The old man did not recognize the woman before him at all; he could not even see her clearly. Yet, little by little, he recalled that this feeling of being unable to see clearly seemed to be something he should have known long ago—a method used by certain cultivators.
Excitement and complicated emotions intertwined in Min Xian's heart. Lian Ping'er saw all manner of tangled, shifting emotions in his eyes. In the end, that trace of excitement gradually faded, his gaze slowly turned murky, and his expression and bearing became humble.
"Who is Miss? I'm old, and my memory is poor..."
Seeing the change in the old man's demeanor and hearing those words, Lian Ping'er was once again slightly startled. Naturally, she could discern some of the meaning behind them.
This made Lian Ping'er furrow her brows tightly. She fixed her gaze on the old man before her, at his clothes that were not particularly thick despite the winter weather, then at the cracks on his hands and his grimy nails...
After considering it for a moment, Lian Ping'er relaxed her brows and spoke.
"How much do you make from writing here for a day?"
The old man looked down at the tabletop. There was not actually much red paper that he had prepared.
"The New Year is only a few days away. Business will be better these next two days. On a good day, I can earn over a hundred coins."
"Fine. I'll give you one ingot of gold. You belong to me today. Come with me, Min! Senior!"
Lian Ping'er bit down rather heavily on those final three words. A small gold ingot appeared directly in her palm. Though it did not look large, it weighed at least two or three taels.
But the old man merely fell