A Part

Compared to when they had first met, Luo Liangde looked especially presentable now.

The beggar's rags that had looked like strips of rotten cloth were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a brown leather jacket and a pair of jeans riddled with holes. The outfit was a little worn overall, but given the economic conditions of this hellhole, it was already quite decent.

Now, wearing sunglasses, the man smiled in an exceedingly greasy manner.

"Brother, you're joking. If I had what it took to dominate the market, why would I bother with the three-finger trade? I'd be raking it in just collecting protection fees here."

"Then why did that guy run off without saying a word just now?"

Luo Liangde shrugged.

"Pretty much the reason he said. I'm kind of a notorious thorn around here—oh, right, you know what a thorn is, don't you?"

"I know a little. Why?"

"Put it this way—this place is where I come to scrounge. If I can't make ends meet at home and it's inconvenient to, uh... go help someone move house for free, I come here to pick a few fights or something... I won't say too much, but I can at least scrape together two or three days' worth of food money. That's why these people call me a dog-skin plaster—once you get stuck with me, you can't shake me off."

"Aren't you afraid they'll beat you to death?"

"Somewhere else, maybe I'd be a little scared. But here..." Luo Liangde pointed at the enormous sign above them. "See that symbol? It means this is an officially endorsed management zone. All private fighting is prohibited. Besides, I keep my scams within the rules—every last one of them is so black-hearted their children would be born without assholes, merchants rotten to the core.