At 11:30 p. M., Lin Mo received an order to be delivered to the old city. Customer's note: "Send it to the back door, don't ring the doorbell, and put it under the third brick in the corner." He did so, but when he left, a calloused hand pressed his shoulder. The old man stared at him for three seconds, then stuffed an oil paper bag into his arms: "This is yours." Lin Mo opened it. Inside was half a piece of hardened osmanthus cake, and a small note written with a brush - "The first solution to the transportation of qi and blood." That night, he tried the posture on the note and spit out a mouthful of black blood that had accumulated for three years. The phone rang, and the platform pushed a new order: the same address, the same customer, and the note read: "Is the sweet-scented osmanthus cake delicious? Come and pick up the second portion."
