"Get him! Beat this madman to death!"
Steward Zhao roared the command, finally snapping the four guards out of their daze.
They were hired muscle, paid by the Benevolence Hall. They didn't care about "Blood Silver" or "Corpse Water." They only knew that someone was causing trouble, and trouble needed to be taught a lesson.
"You're dead!"
The leading guard, a hulking mass of intimidating flesh, raised a heavy wooden staff. It whistled through the air, aiming straight for Tang Wugui's skull.
Beside him, Old Man Liu instinctively shrank his neck and squeezed his eyes shut.
But the expected sound of cracking bone never came.
Tang Wugui didn't move. He didn't even look up.
The red thread wrapped around his wrist seemed to come alive. A single strand detached and flicked casually in mid-air.
The instant the red thread shot out, a few strands of silver hair visibly sprouted at Tang Wugui's temples, and the skin around his eyes shriveled slightly.
And the staff—heavy enough to kill an ox—just stopped stiffly in mid-air.
The red thread pierced the wood, weaving back and forth inside it.
The guard froze for a second. He instinctively tried to pull the staff back, but it wouldn't budge an inch.
"You've absorbed quite a bit of Sweat Copper too, haven't you?"
Tang Wugui wrinkled his nose, as if he smelled spoiled food.
In the next second, the red thread pulled taut.
CRACK!
The wooden staff exploded into splinters.
Before the guard could react, the red thread split instantly into multiple strands. Following the exploding wood chips, they burrowed into his veins like fine needles.
"Aaaagh!"
The guard screamed.
He watched his own arm—that arm he was so proud of—deflate rapidly like a punctured balloon.
Skin slapped against bone. All that muscle, pumped up with cheap drugs and Sweat Copper, was siphoned off in one breath along the red thread and into Tang Wugui's body.
With the influx of vitality, the new white hair at Tang Wugui's temples quickly turned back to black. His shriveled eyes filled out again, looking even more lustrous than before.
"Tastes like nothing but dregs of medicine."
Tang Wugui flicked his hand. The guard, now nothing but skin and bone, was tossed aside like a sack of garbage, crashing into a medicine cabinet behind him with a loud clatter.
The remaining three guards froze, holding their swords and staffs, their legs trembling uncontrollably.
This was sorcery!
"Done fighting?"
Tang Wugui stepped over the dried-up husk on the floor. He didn't rush to grab Steward Zhao. Instead, he raised his hand. Dozens of red threads shot from his sleeve, piercing every corner of the Benevolence Hall.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Medicine cabinets shattered, and counterfeit drugs turned to ash.
The spiritual energy within the medicinal herbs, the silver, and the sin attached to the building itself were forcibly extracted by the red threads, flowing endlessly into Tang Wugui's wrist.
The red thread on his wrist was growing longer at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Three inches, five inches, seven inches...
Amidst this chaotic mess, Steward Zhao, who had been slumped on the ground, suddenly became strangely calm.
He was a famous skinflint in Qingsheng Town. He had dealt with money and life all his days.
He realized that this young man before him wasn't here to uphold justice; he was here to eat.
Since it was about gain, there was room for negotiation.
"Friend, your methods are ruthless."
Steward Zhao propped himself up against the wall. Although his face was deathly pale, his eyes still glittered with madness.
He pulled a thick, yellowed ledger from his robes and clutched it tightly.
"But you can't stomach the accounts of this Benevolence Hall."
Steward Zhao stared at Tang Wugui, his voice carrying a note of confidence.
"Do you know who I am? I'm not just a steward. I'm the guarantor of this shop."
"The five hundred taels of Blood Silver circulating in this shop, and the five pieces of Life Gold used to anchor its fortune—they are all luck borrowed from that Elysium Den, signed with my life contract!"
Steward Zhao held up the ledger like an amulet:
"According to the contract, as long as I don't die, this bad debt can keep rolling over with compounding interest. But if I die now, or if this ledger is destroyed..."
"That means insolvency! It means the collapse of credit!"
"The liquidation mechanism of that place will trigger instantly! When that happens, everything here, including you, will be forcibly dragged in as assets to offset the debt!"
Steward Zhao grinned maliciously. He was betting that Tang Wugui would believe the story he had concocted.
"If you don't want to die, get the hell out of here! I won't pursue this!"
Using the risk of his own bankruptcy as a deterrent—that was Steward Zhao's trump card.
Tang Wugui scoffed. Instead of retreating, his pitch-black eyes brightened.
"Insolvency... mandatory liquidation?"
Tang Wugui chewed over these words, the smile on his lips deepening.
"I searched half the city and found nothing but guys trading physical labor for Sweat Copper. Not enough to even pick my teeth with."
He walked step by step toward Steward Zhao. The red thread on his wrist vibrated with a hum in the air:
"I didn't expect a ticking time bomb of bankruptcy to be hidden right here."
"You... what do you want to do?"
Steward Zhao watched Tang Wugui approach, his voice changing pitch.
"Steward Zhao, since you know you're a negative asset, you should understand one thing."
Tang Wugui stopped in front of him. He pressed two fingers together, and the red thread hovered:
"For inferior clients who are already insolvent and cannot create value, the Elysium Den never offers protection."
"They only... forcibly close the position."
Pfft!
The red thread instantly pierced the general ledger in Steward Zhao's hand.
"You used this ledger to anchor your credit rating with the Elysium Den. Now that the ledger is gone, in the Elysium Den's system, you are a dead account. Your credit limit will instantly zero out, and all your historical leverage... will collapse with it." Tang Wugui unhurriedly retracted the red thread, smiling wickedly at Steward Zhao.
"You..." Steward Zhao started to curse.
Click-clack.
The crisp sound of an abacus bead being moved suddenly rang out in the air.
The sound wasn't loud, but it exploded beside everyone's ears.
The originally bright light in the apothecary suddenly dimmed, and a cold wind whipped up from nowhere.
Steward Zhao began to struggle violently, his heels drumming on the floorboards.
He saw them.
In the darkness, several pale arms extended slowly from the void and grabbed his ankles.
"No! I won't go! I can still pay it back! That's public money! Give me two more days... Aaagh!"
Steward Zhao screamed, his fingernails clawing ten bloody streaks on the floorboards.
But those hands just dragged him backward mechanically.
With a gust of cold wind, Steward Zhao's corpulent body was instantly pulled into the twisted void behind him.
The screaming stopped abruptly.
The shop was terrifyingly quiet.
"He... he was taken away?"
The surrounding townspeople gasped and retreated in fear.
Everyone knew the legend of the Elysium Den: once someone was judged bankrupt, they would be immediately dragged into that mysterious space. Some could escape using their memories and lifespan, but others... would remain there forever.
But in Tang Wugui's eyes, the man was still there.
Tang Wugui stood still. He closed his left eye and pressed the two fingers of his right hand together, as if holding an invisible kite string.
In his vision, a fissure invisible to ordinary people was connecting to another dimension.
The red thread had followed Steward Zhao into that bizarre space.
...
Inside the Elysium Den.
Steward Zhao felt everything go black. When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the Benevolence Hall.
He was sitting at a square table.
"Guest, you're awake?"
A waiter with thick makeup on his face and a white towel over his shoulder was smiling at him.
Steward Zhao trembled all over. He knew where this was.
"I don't... I have no money..." Steward Zhao wanted to run, but found he couldn't move at all.
Furthermore, an indescribable hunger instantly overwhelmed him.
This was the side effect of bankruptcy: his soul was disintegrating and urgently needed energy replenishment.
"Look at you say that. Whoever enters our door is a guest. How could we let a guest go hungry?"
The waiter briskly brought over a plate of steaming dumplings.
The dumplings had thin skins and large fillings, faintly revealing the bloody color inside and emitting a strange fragrance.
In the shadows of the beam overhead, a red thread had already silently coiled itself.
It was extremely patient, holding its head high and looking down coldly.
"Here, these are our shop's special Life-Extending Dumplings. Eat them, and your soul will be stabilized, and your vitality will be restored."
The waiter solicitously handed him chopsticks.
This was the rule.
No killing without a contract.
The ghosts couldn't touch Steward Zhao directly. He had to accept a service first, establishing a debt relationship, before subsequent plundering was legal.
Steward Zhao knew it was a trap, but the maddening hunger drove him to reach out.
His trembling hand grabbed a dumpling, and he wolfed it down.
As the food entered his stomach, his teetering soul did indeed stabilize rapidly, even becoming more excited than before.
"Burp..."
Steward Zhao finished the last dumpling, his eyes glazed over.
"Guest, eaten well?"
The smile on the waiter's face instantly became ferocious.
"Then let's... settle the bill."
At that moment, the red thread on the beam suddenly pulled taut, then began to dance.
"That will be forty years of lifespan, please. But it seems that's not enough... How about you also give me all those memories in your brain about making money?"
For ghosts, lifespan was just a low-level currency. Those memories charged with intense obsession were what they craved most.
"I... I'll give..."
Steward Zhao's eyes were dull. Under the pressure of the rules, he could only voluntarily surrender his most precious possessions.
Wisps of gray smoke drifted from his seven orifices—all the shrewd calculations of his life.
The waiter took a deep, greedy breath, preparing to enjoy this feast.
However, the moment the deal was struck.
"The time is right!"
The long-dormant red thread shot down from the roof beam like a blood-colored lightning bolt!
"Since the banquet has begun, I'll join the fun too."
Tang Wugui's cold voice sounded as if it were coming from underwater.
The red thread intercepted the smoke precisely halfway, instantly coiling around the wisp of memory smoke drifting toward the waiter.
The waiter was stunned. The fat on his face jiggled as he shouted sternly:
"Where did this wild dog come from! Daring to snatch food from the Elysium Den?"
"Don't misunderstand."
Tang Wugui's voice came through:
"You want memories and lifespan. You can have those."
"But what I want... is the grease stuck to the memories."
Snap!
The red thread tightened violently.
Steward Zhao's memories contained both all of his cognitive information as a human and all of his emotions.
Ghosts loved to eat information because it allowed them to experience life.
But Tang Wugui needed to eat emotions because they were the fuel for the red thread.
A precise splitting of the bill!
In the mortal world, Tang Wugui waved his hand sharply.
The red thread vibrated violently in the other dimension, literally tearing the wisp of smoke in two!
Half was pure gray-white memory imagery, which flew into the waiter's mouth.
The other half, pitch-black with emotions and sin, was instantly swept away by the red thread and dragged back to the mortal world!
"Roar!"
Although the waiter ate the memory, it felt like eating a mouthful of flavorless boiled chicken breast.
It roared in the direction the red thread had vanished, but the transaction was complete. It could not pursue.
"Get lost! Pauper!"
The waiter kicked Steward Zhao, whose soul and lifespan had been emptied.
...
Back in the mortal world.
Less than half a minute had passed since Steward Zhao disappeared.
With a distortion in the air, a human figure was spat out from the void, landing heavily on the ground.
He was no longer that Steward Zhao.
Those luxurious silk robes now hung loosely on his frame.
His full head of black hair had turned snow-white, and his skin was shriveled and sagging like a corpse dried by the wind for fifty years.
Although he was alive, his eyes were dull, and saliva drooled from the corner of his mouth. He had clearly become an idiot.
Not far away, Tang Wugui stood, leisurely retracting the red thread, which was still slightly hot.
At the end of the red thread was coiled a fist-sized ball of black gas.
"Although it lacks a bit of fresh flavor."
Tang Wugui looked at Steward Zhao, who had turned into an imbecile, then at the trophy in his hand. He inserted the red thread into it and absorbed it all. His originally pale face regained its color, and the red thread had now exploded in length to thirteen inches.
"But the advantage is that it's cleanly stripped and non-toxic. This is much more nourishing than eating bad debt alone."
Tang Wugui wiped his mouth.
The surrounding townspeople watched this scene. Steward Zhao, who had just driven someone to desperation, disappeared for just a moment and came back an old, foolish wreck.
And that young man looked as if he had just eaten a casual meal.
"Done."
Tang Wugui clapped his hands and looked at Old Man Liu, who was paralyzed with fright on the side.
"That settles your account."
He pulled a piece of real Blood Silver he had just swept from the counter from his robes and casually tossed it to Old Man Liu.
"Consider this money I'm lending you. Take it to treat your old woman's illness."
Old Man Liu held the silver, completely dumbfounded. "Lend... lend?"
"Yes, you have to pay me back."
Tang Wugui pointed to Old Man Liu's eyes.
"Just now, Steward Zhao would rather have your eyes than money, which means there's something special about them. If I guessed correctly, you can see 'Qi,' right?"
Old Man Liu trembled all over and stammered a nod. "Yes... I am a retired mine slave from the Spirit Mine Bureau. I can... I can see it."
"Very good."
Tang Wugui nodded.
In a world full of fake currency and fraud, a pair of eyes that could verify assets was very useful.
"Since you can observe Qi, I have one last question."
Tang Wugui pointed to the puddle of black residue on the ground, all that remained of the Corpse Water Silver he had crushed.
"You actually found this yourself, didn't you?"
"It wouldn't be strange for a small-timer like Steward Zhao to have one or two pieces. But I definitely just smelled the pungent odor of earth and uncontrolled hostility in this silver."
"As for the original one, I won't ask where it went."
Old Man Liu was stunned. A fear deeper than when he faced Steward Zhao flashed in his eyes.
"Yes... it was at the mass grave west of the town."
"I went to burn paper money that day and saw black-red light rising from the bottom of the mass grave over there... But I didn't dare to take much. The yin energy in that place is too heavy. It's said that everyone buried there for the past century died a tragic death."
"Mass grave? A century of wronged souls?"
Before the words fell, the red thread on Tang Wugui's wrist snapped taut instantly.
That wasn't fear; it was a scream of excitement.
It dug deep into Tang Wugui's flesh, drawing lines of blood, seeming impatient to drag its master toward that place.
Instead of crying out in pain, Tang Wugui pressed down on his trembling left hand, the corners of his mouth slowly splitting into a grin.
There was no warmth in that smile, only a desire on the verge of losing control.
"Piles of unclaimed bad debts, massive deficits accumulated over a century..."
"That's no place of great evil."
Tang Wugui straightened his collar, a fiery heat deep in his eyes.
"That is clearly a treasury..."
He looked at Old Man Liu, his whole body trembling with excitement.
"Lead the way."