In the coldest year of Qiqihar, there was a table of food at the old market on Bukui Street that no one dared to sit at.
There is an old account on the table. What is in the account is not money, but stalls, fleets, coal stamps, dance halls, and lives owed to people.
The Zhang brothers got their start from that table.
One sits at the head of the table and sets the rules with a smile; the other stands at the door and treats disobedience. Others refer to them as "big landlords and small landlords", and they all know secretly that as long as they don't nod at the dinner in Hecheng, no one will be able to sit down at the table safely.
But the Jianghu account must be repaid sooner or later.
The hawkers who were kicked out of the market back then are back, the key to the fleet at the distribution station is lost, there is an extra page in the coal yard contract, and the nightclub proprietress puts a letter under the table.
On a snowy night, the old ledger turned to the last page.
There is only one sentence written on it:
The person who invited you to the table back then is the one who really has to collect the bill.
