Old Mrs. Song is reborn; get out of here, you scumbag husband and illegitimate child!

Early the next morning.

The Song family's courtyard was filled with the aroma of soy milk and fried dough sticks.

Song Xianglan and Mr. and Mrs. Shen sat around the dining table.

Breakfast was quickly finished.

Shen Huijun went to take her two children to school; they had their exams today.

There are only three old guys left in the house.

Song Xianglan came out of the kitchen, holding a gleaming boning knife. She found a newspaper, carefully wrapped the blade in several layers, and then stuffed it into her worn canvas bag.

Mrs. Shen stared in disbelief. "My dear in-law, why are you bringing this along?"

"For self-defense."

Song Xianglan slung her bag over her shoulder, speaking matter-of-factly, "Those urban villages are full of all sorts of people. If you run into an unreasonable thug, how can you survive without a weapon?"

"If we hadn't had the knife yesterday, we would have definitely been bullied."

Upon hearing this, Shen's mother wholeheartedly agreed. "You're right. I should bring something too."

She turned and went into the kitchen. Less than half a minute later, Shen's mother came out with a large cleaver.

Song Xianglan's eye twitched, and she quickly stopped her.

"Put it down right now. What are you going to do with that thing? You might accidentally chop off your own foot instead of someone else."

Shen's mother looked down at the heavy kitchen knife and thought it made sense.

She turned and went back into the storage room. When she came out again, she had a sturdy hiking stick in her hand.

"This is good. It's easy to swing around and can also be used as a cane." Mrs. Shen patted the ground with satisfaction.

Mr. Shen, who had been standing by and watching coldly, finally couldn't hold back any longer.

"Can you two just shut up for a second?" Mr. Shen looked speechlessly at the two fully armed old ladies. "How old are we? Do you really think we're going to fight the mafia? Those people are just after money. I don't believe that everyone in Shenzhen is unreasonable."

As he spoke, Mr. Shen hung his precious camera around his neck and adjusted the length of the strap.

Song Xianglan and Shen's mother turned their heads at the same time.

She looked him up and down.

Mr. Shen's attire today was exactly as Song Xianglan had requested last night.

An old man's undershirt, slightly yellowed from washing, was loosely draped over his body.

Her lower body was covered by a pair of loose, dark blue shorts, the legs of which almost reached her knees.

She was wearing a pair of cheap plastic flip-flops. Her hair, which was usually meticulously combed, wasn't styled with mousse today, and the wind blew, causing the white hairs to flutter wildly on her head.

He looked exactly like a retired old man who had just come back from collecting scraps at the market.

"Old Shen, you look great in this outfit. If you just stand there, no one would think you're rich," Song Xianglan said, suppressing a laugh.

Mr. Shen snorted coldly.

He ignored her and walked straight out of the yard.

The three of them left the compound.

I flagged down a covered tricycle at the intersection.

"Master, go to Xiasha Village," Song Xianglan announced the location.

The tricycle driver responded, put one foot on the pedal, and the tricycle wobbled forward.

The road surface was uneven, and the tricycle bounced violently.

The three old men sat in the back of the truck, being jostled about.

After finally reaching our destination, the driver applied the brakes.

"We've arrived. Get off. It'll cost three yuan."

Mr. Shen took out three one-yuan coins and handed them over.

The three old men helped each other out of the car.

The moment my foot touched the ground, I heard a crisp sound of bones breaking.

Song Xianglan stretched her shoulders, and her joints made a "crack" sound. "Oh dear, these old bones of mine are about to fall apart."

Mrs. Shen rubbed her aching back and said, "That's right. I'll have to ask Huijun to buy me some plasters when we get back."

"I need to buy some calcium supplements to replenish my calcium levels."

Song Xianglan glanced sideways at Shen's father, who was fiddling with his camera, and gave him a worried reminder:

"My dear in-law, let's get this straight. Once we're inside, our main task is to take photos and catch you in the act. Don't you dare make any of those 'artist' mistakes."

Forget about lighting, angles, and composition. Just get a clear shot of Lin Ximei's face, understand?

Shen's mother also chimed in from the side:

"If you delay things because of looking for light, and someone gets away or finds out, I'll go back and uproot all your orchids and stew them with meat."

Mr. Shen was so annoyed by the two people nagging him from both sides that he rolled his eyes.

"How come you guys are even more talkative than the neighborhood committee aunties?" Mr. Shen shielded his camera to his chest. "I've lived this long, do you think I can't even tell what's important and what's urgent? Just watch me."

The three walked side by side into the alley of Xiasha Village.

The self-built houses on both sides are very close together, and the clotheslines extending from the second floor are almost touching. A tangled mess of electrical wires hangs overhead, like a giant spider web.

The alley was lined with all sorts of stalls.

The stalls selling cheap clothes, pirated cassette tapes, and various snacks filled the air with the smell of cooking oil mixed with cheap perfume, making people dizzy.

The stall owners, speaking in various regional accents, shouted their wares at the top of their lungs.

People were arguing heatedly at the stall over a few cents.

Suddenly, a loud shout came from somewhere: "The joint defense team is checking temporary residence permits!"

That shout.

It's like a drop of water being poured into a calm pan of oil.

The once bustling alleyway instantly erupted into chaos.

The vendor pushed his cart and ran away.

People who bought things didn't even bother to haggle; they clutched their bags and fled in all directions.

The crowd was bumping around like headless flies.

Mr. Shen was looking at a shop sign with his camera when, unexpectedly, a shirtless young man rushed towards him from behind.

The young man was running too fast, and his shoulder slammed into Shen's father's back.

"Ouch!" Mr. Shen cried out in surprise, losing his balance and falling straight forward, finally slamming against the wall of a nearby building with a "bang".

My nose is sore from all the bumping.

"You country bumpkin, you have no manners at all. Are those two holes under your eyebrows for breathing?" Mr. Shen cursed angrily, rubbing his nose as he looked around for the person who had bumped into him.

The young man had long since disappeared.

Shen's mother quickly went over and grabbed his arm.

"Are you alright? What are you yelling about? Watch where you're going, stay close to the wall. This place is a mess."

Mr. Shen was furious.

"How am I supposed to know what's wrong with these people, that they'd suddenly start running?"

"You don't know anything. They're checking temporary residence permits." Mrs. Shen sighed, feeling a pang of sadness as she watched the fleeing figures. "If you get caught without a temporary residence permit, you'll be sent to work in Zhangmutou."

They work themselves to the bone for a month to earn that meager living, and getting a temporary residence permit costs them several months' wages. Who starts working right away and has hundreds of yuan to pay for a temporary residence permit?

"We don't have the money to get a temporary residence permit when we just arrived," Song Xianglan chimed in. "Foreign-owned factories are more generous; they'll get temporary residence permits for new employees first. Small workshops, on the other hand, won't pay for it themselves; you have to pay out of your own pocket."

Mr. Shen straightened his wrinkled undershirt and remained silent.

He was not unaware of the hardships faced by ordinary people.

The three old men, clinging to the wall and dodging the crowd, made their way inside amidst a flurry of chickens and dogs.

at last.

Song Xianglan stopped in her tracks.

She pointed to a dilapidated four-story self-built house in front of her.

"This is the building. My younger sister went in here yesterday."

Mr. and Mrs. Shen looked in the direction she was pointing.

There's an iron gate downstairs, its hinges rusted. The walls are covered with posters and advertisements for unclogging drains and treating various STDs.

"Let's go. Let's go up and take a look." Song Xianglan took the lead, her hand already touching the handle of the boning knife in the canvas bag.

Shen's mother gripped her hiking stick tightly and followed behind.

Mr. Shen took a deep breath, held the camera level, and cautiously surveyed his surroundings.