Imaginary ancient style/group portrait/jianghu/strategy/growth
There is an unknown pavilion at the end of the black street, with a butcher's shop on the left and a coffin shop on the right.
One day when Wen Zhaoxue was in business, the old copper bell under the eaves was ringing without any wind, and there was half a bronze fish charm on the cabinet.
The first guest brought a burned old ticket and begged her to accept a dead man's debt.
The second guest came to the door holding a bloody suit and said that someone bought a life three years ago.
The third guest did not come in, leaving only half a palm print in the night.
Since then, for every old thing in the junk shop, there has been one less peacekeeper in the city.
Others advised Wen Zhaoxue to mind his own business.
She lowered her head to flip through the account and simply said: "No one can rely on me if I get into Wuming Pavilion's account."
