Fists can't cross Tianjin

Chapter 31 Backbone

I spent half a day in the shantytown, then ate meat in an air-raid shelter next to the train station, and stayed up until midnight.

Chen Zhuo easily scaled the broken wall and slipped into the reeds along the South Canal in the HQ District.

They open at midnight and close at dawn. People who come here don't ask where the goods come from or where they came from; they pay money and deliver goods at the same time.

The unwritten rules of Pigeon City.

Chen Zhuo wrapped his tattered cotton-padded coat tighter, hunched his neck, and mingled familiarly among a group of hurried pedestrians, trudging through the snow with uneven steps.

Countless beams of flashlight beams swayed in the darkness, like glowing fish swimming in the deep sea.

There is none of the hustle and bustle that a market should have here.

Hundreds of people were gathered here, yet it was eerily quiet. Those buying things kept their heads down, squatted down when they saw something they liked, whispered a few words to the stall owner, and left if they couldn't reach an agreement, without ever lingering.

A complex mix of smells filled the air: the smell of dry tobacco, the musty smell of old clothes, the smell of cheap liquor, and the aroma of jianbing guozi wafting from a breakfast stall in the distance. All of these mingled in the cold air, creating a unique atmosphere belonging to the lower class of this era.

Chen Zhu squinted, using the faint light from someone else's flashlight to examine the stall at his feet.

After walking for about ten minutes, he finally saw what he was looking for in a corner near a dead tree.

It was a small stall selling general merchandise. The stall owner was a thin man wearing a dog-skin hat. In front of him were some in-demand items such as toothpaste, soap, and Tiger Balm. In the corner, there were several bottles of bone-setting liniment and safflower oil.

Chen Zhuo squatted down and pointed to the safflower oil.

How much?

His voice was hoarse and carried a chill.

The stall owner raised his eyelids, looked Chen Zhuo up and down, and held up one finger.

"What do you mean?" Chen Zhuo frowned.

"What do you think?" The stall owner scoffed, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. "One yuan! These things are in high demand now; you can't buy them even if you have money without connections. Take it or leave it."

Without saying a word, Chen Zhuo turned and left.

"Hey, hey, hey! Come back!" the stall owner cried out anxiously. "Why are you in such a hurry? In business, you can't ask for the moon and you have to haggle. Six cents! Six cents is fine, isn't it?"

Chen Zhuo stopped and turned back to give him a cold look.

"Sanmao. Not a penny more."

Safflower oil is a household essential these days, a common household item, and not a rare commodity.

The price in a regular store is 2 cents, but I only gave 5 cents because of the pigeon market.

He's not some sucker.

The stall owner, looking pained, gritted his teeth and said, "Fine, fine, three cents it is! I'm only doing you a favor because you look so poor. How many bottles do you want?"

"Two bottles."

Chen Zhuo counted out six mao from his pocket and threw it on the stall.

Actually, he only had enough money in his pocket to buy these two bottles.

Holding two bottles of safflower oil, Chen Zhuo didn't rush to leave. Instead, he found a quiet corner, unscrewed one bottle, poured some into his palm, and haphazardly rubbed it on the bruise on his left arm.

The burning sensation instantly penetrated the skin, relieving some of the pain.

After putting the safflower oil into his pocket, Chen Zhu wandered around the ghost market a couple more times before finally stopping in front of a stall located at the very back.

The stall was small, with only a single windproof lantern illuminating a small area. The stall owner was an old man wearing a Zhongshan suit and a pair of reading glasses with a broken leg, who was holding a thread-bound book and reading it.

There were no miscellaneous items in front of him, only a few porcelain plates and a bronze incense burner.

Judging from his appearance, he's someone who deals in antiques and secondhand goods.

These days, anyone who dares to buy these things has some cash on hand and a sharp eye.

Chen Zhuo walked over and, without saying a word, squatted down.

"Will you receive the goods?"

The old man put down his book, pushed up his glasses, and glanced at Chen Zhuo with cloudy eyes.

"Look at things."

Chen Zhuo looked around to make sure no one was paying attention before taking out the gold coin from his pocket, holding it in his hand with only a corner of its golden light showing.

In the dim light of the kerosene lamp, that golden hue seemed particularly dazzling.

The old man's eyes lit up instantly, his previously cloudy gaze becoming sharp. He reached out, wanting to take it and examine it closely.

Chen Zhuo flipped his hand, avoiding the old man's hand.

"Negotiate the price first."

The old man smiled, withdrew his hand, took out a box of matches from his pocket, struck one, and examined the gold coin closely. He then pinched it hard, leaving a faint fingernail mark.

That wasn't enough; he brought the gold coin to his mouth and took a big bite with his few remaining yellow teeth.

Looking at the clear teeth marks, the old man nodded in satisfaction.

"Good quality, old stuff." The old man exhaled a puff of white breath. "But these days, this stuff's hot stuff. I'll give you thirty."

thirty?

Chen Zhu sneered inwardly.

Chen Zhu sneered inwardly. He had weighed the gold coin in his hand; it was quite heavy, weighing about 25 grams. According to the bank's rigid buyback price, it could only be sold for a little over seventy yuan. This old man was truly greedy, cutting it in half.

"Ninety," Chen Zhuo casually uttered a number.

"ha!"

The old man threw down the matchstick in his hand, giving him a look that said he was mentally challenged.

You're even more greedy than the bank! The bank only gave me seventy-something, and you're asking me for ninety?

"Eighty, not a penny less."

Chen Zhuo looked at him.

The old man's smile vanished, and he stared coldly at Chen Zhuo: "Kid, are you kidding me? Judging by your clothes, you're in a hurry for money, aren't you? You've been to the bank, haven't you? To exchange gold and silver, the bank needs a letter of introduction from your work unit, a certificate from your neighborhood committee, and you have to register your ID card. Do you have those? Forty, that's the highest price. If you don't sell, in this ghost market, besides me, no one dares to buy this stuff. You'll be stuck with it and won't even be able to afford food."

He simply watched the old man quietly, then slowly extended his right hand and placed the gold coin on a blue brick in front of the stall.

The old man was taken aback, not knowing what he was going to do.

next second.

Chen Zhuo stretched out his index finger and thumb and pinched the thick gold coin.

"Click—"

A soft, crisp sound rang out in front of the quiet stall.

The old man's pupils suddenly contracted.

Under the light of the lantern, he could clearly see that the hard gold coin, between Chen Zhuo's two fingers, was actually deforming and twisting like a piece of soft clay.

Chen Zhuo's expression was calm, and the muscles on his arms did not even bulge noticeably, as if he were just kneading a piece of tofu.

This is the "Eagle Catch" force of Xingyi Quan.

When practiced to a high level, one's finger strength penetrates to the bone, capable of tearing tree bark and crushing raw walnuts. Although Chen Zhuo hasn't reached that level yet, flattening a gold ring is effortless for him.

In just a few seconds.

The originally round gold coin has been shaped into an irregular small gold cake.

Chen Zhuo released his grip and pushed the "golden cake" towards the old man.

"This gold is soft and of good quality," Chen Zhuo said calmly. "Sixty-six, let's be friends."

He knew what was going on.

Although the bank offered a low price, it was due to official price suppression. On the black market, gold was a hard currency, especially this kind of "yellow fish" that could circulate without coupons; its actual value was far higher than the bank's quoted price. But he couldn't ask for too much; he had to leave the old man a profit margin, otherwise it would become a one-off deal.

The old man stared intently at the deformed piece of gold, then looked up at Chen Zhuo's calloused hands, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty.

This is no ordinary down-on-his-luck vagrant; he's clearly a powerful figure from out of town!

"Ahem..." The old man coughed twice, his cold expression instantly transforming into a broad smile. "Oh dear, I was blind just now, I didn't realize you were a martial arts expert. Well, since my friend has asked, sixty-six it is! Consider it making friends!"

He deftly pulled a wad of ten-yuan notes from his inner pocket, counted six with saliva, then stuck six more together and handed them to Chen Zhuo with both hands.

"Thanks, boss."

Chen Zhuo tossed the small gold coin he had shaped over, took the money, and turned to leave.

Sixty-six yuan was an enormous sum of money in an era when workers' wages were only twenty or thirty yuan.

The meat is supplied by a market, so there's no need to spend money. With the sixty-six yuan he has, he can buy some daily necessities and safflower oil, which will be more than enough for half a year. In fact, if things get really bad in Tianjin, he has the means to hitch a ride away from here and maybe even make a living in Beijing.

When you have money in your hands, you can stand tall.

Chen Zhuo wrapped his coat tighter, preparing to look around for other groceries and see if there was anything he needed to buy. His clothes had been smelling terrible for ages, and he also needed a secondhand quilt… and maybe a pot or something; eating barbecue every day was getting tiresome…

Just then, a series of melodious lyrics drifted into his ears on the cold wind.

"...Seeing the King sleeping soundly in his tent, fully clothed, I stepped outside to dispel my sorrow. I walked lightly to the desolate outskirts and stood there, when suddenly I looked up and saw the clear, bright moonlight in the azure sky..."

It is the Peking Opera "Farewell My Concubine".

The sound wasn't loud; it came from an old-fashioned transistor radio, but the singing style... sounded somewhat familiar.

Chen Zhuo subconsciously slowed his pace.

Immediately afterwards, a deep, slightly hoarse, yet penetrating voice abruptly blocked his way.

"Good finger strength."

Chen Zhuo's heart skipped a beat, his muscles tensed instantly, and he abruptly looked up.

He saw a figure standing under an old willow tree five steps in front of him.

The man was wearing a greasy leather apron, had a butcher's knife at his waist, and was gnawing on a steaming hot meat bun.

That face was full of fleshy, oily skin.

It was the butcher I'd met briefly when I bought meat last time.

At this moment, the butcher was squinting his narrow eyes, looking at Chen Zhuo with a half-smile.

"Gold is soft, but bones are hard."

The butcher swallowed the bun in his mouth and said slowly, "What a pity, even the hardest bone will break if you train it the wrong way."