[I, a semi-immortal, opened a small supermarket in the city]
The injury can heal itself but the pain will be doubled. It will not age but it can be eaten. Life goal: save enough money, close the shop and settle down.
[But something always forces me to take action]
A gangster smashes a store? I twisted his wrist with my backhand. Neighbors caught in dirt? I threw some glutinous rice. Until the official "Special Affairs Bureau" came to the door: "A monthly salary of 8,000, five insurances and one housing fund, and you will be a temporary worker?"
I looked at the pension progress bar and said, "Okay... But you have to take weekends off, and no need to work overtime."
Later they discovered:
This wilted supermarket owner is actually an "old antique" who has lived from the old times to the present.
The Buddhist tycoon's forced business is open today.
