Li Ye left Old Kang's home and walked down to the bottom of the apartment building. Unable to hold back, he asked Huang Gang, "Is that Wang Bingxian really that uncanny?"
Huang Gang licked his lips and looked at Li Ye with a complicated expression. "He's pretty uncanny to people like us, but to you, he's nothing but a fart!"
On the night Huang Gang first met Li Ye, he had personally seen how many people Li Ye had stabbed.
Yet the next day, Li Ye was completely fine, while the people who had been stabbed ended up in the police station. Even Duoxing, who had not lifted a hand, got caught in the crossfire. So if they were talking about being "uncanny," Li Ye was far more uncanny than Wang Bingxian.
Li Ye had been uncanny for so many years that he naturally found Wang Bingxian unremarkable.
Just then, Li Ye and Huang Gang suddenly heard Old Kang arguing with his wife upstairs.
"You're already this old, and you'll retire in a few years. Why do you still have to wade into that muddy water? Can't our family get by?"
"We can get by, but there's a way to get by and a way not to. Just give me one year, and I can earn a house for our third son. This old life of mine will be worth it then."
Li Ye and Huang Gang exchanged glances, both finding it a little laughable, yet also helplessly melancholy.
After thousands of years of traditional indoctrination, the Chinese Nation had instilled in grown men a sense of "responsibility" from childhood. Once they became adults, they naturally took on the burden of being the family's main pillar.
No matter how much salary they earned, they would never think it all