Tianjin, starting with unorthodox methods to achieve immortality

Chen Mo had already retreated to the threshold, but still only opened the door a third of the way, standing in the shadows.

The skinny man with the rat-like beard flipped through the ledger, revealing an exaggerated expression: "Oh my, it's Manager Chen from Du'e Zhai, isn't it? Let me see... tsk tsk, this isn't just about sanitation fees. There's also late payment interest..." He counted on his fingers, but his eyes were glancing at Chen Mo.

Scarface then stepped forward and took the place of the skinny man with the rat whiskers.

"Kid, you're recovering well. So, have you thought it through? Are you preparing the silver dollars, or... that booklet?"

Chen Mo raised his head, his face appearing even paler in the shadows inside the doorway.

"Scarface, I simply can't scrape together six silver dollars. As for my family's secret recipe, I dare not reveal it lightly."

"You wouldn't dare?" Scarface sneered, but didn't get angry immediately. Instead, it was as if he had expected it, and his words even carried a hint of concern for you.

"Kid, it's not that I'm forcing you. Look at this street, who has it easy? But rules are rules."

"Master Chen has gone missing. You're young and in poor health. How much money can you earn by running this shop? Is it enough for your medical treatment and medicine? Is it enough for you to eat?"

He lowered his voice, making his tone more sincere, "The gang leader values ​​talent and the skills of your Chen family. Offering them up in exchange for stability, what's wrong with that?"

"Do we really have to wait until the shop is smashed and people are crippled... huh?" He deliberately left the sentence unfinished, creating a chilling silence.

"That's right, Manager Chen," the skinny man with the wispy beard chimed in, his eyes darting around, "Don't be so stubborn. Skills are static, but people are dynamic. Take Scarface's advice; it's for your own good."

One played the good cop, the other the bad cop, using both soft and hard tactics to cut off Chen Mo's other options while pretending to be concerned for his well-being.

This is their wisdom, which is more suffocating and harder to resist than simple beatings and scoldings.

Chen Mo remained silent, his right hand gently stroking a cold carving knife in his sleeve. After thinking for a few seconds, he pulled out a shrunken money pouch from his pocket and poured out the few dozen copper coins and a dull-colored silver dollar inside.

This is pretty much the limit he can offer right now.

"Scarface, Mr. Xu," he held the money in his hands, his voice unreadable, "this is all I have. I'll pay this month's sanitation fee first. As for the rest... please give me a few more days."

Scarface looked at the meager amount of money in his palm, his face darkened completely, and his eyes turned dangerous.

It seems they are weighing whether it's worth it to have an attack now.

Finally, he snorted coldly, grabbed the copper coins and silver dollars, weighed them in his hand, and threw them to the skinny man with the rat-like beard behind him.

"I'll give you three more days."

Scarface held up three fingers and waved them in front of Chen Mo's eyes. "Three days. By then, you'll either see five pure silver dollars, or you'll see what I want, otherwise..."

His cold gaze swept over the signboard and doors of the Du'e Zhai (a type of traditional Tibetan house), "You'd better build yourself a better place in advance!"

After saying that, he spat angrily on the ground, turned around with his men, and walked towards the next house while cursing.

Chen Mo stood in the shadows behind the door, watching them walk away expressionlessly.

Across the street, Mr. Liu, the owner of Fushou Coffin Shop, put down his pipe and strolled out, his face displaying the usual mixture of sympathy and detachment he showed to bereaved families: "Little Chen, look at the mess this has made... Scarface's words weren't pleasant to hear. How are you feeling? Can you still manage?"

The words were words of concern, but the feet remained on the steps of their own house, not moving any further.

Looking at the insincere expressions of the neighbors around him, Chen Mo couldn't help but feel disgusted. "Uncle Liu, could you lend me some money to tide me over? I'll write an IOU, and I'll pay you back as soon as I have business."

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

The sympathy on Boss Liu's face froze instantly, then turned into embarrassment and wariness.

"Well... it's not that Uncle Liu doesn't want to help you, but as you know, my coffin shop looks big, but it's all tied up in wood production capital, and I'm really short on cash... Sigh, there's really nothing I can do to help you."

As he spoke, he took two steps back, as if afraid that Chen Mo would get any closer.

At this moment, Old Man Li, who ran Li's incense and paper money business, also came over. It seemed that he had found another outlet for the frustration of being charged earlier.

"Borrow money? Xiao Chen, I'm not trying to be mean, but you can't do that! If I lend you money today, someone else will come asking for it tomorrow. How will we ever live like that?"

"Besides, how are you going to pay it back? By making paper effigies? With the Black Tiger Gang's attitude... tsk, not to be blunt, but it's questionable whether your shop can even stay open!"

He waved his hand repeatedly, turned around and walked into his shop, afraid of getting bad luck.

Further away, Zheng Laosan of Zheng's Paper Carving Shop had already turned away from the street when Chen Mo spoke, intently fiddling with an unfinished paper sedan chair, as if he were deaf.

Chen Mo coldly looked at the group. If the original owner remembered correctly, these families had often asked Chen Dachuan for help, and had even borrowed money from them more than once.

It's true what they say, once someone leaves, they're forgotten.

He twitched the corner of his mouth, turned around, and walked back into the three-part doorway of Du'e Zhai.

Just as his figure was about to disappear into the shadows of the shop, the door of the Li's Funeral Clothing Shop next door, which had been slightly ajar, quietly opened wider.

Widow Li slipped aside, almost floating to Chen Mo's side, and quickly stuffed a cloth bag, still slightly warm from her body, into Chen Mo's hand, which was hanging by his side.

"Just two pieces... Keep them safe." Before she finished speaking, she had already shrunk back like a startled bird, and the door closed gently, leaving only a barely perceptible gap, as if everything just now was an illusion.

Chen Mo held the small cloth bag in his hand, which still carried the warmth of a stranger's body, and could feel the cold, hard edges of the object with his fingertips.

Without turning back or pausing, he walked straight back to the depths of the shop and casually closed the three-part door behind him.

The whispers of the neighbors rose and fell in a low voice, then quickly subsided.

Inside the shop, Chen Mo's gaze fell on the plain white paper bird on the table.

He picked up the cloth bag and placed it on the table with a soft thud. His fingers slowly traced the cold wings of the paper bird.

Two dollars is a drop in the ocean.

The cold light in the depths of his eyes grew even clearer and sharper.

"The Black Tiger Gang deserves to die."

This idea was not born of a momentary outburst of anger.

From the near-fatal beating in the original owner's memory to the blatant threat from Scarface today.

The existence of the Black Tiger Gang was like a guillotine hanging over his head, ready to fall at any moment.

If we don't deal with them, let alone find a way to dispel the evil spirits and prolong our lives, we won't even be able to get through the current crisis three days from now.

How can we kill him?

This requires careful consideration, considering that there is still a United Government overseeing this world.

Chen Mo's fingers tapped unconsciously on the table, his eyes fixed on the two silver dollars, but his thoughts were racing.