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

Chapter 146 Wet Paper Money Buys Hot Braised Dishes at Night, Huguo Temple's Fake Neighbors Learn to Cook

"Don't let her pack up."

Cheng Xiaojin put his hand on the car door, his left arm was pulled back a little by Tang Wanqing's red thread. He didn't struggle, but just put the walkie-talkie to his mouth.

"Aunt Liu, pick up that bill with chopsticks, don't touch it, don't burn it, and don't put it near the pot. Cover it with an empty bowl."

The pot lid rattled loudly on the other end of the walkie-talkie, and Aunt Liu shoved away the people who had come to watch with her elbow.

"I didn't touch it. A few young men wanted to watch, but I told them to get lost."

Tong Kexin opened the car door, and the curved spoon hit the door frame; the black watermark around the spoon head was still wet.

"Aunt Liu, don't put out the pot, keep the stove on. Everyone who buys food should ask where they're coming from first."

"I asked, but no one answered. They just put the money on the cutting board, picked up the bowl, and left."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Han Shaobai and used her right hand to pull the seatbelt aside.

"Don't close the ledger completely; slip in a real coin so it knows the public ledger is watching."

Han Shaobai took out a one-yuan coin from his pocket, clipped it to the corner of the ledger page, and smoothed out the clump of soot at the bottom of the bamboo tube.

"I have fifty left, and Shen Jiulou wants change. I can make him feel disgusted this once."

Tieguai Li stepped on the gas and turned the car around, running over broken bricks. Han Shaobai almost slammed the account book down in his face.

"Young master, don't disgust others yet. You're worth more than your warehouse tonight."

Tang Wanqing pressed the outer layer of medicated cloth on Cheng Xiaojin's left arm tightly again, and the ends of the three needles were made black by the car headlights.

Cheng Xiaojin hid the end of the needle in her sleeve, and Tong Kexin saw this in the rearview mirror, her face darkening.

"What are you hiding? I'm not blind."

"I was afraid you'd be upset about the cost of the needles."

"I feel sorry for the pot."

"Okay, I'll go first in line, that's fair."

Tong Kexin didn't answer the question, but instead held the walkie-talkie and asked.

"Aunt Liu, is Aunt Zhang still at her tofu pudding stall?"

First, the stool fell to the ground, then Old Zhao's voice squeezed in.

"Let's go, head to the dead end to the east. I'll carry the bowl and lick the bottom clean, not even a scallion left."

The car fell silent, and Tieguai Li's hands made a soft clicking sound as he squeezed the steering wheel.

Han Shaobai's lips moved slightly.

"Is eating something completely clean a taboo?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked out the car window at the receding streetlights, his knuckles brushing against the mud on the hem of his clothes.

"When a living person eats, no matter how hungry they are, they will leave some soup and oil, so that there is flavor on their chopsticks and warmth on the rim of their bowl. When a dead person tries to eat, they can only swallow it whole, scraping the bottom of the pot and bowl clean. That's called eating everything."

Tong Kexin answered quickly.

"My old man once said that you can't sell out all the food you cook. Leave a little bit at the bottom of the pot so that if the neighbors come late, they can heat up a spoonful. The stall owner also has to eat some."

"Yincheng doesn't know how to stay, they only know how to rob."

Han Shaobai looked down at the account book. The watermark on the back of the old dead account book seemed to be seeping into the cracks of the paper, as if it were biting into the Huguo Temple.

"If it uses real money to buy it, will the deal go through?"

Cheng Xiaojin used the edge of a coin to pry open the corner of the paper without touching the ledger page.

"Real money has been used for gambling, given change at the market, bought popsicles by kids, cigarettes by old men, and handled by vendors. It smells of sweat and oil. Old money, on the other hand, only smells of dirt from the bottom of a well and is just paper."

Tieguai Li glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"Where did the woman in the gray cloth jacket take away that bowl?"

"They're holding the bowl, but the rice isn't being cooked in the pot."

Tong Kexin turned her head.

How did you know?

"You're still hurling insults, so you haven't thrown the blame away yet."

Tieguai Li chuckled for a moment, only to be immediately knocked back by Tong Kexin with a spoon handle.

As the car turned into the intersection of Huguosi Street, the sky was just beginning to turn gray, the streetlights were not fully lit, and a few pots were steaming, but the aroma was weak, and the hot soup had a cold taste from the well water.

Aunt Liu stood in front of Tong's stall, holding long chopsticks in her hand. A rough porcelain bowl was upside down on the cutting board, and the water seeping from the bottom of the bowl was stopped halfway by a ring of salt grains.

Old Zhao huddled behind the steamer basket, gripping the rolling pin and shouting.

"Xiao Jin, that money is trembling at the bottom of the bowl, should I roll it out into dough?"

"Keep that rolling pin for rolling people, but don't touch the money."

When Cheng Xiaojin got out of the car, his footing faltered slightly. Tieguai Li supported his right arm, avoiding his left arm.

Tang Wanqing followed behind, the red thread tied around Cheng Xiaojin's waist like a hospital leash, pulling firmly without any hesitation.

"Dr. Tang, the neighbors are watching, please give me some face."

"Your reputation has been ruined; it's gone forever."

Han Shaobai, clutching the account book, tried to get closer to the pot, but Tong Kexin grabbed him by the back of the neck.

"Stand on the outer edge, don't poke the cracked red part onto the edge of the pot."

Tieguai Li casually stuffed the bamboo tube into the toolbox compartment and weighed it down with scrap iron.

"The pot is someone else's ancestral tablet; young master, don't overstep your bounds by worshipping it."

Cheng Xiaojin walked to the cutting board, but instead of lifting the bowl, he bent down to smell the water seeping from the rim.

Well mud, old paper, cold copper, and a lingering, almost dissipated aroma of braised food.

He took out a coin, held it upright on the outside of the bowl, and gently flicked it. The coin circled the bowl a little, and when it reached the east side, it stuck to the watermark.

Tong Kexin stared in that direction.

"East Dead End Alley"

"When it carries the bowl there, the smell of water follows it back."

Aunt Liu handed over long chopsticks, but Cheng Xiaojin didn't take them; he only looked at Tong Kexin.

"Go ahead and flip it; it's your family's money, you get to set the rules."

Tong Kexin took the chopsticks, the tips of which wedged the edge of the bowl, and flipped it over with a flick of the wrist.

The old one-yuan note, damp and sticky, lay on the cutting board at the bottom of the bowl. The paper was bluish, and a piece of tofu pudding and scallion stuck to the corner of the note, its green color chillingly cold.

Aunt Liu took a half step back.

"These scallions belong to my family, how did they end up on my money?"

Cheng Xiaojin used a coin to press down one corner of the banknote, preventing it from sticking up.

"It buys braised pork and goes to the tofu pudding stall to learn how to make the ingredients. It uses its money like a tongue to get the flavors."

Tang Wanqing used a silver needle to pick up a drop of water from the edge of the banknote. The water droplet climbed up the needle, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent the needle flying into the salt bowl.

Black bubbles appeared on the surface of the salt.

"Don't cook it again; if you cook it again, it will taste different."

Tong Kexin kicked open the stove door, flames leaped up, and oil sizzled in the pot.

"My pot recognizes people, not broken money."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at Aunt Liu.

"Show me where Aunt Zhang is sitting."

There was still half a bowl of braised sauce next to the tofu pudding stall, and a frosted coin on the table. The rim of the bowl was licked until it shone, and not a single crumb was left.

Aunt Liu pointed to the small stool.

"Sitting here, I asked her if she wanted something salty or sweet. She brought herself the salty one, and without even touching her mouth, the bowl emptied."

Old Zhao peeked out from behind.

"I saw the back of her head, her floral-patterned jacket, and her red cotton shoes—the same ones she wore that day."

"Don't mention that day."

Cheng Xiaojin raised his hand to stop him and pointed to two young vendors next to him.

"From now on, no one is allowed to say anyone is gone, no one is allowed to use the word 'dead,' and no one is allowed to call out their full name. If you see someone who seems suspicious, just call them an old neighbor and don't try to give them a new identity."

Aunt Liu immediately called out to both sides.

"Did you all hear that? Anyone who talks nonsense today, I'll smear tofu pudding in their face. Don't call them by name, don't cry, don't bring up the past. Anyone who pretends to be an acquaintance and tries to strike up a conversation, I'll make them pay for the hot food first."

Aunt Wang patted the lid of the steamer.

How do you verify if the money is still hot?

Cheng Xiaojin picked up the coin with chopsticks and dropped it into the empty bowl, where white mist hung from the bottom.

"Real money is warm to the touch, but money learned from others is not. Change must go through the vendor; don't let the customer take it themselves."

Tong Kexin added a sentence.

"We'll sell to the long-time neighbors first, and then we'll deal with strangers after we've gotten to know them."

The young man selling fried dough sticks glanced at the alley entrance, his tongs hovering above the oil pan.

"Are you still setting up your stall today?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked up at him.

"out."

Tong Kexin tapped the curved ladle against the edge of the pot.

"If we don't set up stalls, those guys in the well will learn how to use the pot-fire method. The living street will close down on its own, and the underworld city won't even need an entrance fee."

Tieguai Li raised his chin.

"If you're scared, stand in the back while they're frying dough sticks. Don't stand in the shadows trembling, or the dead won't pay you."

The young man cursed, turned around and put the fried dough sticks into the oil. As soon as the hot oil started to sizzle, a layer of thin air from the street was pushed open.

Cheng Xiaojin glanced at Tong Kexin.

"The oil is sizzling; the street is still alive."

Tong Kexin tugged the red thread around his waist toward Tang Wanqing.

"As long as the street lives, you mustn't die."

Tang Wanqing wrapped the red thread around the copper coin and pinned it to the medicine cloth on Cheng Xiaojin's waist.

"He's only allowed to look today, not listen."

Cheng Xiaojin raised his right hand.

"I promise I won't touch the well."

Tieguai Li glanced at him sideways.

"I guarantee that your odometer reading is about the same as that of a used car."

Just as Han Shaobai was about to laugh, the ledger opened by itself, and a row of dots appeared on the blank page, arranged in a crooked human shape.

The smile on his face vanished.

"Brother Cheng, there's a shadowy figure in the ledger."

Cheng Xiaojin walked over and glanced at it, but didn't touch it.

The water droplets stood on the paper, their faces devoid of features, all tilted towards the braised pot.

"They're coming up."

Under the old locust tree at the corner of Huguosi Street, an old man in a Zhongshan suit sat upright, his eyes fixed on the stone table by the roadside.

A little girl with pigtails was squatting by the wall, her old cloth shoes tapping the ground with the tips of her shoes, but no shadow followed her.

Standing next to the steamed bun shop was a plump woman in a blue apron, her face covered in soot that it looked like it had been soaked in water, her mouth stretched to the sides, staring intently at the steamer.

Aunt Liu gripped the tofu pudding spoon tightly.

"These aren't from our street."

Cheng Xiaojin scanned the ground beneath each stall. The fake neighbors remained silent and did not approach, only staring at the pots, bowls, and the stall owners' hands as they collected money and gave change.

They are learning.

The red rope and copper buckle in Tang Wanqing's palm became hot.

"The sound of the copper reed was faint, so Shen Jiulou told Yin Cheng to learn it himself."

Cheng Xiaojin used chopsticks to pick up the wet money and put it into the broken porcelain plate, then asked Aunt Liu to sprinkle salt on the outside of the plate.

"Let them learn wrong."

Tieguai Li's eyes lit up.

How do you corrupt students?

Cheng Xiaojin waved to the neighbors. Aunt Wang, carrying a steamer basket of buns, Old Zhao, carrying a rolling pin, Aunt Liu, holding a spoonful of tofu pudding, and Little Youtiao, holding long chopsticks, all gathered around.

"The rules for the morning market have changed today."

He lit them one by one.

"First, we do not accept money that is frosty or wet; if the money is not warm, the transaction is not considered complete."

"Secondly, if a customer finishes the bottom of the bowl, we won't sell it a second time. If there's no oil left at the bottom of the bowl, it's a dead end for a poor cook."

"Third, when you strike up a conversation, don't stop talking. Don't answer any questions. Just make him call you by your nickname. If he can't, then get lost."

Aunt Liu asked immediately.

"And me?"

"Tofu Pudding Liu".

Old Zhao was not happy.

"And me?"

"Baozi Zhao"

Tieguai Li interrupted.

"Zhao's wrinkles are even more striking."

Old Zhao raised the rolling pin, and the neighbors laughed a few times, the laughter varying in pitch. Several fake shadows on the street corner all tilted their heads in unison, their uniformity sending chills down one's spine.

Cheng Xiaojin pointed to the past.

"See? The living can't laugh in unison, but the dead can. If all the customers at your stall turn their heads away at once, don't sell to them."

Tong Kexin scooped out a small bowl of soup and handed it to Aunt Liu.

"Give the first bite to someone you know, so they can try it."

Aunt Liu took a sip, and it was so hot that she gasped for breath.

"It's too salty."

"I'm letting you experience the spirit of life, not asking you to critique the craft."

Aunt Liu wiped her mouth.

"It's so hot, I want to curse."

Cheng Xiaojin nodded.

"Swearing counts as keeping people alive."

Han Shaobai finally put down his pen.

"At the Huguosi morning market, the first bite is given to acquaintances, no wet money is accepted, empty bowls are not refilled, and fake customers are ignored."

As the words fell, the water droplets on the paper receded slightly, and the fake neighbors were still standing at the street corner.

Zhou Banxian's voice came through the old walkie-talkie at the stall, mixed with the sound of the compass needle rattling around.

"Xiao Jin, the third pile is floating; someone just lifted it up from below."

Cheng Xiaojin took the walkie-talkie.

"How much will it float?"

"The compass needle doesn't recognize north, and there's a fake street under Huguo Temple, so the stakes might be mistaken."

Tong Kexin put the pot lid aside, and the smoky aroma from the pot rose up, wetting the stray hairs on her forehead.

"Let it recognize the pot."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at her.

"It's not enough for it to recognize just one pot; now it's learning the whole street."

Tieguai Li pointed east into a dead end.

"Block it at the source."

Tang Wanqing glanced at the red thread.

"You cannot go deeper."

"I'm not going in."

Cheng Xiaojin casually took three hot bun wrappers from Lao Zhao's stall and wrapped them in paper.

Old Zhao got anxious.

"It's freshly steamed."

"Keep accounts and calculate the city's defenses."

Han Shaobai added a line to the corner of the account book.

"Old Zhao has three steamed bun wrappers, borrowed for city defense, for flexible accounts."

Old Zhao rubbed his hands together.

"Don't let the dead eat for nothing."

The group walked eastward into the dead end along the street. Cheng Xiaojin was in the middle, Tang Wanqing stayed close to Hongxian, Tong Kexin held a curved spoon on the other side, and Tieguai Li carried a rolled-up steel pipe to clear the way.

The blue bricks at the entrance of the alley were damper than elsewhere, and the black and green moss at the base of the wall was covered with white specks of tofu pudding, bits of braised oil, and a piece of chopped scallion.

From deep within the alley came the soft sound of a bowl hitting the wall, one after another.

Tong Kexin lifted the spoon.

"Who's inside?"

Cheng Xiaojin held down her spoon handle.

"Don't ask who it is, it's waiting for you to give it an identity."

Tieguai Li spat towards the wall, and white steam rose from the ground.

"Then why ask?"

Cheng Xiaojin broke open the bun skin, letting the steam escape, and placed it on the ground at the entrance of the alley.

"Ask about food."

He shouted inside.

"Should I dip my steamed buns in vinegar or garlic?"

The clattering stopped.

The figure in the floral-patterned jacket slowly turned around, her face hidden in shadow, holding an empty rough porcelain bowl from Tong Kexin's stall.

Bright.

It didn't move its mouth, but squeezed out a dry, guttural sentence.

"Braised, with chili."

Tong Kexin's hands tightened, and Cheng Xiaojin held her down.

"You're wrong. Aunt Zhang used to only eat tofu pudding with the braising sauce. She has a bad stomach, and if she just dips it in chili, she'll yell at Aunt Liu for half a street."

Black water dripped from the cuffs of the floral-patterned jacket, and it took him a moment to change his tune.

"Not spicy."

Aunt Liu's eyes had just started to well up with tears when Old Zhao nudged her with his arm.

"Don't cry, Xiao Jin said crying is a sign of sadness."

Aunt Liu forced herself to swallow her anger and picked up the tofu pudding spoon to curse.

"You mimicking thing! Even Aunt Zhang's insults have a Tianjin accent. Your voice sounds like a rotten cardboard box, and you dare to pretend to be a neighbor?"

The floral pattern on the floral jacket started to bleed.

Cheng Xiaojin moved the second bun wrapper to the side.

"Let me ask you again, do you leave any dough after eating steamed buns?"

Water seeped from the walls of the alley, and many faces were crowded behind the walls, their mouths opening and closing.

"Finish eating."

Old Zhao slammed the rolling pin on the ground.

"Wrong again. Aunt Zhang has bad teeth. Every time, she leaves half a wrapper and complains that my noodles are too hard. She's been eating for free for ten years and she's still picky."

She stepped back in her floral-patterned jacket, and mud from the well surfaced beneath her feet on the blue bricks.

Tong Kexin stared at the rough porcelain bowl.

"Give me back my bowl."

The woman in the floral-patterned jacket held the bowl tightly, the rim of the bowl gently tapping against each other.

Cheng Xiaojin took out real money and placed it on the third bun wrapper.

"The bowl is an old item from a street vendor; it already has an owner. If you didn't buy it, taking it would be considered stealing."

Han Shaobai wrote it down immediately.

"A rough porcelain bowl used for braising at the Tong family's restaurant near Huguo Temple. It has an owner and a stall, and there's a pot and fire for payment. Wet money hasn't been collected yet. If the sale doesn't go through, take it away."

For theft.

As the word "steal" was uttered, the bowls in the alley rattled and fell apart. The woman in the floral-patterned jacket couldn't hold the bowls with both hands, and the rims of the bowls slipped from her palms.

Tieguai Li swung a steel pipe and smashed it onto the rusty bicycle frame at the entrance of the alley. The sound of the metal hitting the ground dissipated, the water droplets on the wall were shaken off, and all the gossiping mouths behind him fell silent.

"Give back the bowl, don't let Master Li come in to collect scrap."

The woman in the floral-patterned jacket looked up, but her face lacked Aunt Zhang's features, only showing the outline of a wet paper mask. Her eye sockets were empty, and her mouth was filled with white foam from tofu pudding.

Aunt Liu cursed even more fiercely.

"You think you're worthy to smear my tofu pudding on my face?"

Tong Kexin stepped forward, swept the spoon horizontally, and the spoon head, carrying hot soup and oil droplets, grazed her wrist in her floral-patterned jacket.

The wet paper burned through her wrist, and the rough porcelain bowl fell down.

Cheng Xiaojin hooked the bowl back with his right foot, and Tieguai Li used the end of his steel pipe to hold the rim of the bowl and steadily pushed it out of the alley.

Tang Wanqing flicked out the red thread, not wrapping it around the floral jacket, but only around the rim of the bowl, pulling it out of the yin energy.

As soon as the bowl was taken out of the alley, Aunt Liu sprinkled salt, and Tong Kexin ladled hot soup to pour over the bottom of the bowl.

The oil swirls at the bottom of the bowl, and a slight hiss comes from the rough porcelain; it can finally breathe again.

The woman in the floral-patterned jacket, now without her bowl, leaned against the wall, but several hands peeked out from the shadows at the base of the wall, carrying half-finished bowls and plates.

Han Shaobai's face turned pale.

"They stole more than one bowl."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the objects, his right fingertip brushing against the seam of his pants, but he stubbornly didn't move his left hand.

"Retreat, don't get dragged into the alley, the Yin City is holding classes inside."

When Tieguai Li retreated, he kicked three steamed bun wrappers on the ground, and the hot wrappers stuck to the wet mud of the blue bricks, emitting white steam.

"Assign some homework."

The group returned to the main street of the morning market. The smell of cooking pots was stronger there, but the old man in the Zhongshan suit under the old locust tree had already sat down at the stone table.

A chessboard was laid out in front of him, with the chess pieces neatly arranged. The black pieces were next to him, while the red pieces were empty, waiting for someone to sit down.

An elderly man who was doing his morning exercise came over carrying a birdcage. When he saw someone sitting at the stone table, he exclaimed in surprise.

"Old Hu? You're here early today."

Cheng Xiaojin's expression changed.

Don't go over there.

The old man had already taken a step when the thrush in the birdcage suddenly stopped chirping and buried its head under its wings.

The old man in the Zhongshan suit raised his hand and waved, his sleeves remaining still.

"Next game."

Tieguai Li rushed ahead of the old man and slammed his steel pipe into the ground.

"Sir, the physical examination is free today, please go to the back."

The old man was not happy.

Who are you?

Tieguai Li pushed the birdcage into his arms.

"You bird-keeper, your bird is pretending to be dead, what's the point of playing chess?"

Cheng Xiaojin walked to the stone table, placed an old newspaper on it, and emptied out the old wooden chess set he had collected from Panjiayuan from his pocket.

The red and black chess pieces were scattered on the table, and a few rolled to the edge, which he stopped with a coin.

Han Shaobai said in a low voice.

"You even brought a chess set?"

"The poor people of Panjiayuan may have everything in their pockets, but they have no money."

Cheng Xiaojin picked up the red general and placed it in the center, then sent the red cannon to the dead position.

Tieguai Li frowned.

"Do you know how to play?"

"No, even a living person wouldn't dare to go down there."

The old man in the Zhongshan suit stretched out two thin, dry fingers, picked up the black horse, and captured the red cannon according to the chess manual.

Cheng Xiaojin immediately took the red cannon back and put it back in its original place.

"No, it didn't count. It was a slip of the hand."

The old man in the Zhongshan suit stopped his hand above the chessboard.

The old man got anxious.

"Who plays chess like that?"

Cheng Xiaojin turned around and smiled at him.

"Sir, do you usually take back your moves?"

The old man puffed out his chest.

"I call that studying the situation."

Aunt Liu chimed in.

"You're still stealing things! Last time you hid my old man's car in your sleeve."

The old man couldn't save face.

"A chess piece fell into my sleeve."

Cheng Xiaojin turned around and moved the red cannon one space.

"See? Living people can be shameless, stubborn, and sore losers when playing chess, but dead people can only recite chess scores."

The old man in the Zhongshan suit's fingers trembled. Hei Zi couldn't continue along the original path. It stared at the red cannon that had been taken back and moved again, and squeezed out a dry sentence.

"Once a move is made, there's no going back."

Cheng Xiaojin put Hong Shuai in his pocket.

I regret it.

Tieguai Li laughed out loud.

"This kind of sportsmanship will wake him up even after he dies from all the scolding from his fellow chess players."

The neighbors burst into laughter, the laughter rising and falling in a chaotic mix. Some slapped their thighs, some cursed the old man, and some called Cheng Xiaojin a terrible chess player.

The fabric on the old man in the Zhongshan suit was torn in pieces, and black liquid and paper ash were flowing out.

Han Shaobai quickly wrote down the accounts.

"In a game of chess played by living people, it's common for them to take back moves, deny mistakes, and argue. But with dead people, the game is unpredictable, and a game cannot be arranged."

With the final stroke, the old man in the Zhongshan suit, along with the fake chess piece, collapsed into black water, crawling down the crack in the stone table, only to be blocked by the ashes that Tieguai Li had scattered at the foot of the table.

Tieguai Li raised an eyebrow.

"Master Li can also predict the future."

Cheng Xiaojin handed Hong Shuai to the old man.

"Sir, here you go. Whoever asks you to play chess today, they have to take back three moves first."

The old man gripped the red-handed man tightly, and the slight resentment on his face slowly faded.

"What about Lao Hu?"

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the black water under the stone table.

"It wasn't him."

The old man didn't ask any more questions, and hugged the birdcage tightly. Only then did the thrush chirp once, its voice sharp and full of life.

The streets have become a little lively again, but only a little.

Under the shade of trees, by the wall, next to the steamed bun shop, those indistinct fake neighbors no longer pretend to be familiar. They raise their faces, their paper outlines fall off, revealing eye sockets filled with mud from the well.

Tong Kexin lifted the pot lid and scooped up half a spoonful of the broth with a bent ladle.

"Can't keep up the act anymore?"

Cheng Xiaojin put the chess pieces into his cloth bag and pointed to the feet of each stall.

"I just learned how to buy food, how to recognize people, and how to play chess, but I couldn't learn them all. Now I have to rob."

Tang Wanqing shook off the red thread, walked around the legs of the three stalls, and formed a boundary for living people.

"Neighbors, step back behind the pot, don't stand in the shadows."

Aunt Liu pulled the tofu pudding bucket behind her, Aunt Wang tightened the steamer lid, and Xiao Youtiao turned up the heat of the oil pan, making the sizzling sound of hot oil intensify.

The fake neighbors simultaneously lunged at Tong Kexin's braised pot, their movements synchronized, without panting or unevenness.

The plump woman in the blue apron at the front opened her mouth, her grayish-white tongue, tasting of wet money, and licked towards the edge of the pot.

Tong Kexin didn't back down. She pressed down on the pot handle with her left hand, grabbed the ladle with her right hand, and poured half a ladle of boiling broth over her head.

The aroma of fatty intestines and roasted noodles, along with the salty savory flavors emanating from the bottom of the pot after more than a decade, all clung to the face of the woman in the blue apron. Paper blistered, and well mud was forced out by the hot oil.

It let out a shriek, its throat filled with a fake hawking cry: tofu pudding, steamed buns, fried dough sticks, braised pork, all mixed together.

Tong Kexin kicked open the stove door, and flames leaped to the bottom of the pot.

"You've got the wrong name. We don't call our braised pork that."

Tieguai Li rushed up from the side, removed the outer shell of his prosthetic leg, and smashed it onto the shoulder of another student zombie. The thing's shoulder collapsed, and unchewed fried dough stick crumbs fell out.

"They can't even understand how to eat properly, yet they're fighting over food."

Tang Wanqing's red thread wrapped around the ankles of the two student corpses. The thread faded as soon as it touched the well mud. She immediately cut the thread, and a silver needle flew out from the end of the thread, nailing into the crack of the blue bricks next to the student corpse's feet.

"Don't leave them there for too long, they'll live off the line."

Cheng Xiaojin stood beside the pot, without using Xin Jin, and with his right hand grabbed the bowl of chili oil and poured it on the ground. The chili oil spread along the cracks in the blue bricks, blocking several hands that crawled out from the shadows.

"Aunt Liu, scallion oil."

Aunt Liu poured a small bowl of scallion oil over him. The aroma of the oil was so strong that Jingni's hand shrank back into the shadows.

"Old Zhao, the bun wrappers."

Old Zhao threw them away while feeling heartbroken.

"This is all money."

Han Shaobai wrote and shouted at the same time.

"I'll borrow it for the city's defenses, and I'll keep track of it for you."

"Then throw in two more."

The hot bun skin stuck to the ground, absorbing the black water and swelling up, but it didn't break, stubbornly pressing the well mud down.

Several early-morning customers who were actually buying food were so frightened that they tried to run away, but Cheng Xiaojin immediately called them back.

"Don't scatter, if the road is empty, they'll fill the gap."

Tieguai Li kicked a student zombie back into the shadows and roared back.

"If you want to live, curse them. Don't cry. Curse them for stealing your food and not paying you."

Aunt Wang was the first to speak, her voice so loud it made the steamer lid bounce.

"If you steal steamed buns and don't pay, even your ancestors' graves will be ashamed of you!"

Aunt Liu followed.

"Eating the entire bowl of tofu pudding and even licking the scallions—what an uncultured person!"

Old Zhao wielded the rolling pin.

"You think you're worthy of leaving my steamed bun wrappers? Even a living person wouldn't want them if they were too hard!"

The shouts were chaotic, mixed with the smell of cooking oil, the heat, and the clatter of pot lids. The cardboard on the learning corpse began to curl up, and the learned hawking cries were drowned out by the real voice.

Cheng Xiaojin seized the opportunity and shouted to Han Shaobai.

"Write it down, or the person who forcibly takes it will have their bowl smashed."

Han Shaobai's wrist trembled with pain, but the pen tip didn't stop.

"At Huguo Temple, meals for living people are not charged for wet meals. If a deal is not made and someone tries to snatch the food before it's done, the bowl will be smashed and the debt will be severed."

As the pages turned yellow, several student zombies who rushed towards the braised pot simultaneously produced semi-transparent bowl shadows in their hands. Before the bowl shadows could take shape, their edges cracked, turning into black water.

Tong Kexin poured out another spoonful of soup, scalding the two students at the front of the table.

"It's my pot, anyone who tries to take it will have their hands ruined."

Tieguai Li used the deformed shell of his prosthetic leg to wedge the neck of a student corpse and dragged it to the sewer well. Tang Wanqing then used her silver needles to fix the manhole cover, nailing the end of the needle to the rust on the edge of the manhole cover.

Cheng Xiaojin flicked the coin right in the center of the manhole cover.

The coin spun twice, making a muffled sound. The black water under the well cover surged upwards, only to be blocked by the coin, the silver needle, the soot from the pot, the dumpling skin, and other miscellaneous materials.

Iron-Crutch Li, panting, retrieved the outer shell of the prosthetic limb, which had been corroded and pitted in several places.

Han Shaobai looked at the pit and his lips twitched.

"Is this considered a work-related injury?"

"That's a terrible review, even from the underworld."

The zombie retreated into the shadows, leaving only black water and rotten, wet scraps of money on the street.

Aunt Liu picked up a piece of scrap paper with long chopsticks, and was about to look at it when Cheng Xiaojin stopped her.

"Don't look at the words; they want to use your eyes to find your way."

Aunt Liu threw the shredded paper into the salt bowl.

"unlucky----"

Tong Kexin covered the pot with the lid, her hand reddened from the hot soup, but she ignored it, her eyes fixed on the rough porcelain bowl she had just snatched back.

The steam was still rising from the bottom of the bowl, but a watermark had appeared around the inside of the bowl, circling the bowl and carrying the reflection of the well bottom.

Tang Wanqing touched the rim of the bowl with a silver needle. The needle tip wasn't black, but it felt cold.

"The bowl has been illuminated."

Tieguai Li frowned.

"What does 'taken photos' mean?"

Cheng Xiaojin held a cloth over the bowl and looked into the depths of the dead-end alley to the east.

At the end of the dead end, there was an abandoned old well that was originally sealed with cement. Now, black water was seeping from the edges of the cement. A deep grinding sound came from inside the well, and someone was pushing a stone mill, grinding the bottom of the bowl round and round.

Tong Kexin gripped the curved spoon tightly.

"My bowl is here."

"The ones on the ground are here."

Cheng Xiaojin looked at the well opening, his face darkening.

There's another one at the bottom of the well.

Old Zhao draped the rolling pin over his shoulder.

"How can there be two bowls in one?"

Han Shaobai opened his account book himself, and a circular watermark emerged from beneath the broken bowl and broken account book. The watermark reflected the rough porcelain bowl, even the chipped bottom of the bowl was the same.

The water in the well churned, and a reflection appeared on the surface of the black water.

The reflection wasn't of the well wall, but of the Huguosi morning market, with stalls, stoves, steamed buns, tofu pudding buckets, and pancake carts all lined up at the bottom of the well, blurred through a layer of wet paper.

The figure in the floral-patterned jacket stood at the entrance of the street at the bottom of the well, holding an identical coarse porcelain bowl in its hand, steam still rising from the rim.

Tong Kexin bent the ladle and lifted it, aiming it at the wellhead.

"It wasn't enough that it stole food; it also wanted to replicate my stall."

Cheng Xiaojin pressed down on the back of her spoon, the blue thread on his left arm twitching twice under the medicated cloth. He bit down on the metallic taste in his mouth, not letting his hand touch the edge of the well.

The bowl at the bottom of the well turned gently, its bottom facing upwards, reflecting the entire Huguosi Street.

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the bowl and squeezed out two words through gritted teeth.

"Don't smash it."

Tong Kexin looked at him.

Why?

The grinding sound at the bottom of the well grew louder and louder, and the whole fake street was learning to light a fire, learn to hold a bowl, and learn to wait for the first bite of food.

Cheng Xiaojin tucked the rough porcelain bowl he had snatched back into his arms, pressing his right hand against the ring of steam rising from the bottom of the bowl.

"It waits for us to smash the bowl. Once the bowl is broken, the one on the ground will be one less, and the one at the bottom of the well will become real."