Black Street Shopkeeper

When I was nineteen years old, my father died and left me a shabby grocery store and a terrible debt. Brother Hu's people blocked the door and slapped the account book on the table: "Eighty yuan is now an ocean. Either give me money or give you your life." I bowed my head and smiled in apology, turned around and buried the threads in the soles of their shoes. In this dark street where people eat people without spitting out their bones, I learned three things: When looking at people, you have to look into the bones, when doing things, you have to deal with people's hearts, and you have to strike at the most critical point. Later, the boss of the gambling shop fell into my hands, the patrolman Liu asked me to deliver news, and even the shrewish Widow Lin across the street would leave a bowl of hot noodle soup for me on a rainy night. They all thought that Chen Jiu was lucky. Only I know - there is no such thing as luck. It's just breaking out every penny, seeing through everyone, and grinding every fear at night into teeth that bite people during the day.