In the deep alleys of the old town of Jiangcheng, the wooden doors of the Anxi Papermaking Shop leaked rain. Under the dim light bulb, Jiang Che guarded half a pack of expired instant noodles, looked at the two-digit balance in his account, and cursed: "Poor people are more difficult to deal with than powerful people."
Just when he was thinking about splitting the rotten bamboo strips in the store and using them as firewood, his cell phone suddenly became as hot as red-hot paper money. The screen exploded with bleeding white words: [The thriller game has been bound.
In the cursed copy, hundreds of ghosts roam the night, and the living are desperate to survive. Only Jiang Che stared at the murderous ghosts and weapons, his eyes glowing green.
While other players were shivering in the mourning hall, Jiang Che touched the bleeding coffin and marveled: "A century-old gloomy bamboo? A paper figure made of this material can sell for at least five figures!"
When the red-clothed ghost screamed for his life, Jiang Che raised the ancestral scissors and approached with a kind face: "Sister, your clothes... Oh no, this piece of silkworm silk cloth, do you mind taking it off and making me a shroud?"
Since then, a legend has emerged in the horror world. There is a lunatic named Jiang. Others download dungeons to survive, but he downloads dungeons to purchase goods!
Ghost A: "Run! The black-hearted boss is here again! Last time, he took away Lao Wang's spine to make a paper horse frame!" Ghost B: "I want to go home... Hell may be bitter, but in this man's shop, I will really be made into raw materials!"
Jiang Che was sitting in front of the paper shop, facing the dark wind coming from the alley, counting the "materials" he had just received, smiling from ear to ear: "It's late at night, don't close the door tightly. The goods just sent from the underworld need to be sorted out overnight - they are all money."
