The King of Hell Clicked, I Took the Urea Bag to Collect the Bill

The blind fortune teller stroked his beard with few hairs, dropped three large coins, and left eight words for the Song family. "The lamp is left in the wind, and the lamp is floating in the water." A born short-lived ghost whose bones weigh no more than twenty-two-nine and cannot live past twenty. When I was eighteen years old, there was a heavy rainstorm in Huacheng that had not been seen in decades. At the foot of the tall building in Jiangzhu Dafu Financial Center that is said to be able to break the sky, stood a young man wearing an old suit. He was holding a dirty snakeskin bag with "South Island Urea" printed on it in his hand, like a wild dog that had just crawled out of a mud pit. The hall was full of dignitaries, well-dressed and handsome, laughing that the world was so generous and that any country man could enter this golden cave. No one knew what kind of thrilling scene was flowing in the young man's seemingly dull eyes at this moment. That's not some cold data stream. It was a line of small cinnabar characters as scarlet as blood, an obscure secret engraved on his retina: [Add it to the upper part and leave the lower part to moisten the fire leather. The golden evil spirit rushes forward, and the hanging blade is about to fall. [Answer: Lose things and protect yourself. The tens-of-million crystal lamp above the lady's head crashed down, grazing the tip of her nose and shattering into powder all over the floor. The young man squatted down slowly in the dead silence, patted the ashes on the urea bag, and smiled innocently, like a neighbor who had just finished his farm work. "Look, I just say old things have spirits." … My name is Song Guannan. I came to this world not to seek immortality, but to use these humble bones to talk to God.