Xu Qing remained silent, walked to the corner of the wall alone, and picked up a wood-chopping axe, weighing it in his hand.
Before the blacksmith could ask again, Xu Qing tossed out a piece of broken silver, which fell right in front of the blacksmith on the iron anvil.
Upon leaving the blacksmith shop, Xu Qing reached out and erased the craftsman's mark engraved on the axe blade.
He then used his fingernail to write and draw on the axe blade, with sparks flickering in and out. Once the letters were carved, Xu Qing nodded in satisfaction.
Carrying the axe, Xu Qing entered the alleyway diagonally across the broker shop, where he took out a group of waxed and waterproofed papermen carrying a black and red coffin, heading straight to the broker shop's entrance.
Papermoney was scattered, lightning flashed and thunder roared, and rain fell on the coffin with a hollow sound.
An old saying goes, rain on a coffin brings ten years of hardship; rain on a grave brings forth nobility.