Wang Dafa's Mysterious Good Thing

Tokyo mornings were cold and busy, bleak yet brimming with the vitality of struggling to survive. Poverty drove change, change led to adaptation; humans were resilient creatures, and no matter what, they had to keep living.

Amid the enormous depression, the formerly extravagant lifestyle of wine and women had changed completely. Tokyoites, once exquisitely refined to the extreme, were no longer so refined. More and more people pushed carts through the streets selling snacks to make a living, as though life had suddenly retreated to the Taisho era.

Shi Tiexin walked the streets alone and came to a vendor's stall. Seeing the breakfast being sold there, which looked much like claypot rice, he immediately became interested.

A height of over two meters put immense pressure on people, and his black leather outfit did not make him look like a good man. Normally, a stall owner would surely be terrified of someone like him and avoid him like the plague. Yet for some reason, when Shi Tiexin spoke, the vendor suddenly felt calm and was no longer afraid.

Shi Tiexin said pleasantly, "Boss, give me ten portions."

"Yes, please wait a moment!" the stall owner replied, getting to work with great enthusiasm. They each spoke their native tongue, yet in this era, they could more or less understand each other.

Before long, all ten breakfasts were served.

Just then, several delinquent-looking thugs swaggered out from around the street corner. Spotting the vendor, they immediately shouted, "Who let you set up a stall here? Have you paid the protection fee?"

The owner immediately lifted the cart handles with practiced familiarity and hurried away, the wheels rattling as he pushed the stall along. He did not even have time to collect payment. The thugs rushed past Shi Tiexin in a swarm without sparing