Siheyuan: I Collected Rags, and the Whole Hospital Went Crazy.

In 1961, the year of disaster, Courtyard No. 3, Nanluoguxiang. Cui Laibao was the poorest rag collector in the whole hospital. He lived with his younger sister in a dormitory and could count grains of rice in a meal of water porridge. The whole hospital laughed at him for picking, at his pile of rags, and at his unwillingness to even change into a new pair of shoes. No one knows that he has an unspeakable household item - the rags he collects are settled by the system. But the system only recognizes one thing: clean origin. So the copper incense burner he received for three cents was a Xuande burner. He recorded the "ancestral treasures" given to him one by one in his account book and handed them over to the public one by one. You don't need fists to slap someone in the face, you use account books, charters, and the red stamp from the street office. Whoever sold something, pawned something, or divided something has a lot in his book. Every time they reach out, the account becomes a page thicker. This time, who can't sit still first?