's heart skipped a beat.

He recalled the old man with missing ears who seemed hesitant to speak, and then he remembered how impatiently Ghost Hand Zhang had ordered the body to be carried away.

"How much?" Chen Ping asked.

Old Liu stretched out three fingers that looked like withered tree branches and waved them in front of Chen Ping.

"Thirty coins?" Chen Ping asked tentatively.

Old Liu rolled his eyes, giving him a look as if he were an idiot.

"Three taels! Three taels of pure silver!"

"The skin of the water monkey can be used to make water-repellent armor, and its bones can be soaked in wine to treat rheumatism. If you encounter a martial artist who urgently needs his heart's blood to make medicine, people will fight over it for five taels of silver!"

Chen Ping's chewing motion froze completely.

Three taels of silver.

Three thousand coins.

The hundred coins in his pocket were just a small amount.

No, it's not even a fraction of what's left; it's just a tiny bit of scraps that slipped through their fingers.

That's only three percent.

A sense of absurdity instantly welled up inside me.

"Ghost Hand Zhang..."

The fatty meat in Chen Ping's mouth suddenly tasted bland.

An unnamed anger surged up from the bottom of his heart, making his chest feel suffocated.

He tightened his grip on the burlap, his knuckles turning white.

"What's wrong? Still upset?"

Old Liu had been observing Chen Ping's expression. Seeing a flash of fierceness in the young man's eyes, the old man tapped his cigarette ash and chuckled:

"If you're still angry, go and snatch it back! The body hasn't been transported far yet. If you chase after it now and stab that fat Ghost Hand Zhang, those three taels of silver are yours."

Chen Ping took a deep breath.

Almost instantly, the fierce glint in his eyes vanished.

"Uncle Liu is joking."

Chen Ping let go, picked up the remaining piece of meat, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed it vigorously.

"He's a trained fighter; I can't beat him."

He was angry, but he wasn't stupid.

He only had brute strength, while Ghost Hand Zhang was the head of the Green Robe Society and had a group of thugs around him.

Rushing in now would be pointless except for suicide.

Old Liu was somewhat surprised.

His one cloudy eye lit up slightly, as if for the first time he truly saw this usually taciturn young man clearly.

"You're... kind of interesting."

Old Liu looked down at his pipe; it was long since burned out.

Instead of taking out his pipe, he stretched out his little finger with its long nail and pried hard in the scalding copper pot, managing to pry out a bit of tobacco residue stuck in the gap, pressed it back in, and lit it.

"It's better than those idiots like Old Man with Missing Ear. All they know is fear, but even if you know fear, it's useless."

Chen Ping did not respond.

He swallowed the last bite of fatty meat and wiped the grease off his mouth with the back of his hand.

Angry? Of course I'm angry.

Three taels of silver, stolen just like that, anyone would want to kill someone.

But he knew very well that anger came at a cost.

Now, he's just a strong canal worker.

No background, no martial arts skills, no connections.

Even if he knew the truth, what could he do?

At this dock, the weak don't even have the right to know the truth, let alone fairness.

"Three ounces it is then."

Chen Ping stood up, dusted himself off, and spoke in a calm tone as if he were talking about someone else:

"Anyway, I have nowhere to sell it. This hundred coins is all I can get. Any money I can't get isn't mine."

Old Liu was stunned for a moment, then began to cough violently, laughing as he coughed:

"Ahem... Well said, 'Money you can't have isn't yours.' With this mindset, you're destined for great things, but also a miser."

Chen Ping did not refute.

What's wrong with being a miser?

Looking at the canal workers not far away, still yelling at the gambling table and losing everything except their underwear, Chen Ping felt sorry for them.

They sold their lives to the gang, returned their money to the gambling den, and finally died in some ditch, unable to even earn a meager living.

He doesn't want to become like that.

He touched the copper coins in his pocket, a feeling of heavy security.

"Uncle Liu, I'm going back."

Chen Ping nodded to Liu Laoguo, then turned and walked into the darkness.

Liu Laoguo watched his retreating figure, took a drag of his cigarette, and muttered to himself, "He's a good prospect... What a pity, in this world, good prospects don't live long."