There is still eight points of hermit morale

Author: Shen Zhou Diao Xue

There is still eight points of hermit morale

Someone died in the laundry room!

A person's life simply disappears in front of everyone's eyes.

Abrupt, bizarre, and almost unreal.

The patrolling steward was alerted, and immediately came over with a few guards, dragged up the dead body on the ground, and ordered it to be taken to the mortuary so that he could be buried.

When dealing with these matters, the steward's expression was indifferent, as if he was used to seeing dead people. He didn't even find out how the sharp-billed monkey died. He only said to the other handymen: "Okay, okay, why panic?

Who has never died? Work hard while you are alive, you know?"

After saying that, the stewards and guards took the dead sharp-billed monkey and left.

It was as if... the dead person had never been here in the first place.

There was a sudden silence in the second bathroom. It was at this moment that the new batch of handymen truly realized how easy it would be for a person to die after being contaminated with violence!

Legend has it that people who enter the laundering room usually don't live more than three to five years, but looking at it now, let alone three or five years, if they can live for another one or two years, it is God's blessing.

In the quiet second bathroom, everyone's hands seemed to be shaking while working.

Song Ciwan's hands were also shaking, and she was also shocked.

It was a shock I had never experienced before, my blood seemed to have gone cold, and there was an indescribable heaviness weighing on my heart.

Who has never died since ancient times? But this way of death is really sad.

The day passed in such repetitive and mechanical work, and nothing "big" happened in the laundry room until the hour came and the laundry room ended work.

The steward settled the wages for the handymen: Yes, the wages for the laundry room are paid daily.

Song Ciwan received one hundred copper coins, which relaxed her mood after a heavy day.

One hundred coins a day, or at least three taels of silver a month, is indeed a top-notch salary for the people at the bottom.

She also received a pair of sheep demon lungs from the steward, and immediately decided to take the pair of lungs with her to the vegetable market to buy some grains and side dishes, and then go back to make spicy stir-fried lung slices.

Just spend 20 pennies and save the remaining 80 pennies to pay off the debt at the end of the month.

Song Ciwan lived a planned life, and she couldn't spend a few pennies on side dishes. She mainly wanted to stock up on food.

I don’t have much to do, just two or three buckets a day, so I can accumulate a lot in a month.

Then dig a cellar at home. In addition to storing food, you can also store some vegetables and other daily necessities for easy storage.

Song Ciwan calculated carefully and strolled to the vegetable market, still wearing the "handy uniform", maintaining the special effect of keeping dogs away.

The vegetable market in Nancheng is bustling with people. There are butchers chopping the meat bones loudly, shouting loudly like drums: "Three-flowered mutton, they are sold cheaply today, eight cents a pound..."

There are also hawkers sitting on the ground with vegetables spread in front of them, but they are silent. They wait for the buyers to come up to them before they say hello: "Home-grown vegetables cost two handfuls per penny. Madam, can you take a look?"

There were also beggars walking among them with their backs hunched over, holding bowls and hands outstretched, and humbly shouting: "Good Samaritans, please give me something to eat. Just one bite will do..."

There is a bean curd stall at the corner. Steaming bean curd floats out of the wooden barrel, and the aroma of onion and fragrant sauce lingers.

Many regular customers crowded around, and an old man with a wooden cup in his hand moved a stool and sat there, hahahahahahaha talking about the book: "Otherwise, the great Confucian scholar used his pen to draw thousands of troops. That day,

Black clouds are pressing down on the city, threatening to destroy it. When the Dragon King of Hengshui becomes angry, the waves rise thousands of feet high. The river demons from all over the sky are coming on the waves. It is really the danger of destroying the city and the suffering of the living beings!"

"Our demon-killing envoys from Cangling County are all dispatched. There are innate warriors who leap hundreds of feet and fly like flying; there are immortal immortals who wave talismans and recite incantations, flying swords like rain; there are Buddhist arhats who are so powerful that they hold up the sky and use a demon-spelling pestle.

If you hit it, countless monsters will break their muscles and bones..."

He was frothing at the mouth as he spoke, and all the grand scenes were as if he had witnessed them in person. The listeners around him were stunned and exclaimed from time to time.

How could those people who jumped hundreds of feet and flew swords like rain have ever been seen by ordinary people in the city?

In the world of mortals, all they know is birth, old age, illness and death. They may never see those legendary gods and demons in their lifetime, but they have been imagining them all their lives.

Someone said with emotion: "It's more interesting to listen to our Mo Laoguai's stories. Those in the teahouses on Qianming Street are all about money, and they only tell stories about old sesame seeds and rotten millet. It's not interesting!"

Someone echoed: "Isn't that right? Some down-and-out young man worshiped the martial arts master, refined his skin in ten days, his muscles in a hundred days, and his bones in a thousand days. Within five years, he generated qi and blood to the point of refining his internal organs. He carried a nine-ring sword and entered the devil's cave alone.

I used a big sword for a while, killed the demon to avenge my parents, joined the Demon-Slaying Guard, gained the reputation of being an official, and married a beautiful girl. I'm tired of hearing this..."

Someone laughed: "Hey, hey, I'm tired of hearing it, how can you still speak so skillfully?"

Another person hurriedly interrupted them: "Hey, why are you people interrupting us? Don't we want to listen to the great Confucian typing a thousand armies, a thousand armies... or something like ten thousand horses? Can you just concentrate on it?"

No, no, the storyteller Mo Laoguai was already angry: "It's boring, let's stop talking. We are a bunch of tough guys who can't sit still. Go back. Old man, I'll go back and feed the chickens!"

The listeners around were anxious. Those who admitted their mistakes were busy admitting their mistakes, and those who wanted to stay were busy keeping people. However, Mo Laoguai had a stubborn temper and would not pay attention to anyone who said good things to him. He just picked up his stool and stretched out his wooden cup.

When he arrived at the bean curd stall, he said loudly: "Old Chen, please have another bowl. I, Lao Mo, have been talking about it for an hour today, please hurry up!"

Boss Chen from the tofu pudding stall quickly scooped a spoonful of tofu pudding into Mo Laoguai's wooden cup, added chopped green onion and sesame oil pickles to him, and stammered: "Old, Lao Mo, then you, you, you tomorrow, tomorrow

Come again, come again!”

Mo Laoguai was satisfied with the bean curd and immediately raised his hand: "Okay, I'll come back tomorrow. I can't miss two bowls of bean curd!"

After saying that, he hugged the stool and the wooden cup, and limped straight away.

No wonder he was called Mo Laoguai, but it turned out that he was lame in one leg.

Song Ciwan, who was standing next to him, listened to the book for a while. When he saw Mr. Mo walking past him limping, he quickly stepped out of the way.

Unexpectedly, there was a rogue who couldn't keep anyone, and suddenly he felt unwilling to do so. At this moment, he quietly stretched out a leg and tripped under Mo Laoguai's feet.

Mo Laoguai suddenly lost his balance and pounced forward.

Seeing that he was about to throw a dog into his face, Song Ciwan, with quick eyesight and quick hands, caught his wooden cup with one hand and held his arm with the other. Only the stool he was holding flew away at this moment.

"Ouch!" He heard a cry of pain.

There was also a banging sound.

It turned out that the flying stool actually hit the stumbling boy. The stumbling boy immediately jumped up, hugged the injured instep and screamed in pain.

Mo Laoguai stood firm and glared at Popi.

The rogue also glared back, and his eyes fell on Song Ciwan. When he saw the gray coat and red piping on her body, he was surprised and frightened: "You, you... you are from the laundry room!"

Song Ciwan's lips moved slightly, but before she had time to speak, the rogue shouted again: "Washing room, hahaha, Mo Laoguai, you are miserable!"

After saying this, the rogue turned around and ran away into the crowd.

The onlookers around also dispersed in a hurry. People in the laundry room were not allowed to stay away. Mo Lao fell while walking with his crutch just now. Could it be that he was affected by the bad luck of the laundry room?

Song Ciwan was a little stunned. Not to mention the performance of others, she didn't bother to care. What surprised her was that at the moment she held Mo Laoguai in her arms, her scales moved again.

The illusory scales and scale beams emerged, and a ball of light cyan Qi lay on the scales: [Eight points of hermit morale, the great hermit is in the market, and can be sold.]

hey-hey?

What is going on? Surprise or shock?

Where does the eight-point hermit morale come from?

Song Ciwan's eyes fell on Mo Laoguai, who was grinning.

Thanks for all the support, friends, I’m super happy to have you by my side ^_^
Chapter completed!