A big, rough hand slapped the wooden table hard, causing the enamel jar to buzz. "Sign! Sign quickly! Don't bring bad luck to me during the Chinese New Year!" The sharp female voice was like a thorn, piercing directly into Lin Qiang's eardrums. Lin Qiang opened his eyes violently. Dim yellow light bulbs dangled overhead, and the air was filled with the sour smell of inferior cigarettes and burning briquettes. Naoren felt like it was being pulled back and forth by a rusty saw, and the pain was severe. He subconsciously touched his forehead, which was hot. "Why are you pretending to be dead? How can you be so stupid if you have a fever?" The hand pushed the paper in front of him again, with such force that it almost broke the paper. Lin Qiang lowered his head. It was a piece of yellowed letter paper with "Real Estate Transfer Agreement" crookedly written on it. In the signature area, only the word "Lin Qiang" has not been written.
