I work as a security guard at a cemetery, and I overhear the dead chatting about getting rich quick.

The bus was very slow.

Lin Ye stood at the entrance of Qingshan Cemetery, enduring the cold wind for ten minutes, before finally seeing a green bus emerge from the fog.

The sign on the front of the bus reads: North Suburb Cemetery - South City Bus Station.

The route name is very thoughtful; the starting point has a heavy yin atmosphere, while the ending point is very popular.

When Lin Ye got into the car, the driver glanced at him.

"Coming out of the cemetery so early?"

Lin Ye paused in his steps.

This statement sounds perfectly normal.

But after he had just spent a night chatting at the graves, any normal conversation could easily become abnormal.

He gave a dry laugh.

"Working the night shift."

The driver nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

There weren't many people in the car.

Two middle-aged women buying groceries, a high school student carrying a backpack, and a middle-aged man dozing off while holding a thermos.

Everyone remained calm.

Nobody knew that there was a young man on the bus whose worldview had just been shattered by two graves.

Lin Ye found a seat in the last row.

The bus swayed and rattled as it drove into the city.

The cemetery gate outside the window grew farther and farther away, and the words "Qingshan Cemetery" were gradually obscured by the fog.

Lin Ye stared at his reflection in the windowpane.

His face was pale, his hair was messy, and he had obvious dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn't slept well.

He reached into his pocket.

A cell phone, ID card, bank card, and 327.6 yuan—the foundation of my life.

And a few keywords I heard last night.

Old Qin from the south of the city.

Old workbook.

Stamp album.

Monkey stamp.

He didn't bring his notebook because, given the situation last night, it was already quite an achievement for him to remember all of this.

The bus lurched violently as it passed an intersection.

Lin Ye almost hit his head on the glass.

The older woman in the front row turned around and glanced at him.

"Young man, didn't you sleep well?"

Lin Ye nodded.

"night shift."

The older woman felt sorry for her.

"Young people shouldn't stay up late all the time; it's bad for their health."

Lin Ye was silent for a moment.

He really wanted to say, "Auntie, it's not that I want to stay up late, it's just that my work environment is rather special."

But I can't say that.

I told her the older woman she might change seats.

He could only smile politely.

By the time the bus entered the city, it was almost dawn.

Steam rose from the roadside breakfast stalls, fried dough sticks tumbled in the pan, and people rushed to their early shifts gathered around buckets of soy milk.

The whole city is waking up.

Some people are in a hurry to get to work.

Some people are in a hurry to go to school.

Lin Ye was in a hurry to rummage through the scrap metal.

Everyone has their own goals, which is fair.

He got off at the South Bus Station, opened his navigation app, and searched for "Lao Qin Waste Recycling".

The result page displayed seven or eight related locations.

Qin Laosan's scrap yard.

Lao Qin Waste Recycling.

Qinji Renewable Resources.

Honest and reliable waste recycling at high prices.

Each one looks just like the "Old Qin from the South of the City" that Old Li mentioned last night.

Lin Ye stared at his phone, lost in thought.

There's a big problem with chatting with dead people.

They lack a service-oriented mindset.

The information provided was fragmented; it didn't include the house number, location, or after-sales customer service.

They say it's Old Qin from the south of the city.

But the south of the city is so big, and there's more than one person surnamed Qin who collects scrap.

Lin Ye suddenly understood why it was so difficult for some people to get rich.

It's not that there are no clues.

The clues were given in a riddle-like manner.

He stood by the roadside for a moment and decided to find the nearest one first.

The first one is called Qin Laosan's Scrap Station.

The navigation shows 1.2 kilometers.

When Lin Ye walked over, the roadside was already bustling with activity.

The breakfast stall owner was shouting his wares, and electric bikes whizzed past him, the air thick with the smell of cooking oil and dust.

This sense of everyday life put him at ease.

At least these are all living, breathing people on the street.

They wouldn't suddenly say that their grandson is a spendthrift.

Of course, not necessarily.

The probability of a living person cursing their grandson is quite high.

After walking for more than ten minutes, Lin Ye finally found the first scrap yard.

Cardboard boxes and plastic bottles were piled up at the entrance, and a thin old man was bending over sorting through the scrap metal.

Lin Ye walked over and politely asked, "Uncle, is your surname Qin?"

The thin old man looked up at him.

"Not surnamed."

Lin Ye was stunned for a moment.

"Not surnamed Qin? Then isn't this Qin Laosan's scrap yard?"

The skinny old man pointed to the sign at the entrance.

"The old boss's surname was Qin, but he transferred the business to me later. I was too lazy to change the nameplate."

Lin Ye fell silent.

it is good.

The first clue was lost.

Undeterred, he asked again, "Has anyone sent over a batch of old books and exercise books lately? There might be a stamp album tucked inside."

The skinny old man immediately became alert.

What do you do?

Lin Ye's heart tightened.

He had already come up with an excuse.

"I recently moved dorms, and someone sold a box of my graduation materials as waste paper. It contained photocopies of my certificates and some old photo albums. I want to get them back."

That's half true and half false.

There are really no graduation materials.

The poor college student really does have that kind of shabby vibe.

The skinny old man looked him up and down, probably thinking he didn't seem like the kind of person who would steal scrap metal.

"No. A truckload of used books was hauled away in the last two days and sent to the packing station a while ago."

Lin Ye felt chilled.

"They've all been taken away?"

"Why would someone keep old books at a junkyard? To prepare for graduate school entrance exams?"

Lin Ye choked for a moment.

That makes a lot of sense.

He thanked them, left, and continued searching for the second company.

The second "Lao Qin Waste Recycling" shop is located behind an old street.

When Lin Ye reached the door, he saw a middle-aged woman weighing cardboard.

He had barely asked the shop owner if her surname was Qin when the middle-aged woman replied, "My husband's surname is Qin. He went to deliver goods."

Lin Ye's eyes lit up.

"Have you acquired any used books recently?"

The woman thought about it.

"I collect old books every day."

"There might be a stamp album inside, a yellowed hardcover booklet labeled 'Stamp Collecting Commemoration'."

The woman shook her head.

"I don't remember. Go in and take a look yourself. The papers are piled up in the back, don't rummage through them."

Lin Ye quickly thanked him.

He rummaged through the pile of papers for half an hour.

Old newspapers, exercise books, notebooks, children's picture books, flyers, and several textbooks that have been marked with notes by someone.

He rummaged through the dust, his hands were covered in it, his nose was itchy, and he sneezed three times.

In the end, all they found was a wedding photography studio brochure.

The bride and groom on the cover are smiling happily.

Lin Ye looked at them, his feelings complicated.

Others can find memories of love while rummaging through junk.

He rummaged through junk just to find his way to financial freedom.

Unfortunately, no.

The second one wasn't it either.

As he left the scrap yard, the middle-aged woman saw that he was covered in dust and dirt and handed him a tissue.

"Young man, it's okay if you can't find something important, just be more careful next time."

Lin Ye took the tissue.

"Thank you, sister."

He walked out of the old street, stood at the intersection, and suddenly felt a little discouraged.

After a whole morning of searching, he still couldn't find out which Qin was Lao Qin.

Not to mention stamp albums.

Maybe I was just hallucinating last night.

Perhaps Old Li was referring to a dozen days ago; the booklet had already been pressed into pulp.

Perhaps the so-called monkey stamp is just the old man bragging.

Dead people might boast when they're alive, but they probably won't immediately correct their boasts after they die.

Lin Ye rubbed his stomach.

He hasn't eaten anything since that bucket of instant noodles last night.

Fear and poverty have been arguing all the way, and now hunger has joined the fray.

He walked to a roadside breakfast stall and bought two steamed buns and a cup of soy milk.

There are seven pieces in total.

When making a payment, a balance reminder pops up on the phone.

Lin Ye's mood sank again when he saw the string of numbers.

Three hundred and twenty-six dollars.

He held a glass of soy milk and stood by the roadside, enjoying the breeze.

After drinking the hot soy milk, my mind slowly cleared up a bit.

We can't just search randomly.

Old Qin from the south of the city collects old exercise books and scrap metal.

Old Li said that the booklet was hidden under the old exercise books, and it was taken away after being weighed.

This suggests that the person collecting the items is likely a street-by-street scrap collector, not necessarily the owner of a fixed scrap yard.

These people usually take the collected items to a familiar recycling station.

Old Li said "Old Qin from the South of the City," perhaps not because the shop sign was called Old Qin, but because that's what the locals called him.

Lin Ye finished his soy milk, opened the map, and looked at the area south of the city again.

He suddenly noticed that there was a small scrap yard in the old alley area in the south of the city without a formal name.

The map does not show the store name, only "Recycling".

One commenter wrote: "Boss Qin is a nice guy, but he loves to smoke."

Uncle Qin.

Lin Ye perked up.

He immediately followed the navigation and went there.

This scrap yard is hidden at the end of an old alley.

At the entrance of the alley, there are vegetable vendors, shoe repairmen, and a small shop with peeling paint on its storefront.

The further you go in, the more cardboard boxes, plastic bottles, and old appliances you find.

The air was filled with dust and the smell of rust.

When Lin Ye reached the end of the road, he saw a middle-aged man with a cigarette in his mouth squatting at the door, flattening a stack of cardboard boxes.

The man was in his forties, with messy hair and yellowed fingers from smoke. An old platform scale sat at his feet.

There was no formal sign at the entrance, only a few words painted on the wall:

We offer high prices for recycled old book covers.

Lin Ye's heart suddenly started racing.

It's not because this place looks like a treasure trove.

It was because when the middle-aged man looked up at him, his eyes resembled those of the kind of person Old Li had scolded last night—the kind who "collects scrap but doesn't even bother to turn it over."

The man exhaled a puff of smoke.

What are you selling?

Lin Ye stood at the entrance of the scrap yard and steadied his breathing.

He knew he couldn't appear too hasty.

Being too hasty is like rushing towards something.

He then gave a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Uncle, I don't sell anything."

The man frowned.

"What are you doing here if you're not going to sell anything?"

Lin Ye looked down at his sleeves, which were covered in dust, then looked up again, trying to be as sincere as possible.

"When I moved dorms recently, a box of old books was taken away by a scrap collector. It contained my graduation materials and an old photo album. I asked around and they said it might have been delivered to you."

The man paused for a moment, his hand holding the cigarette still.

"Old books?"

Lin Ye's heart skipped a beat.

He nodded.

"Yes, old exercise books, old newspapers, and some miscellaneous books."

The man looked at him for two seconds.

"We've brought in quite a few used books lately, which box are you looking for?"

Lin Ye smiled bitterly.

"If I knew which box it was, I wouldn't have had to search all the way from the south of the city to here."

The man's lips twitched slightly at those words.

Lin Ye quickly added the missing part.

"Uncle, could I look through it? If I find it, I'll pay you back the price of scrap paper. If I don't find it, I'll help you put it back in its place so as not to cause you any trouble."

The man squinted at him.

His eyes seemed to be judging whether he was there to find materials or to steal junk.

Lin Ye stood very obediently.

Poor and stingy.

exhausted.

There's also a touch of bad luck typical of recent college graduates.

All of these things combined make it highly credible.

The man finally pointed inside.

"The papers are in the back. Don't rummage through the appliances. Once you're done, put them back in their place."

Lin Ye felt a sudden sense of relief.

"Thank you, Uncle."

Just as he was about to walk inside, he heard the man add another sentence.

"My surname is Qin. Everyone calls me Old Qin. I can't guarantee that this is the place you're looking for."

Lin Ye paused for a moment.

The wind blew in from the end of the old alley, stirring up scraps of paper on the ground.

He glanced back at the middle-aged man with a cigarette in his mouth.

Old Qin.

Old Qin from the south of the city.

This time it finally matched!