The Killing Intent

Chen Mo had already retreated inside the threshold. He still opened the door only a crack, standing himself in the patch of shadow.

The thin man with the rat mustache flipped through his ledger, putting on an exaggerated expression. "Well, well, you're the young Master Chen from Deliverance Studio, aren't you? Let's see... Tsk, tsk, you owe more than just the sanitation fee. There's late interest, too..." He counted on his fingers, but his eyes kept darting toward Chen Mo.

Scarface stepped forward then, taking the thin man's place.

"Kid, you've recovered pretty well. So, have you made up your mind? Are you preparing the silver dollars, or... that book?"

Chen Mo raised his head. In the shadow inside the doorway, his face looked even paler.

"Brother Scarface, I really can't scrape together six silver dollars. As for my family's inherited craft, I wouldn't dare reveal it lightly."

"Wouldn't dare?" Scarface sneered, but didn't fly into a rage. Instead, as if he'd expected this all along, he spoke with a hint of concern for Chen Mo's own good.

"Kid, it's not that I'm trying to force you. Look at this street. Who has it easy? But rules are rules."

"Master Chen has gone missing. You're young, and you're not in good health. How much money can you make looking after this shop? Enough to pay for your medicine? Enough to eat?"

He lowered his voice, making his tone sound more heartfelt. "The gang leader appreciates talent and values your Chen family's craft. Offer it up and trade it for a peaceful life. What's wrong with that?"

"Do you really have to wait until the shop gets smashed and you get crippled... Hmm?" He deliberately left the sentence unfinished, letting the chilling silence hang.

"That's right, Young Master Chen," the thin man with the rat mustache chimed in, his eyes darting about. "Don't be so stubborn. The craft is lifeless, but you're alive. Take Brother Scarface's advice. It's for your own good."

One played the good cop, the other the bad cop. They used both carrot and stick, shutting off every other path for Chen Mo while cloaking it all in concern for his well-being.

That was their cleverness. It was more suffocating than simple beatings and scolding, and harder to resist outright.

Chen Mo stayed silent, lightly rubbing the cold engraving knife in his sleeve with his right hand. After thinking for a few seconds, he took out a deflated money pouch and poured out the few dozen copper coins and one dull-colored silver dollar inside.

This was just about the most he could come up with right now.

"Brother Scarface, Mr. Xu," he said, holding the money in his hands, his voice betraying no emotion. "This is all I have. I'll pay this month's sanitation fee first. As for the rest... give me a few more days."

Scarface looked at the paltry sum in Chen Mo's palm. His face darkened completely, and his eyes turned dangerous.

He seemed to be weighing whether it was worth making trouble right now.

In the end, he snorted, snatched the coins and silver dollar, weighed them in his hand, then tossed them to the thin man behind him.

"I'll give you three days. That's it."

Scarface held up three fingers and waved them before Chen Mo's eyes. "Just three days. Then I want to see either five full-weight silver dollars or what I came for. Otherwise..."

His icy gaze swept over Deliverance Studio's signboard and door. "You'd better start making yourself a decent house in advance!"

With that, he spat hard on the ground, turned with his men, and headed off toward the next shop, cursing as they went.

Chen Mo stood in the shadow behind the door, watching them leave with an expressionless face.

Boss Liu from the Fortune Longevity Coffin Shop across the street put down his long-stemmed tobacco pipe and ambled out. His face wore the familiar mixture of sympathy and distance he reserved for bereaved families. "Young Chen, look at this mess... Scarface's words weren't exactly pleasant. How are you feeling? Can you hold up?"

His words were caring, but his feet remained planted on his own steps. He didn't come any closer.

Chen Mo looked at the hypocritical expressions of the neighbors around him and felt a little sick of it all. "Uncle Liu, could you lend me a little money to tide me over? I'll write you an IOU. Once I have some business, I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

The sympathy on Boss Liu's face stiffened, then turned to awkwardness and wariness.

"Well... It's not that I don't want to help you, but you know how it is. My coffin shop may look grand from the outside, but all my capital is tied up in lumber. I'm short on cash, too... Sigh, I really can't help you."

As he spoke, he backed away a couple of steps, as if afraid Chen Mo might come closer.

At that moment, Old Man Li from Li's Incense and Paper Money Shop came over, too. The frustration of having just been made to pay seemed to have found another outlet.

"Borrow money? Young Chen, I don't mean to lecture you, but you can't start down that road! If I lend to you today, someone else will come asking tomorrow. How's anyone supposed to get by?"

"And besides, how would you pay it back? By making paper dolls? The Black Tiger Gang's showing its teeth... Tsk, it pains me to say it, but who knows whether your shop will even stay open!"

He waved his hands repeatedly and turned toward his own shop, afraid of catching any bad luck.

Farther away, Third Zheng from Zheng's Paper Craft Shop had already turned his back to the street as soon as Chen Mo opened his mouth. He busied himself with an unfinished paper palanquin, as if he'd gone deaf.

Chen Mo looked coldly at the group. If his memories from his former life were right, these shops had often asked Chen Dachuan for help—and had borrowed money from him more than once or twice.

So this was how people forgot you once you were gone.

He tugged at the corner of his mouth and turned to walk back inside Deliverance Studio, through its slightly open door.

Just as his figure was about to vanish into the shop's shadows, the door of Widow Li's Burial Clothes Shop next door, which had been left ajar all this time, soundlessly opened a little wider.

Widow Li slipped out sideways. She came to Chen Mo's side almost as if she were floating and quickly pressed a cloth bundle, still carrying a little warmth, into the hand hanging by his side.

"Just two... Keep them safe." Before the words had left her mouth, she had already darted back like a startled bird. The door closed softly, leaving only a crack so thin it was almost impossible to notice—as if the whole thing had been an illusion.

Chen Mo held the small bundle, its warmth unfamiliar. His fingertips could feel the cold corners of something hard inside.

He didn't turn around or pause. He walked straight to the back of the shop and gently closed the door, which had been open just a crack.

The neighbors' low chatter rose outside, then quickly died away.

Inside the shop, Chen Mo's gaze fell on the plain white paper bird on the worktable.

He set the bundle on the table with a soft thud. His fingers slowly brushed over the paper bird's cold wings.

Two silver dollars were a drop in the ocean.

Deep in his eyes, the cold light grew ever clearer and sharper.

"The Black Tiger Gang deserves to die."

This thought wasn't born of a moment's anger.

From the beating in his former life that had nearly killed him to Scarface's naked threats today—

The Black Tiger Gang's very existence was a butcher's blade hanging over his head, ready to fall at any moment.

If he didn't deal with them, then forget finding a way to dispel the baleful intent and prolong his life; he wouldn't even make it past the crisis waiting for him three days from now.

But how could he kill them?

That would take careful consideration. This world still had the United Government looming over everything.

Chen Mo's fingers tapped the tabletop unconsciously. His eyes were fixed on the two silver dollars, but his thoughts were racing.