If I stay in the Hehuan Sect, I'll live off the pampered daughters of the Heavenly Pride Sect.

Chapter 457 The Immortal Master's Aura is Too Strong

The sound of iron on the shore veered slightly.

The fat shopkeeper's sleeves were still hanging by his face, the woman held the child tighter, Xiao Liu looked down at the dry dust at his feet, and the dockworkers exchanged glances, but no one spoke first.

Old Zhou reacted the fastest, tapping the edge of the pot with the stick again.

"Don't look at anyone else."

The fat shopkeeper chuckled dryly.

"Master Mo, that's strange. Who isn't afraid of lists? The government has lists, the docks have lists, the merchants have lists, and we shop owners keep accounts."

Mo Chengyue said, "I didn't ask anyone who knew the roster."

The fat shopkeeper didn't finish his sentence.

Manager Hu looked at the shore, his eyes reddened by the smoke, but he didn't look away.

He asked, "Who's afraid?"

The woman, holding the child, moved closer to Old Zhou.

"I'm afraid that after my husband is gone, someone at the dock will bring me half a piece of red paper, ask me to put my fingerprint on it, and say that it will erase the old debts."

Old Zhou asked, "Did you press it?"

The woman shook her head, tears falling onto the child's hair, which she then wiped away with her sleeve.

"I can't read, and I was afraid he would cheat me into selling the house, so I didn't press the button."

Xiao Liu immediately said, "My mom pressed it."

Everyone immediately fell silent.

Xiao Liu hugged the copper basin even tighter, and the sound of the pot being struck was taken over by the person next to him, but he stopped striking it himself.

"My mother said that after the procedure was performed, we no longer heard my father knocking on the door at night, but she stopped doing it the following year."

The fat shopkeeper hurriedly interjected.

"Xiao Liu, your mother died of illness, don't try to link everything to water."

Xiao Liu looked up at him.

"Fat shopkeeper, how did you know my mother pressed it?"

The fat shopkeeper's expression changed.

"I... I heard what you just said."

Xiao Liu didn't retreat; instead, he stood a little closer to the middle of the dry soil.

"I only mentioned my father."

The gazes of several people around fell on the fat shopkeeper, and the sound of the pots and pans became slightly hesitant.

Old Zhou drank it immediately.

"Knock on the pot!"

The clanging of metal resumed, and the fat shopkeeper's face, glistening with the embers of the fire, forced a smile and waved his hand.

"I remembered wrong. Hongfeng Ferry is only this big. Everyone knows if someone is in trouble."

Mo Chengyue's voice came from the abandoned shipyard.

"Don't rush."

Manager Hu said in a low voice, "He's showing his weakness."

"He wasn't the only one who showed his weakness."

Mo Chengyue looked towards the back of the shore, where a dockworker in a blue cloth robe kept his head down and his hands tucked into his sleeves in the red mist. He joined in the clattering of the pots when the noise was at its loudest, but after the words "list" appeared, the bamboo clapper in his hand stopped falling.

Old Zhou saw it too.

"Chen the accountant."

The man in the blue cloth robe looked up and forced a smile.

"Uncle Zhou."

Old Zhou stared at the bamboo clapper in his hand.

"knock."

Accountant Chen tapped the bamboo clapper on the copper basin, the sound being faint and drowned out by the sound of the iron pot next to it.

Mo Chengyue didn't expose him, but said to the shore, "Write your old names in the dry ashes."

The fat shopkeeper frowned.

Why use the old name?

"The living leave their names on the shore, while the dead leave their names on the dry earth, not touching the water, and not being reported to the ship."

The woman asked, "Won't the boat see us?"

"The smoke from the fire will obscure the view, the sound of the pot will disturb the view, so cover it up with ash after you're done writing."

Xiao Liu raised his head.

"Who should we write about?"

Old Zhou answered for Mo Chengyue.

"Write about people your family has lost, write about people your family still recognizes, don't write about enemies, don't write about names of people you owe money to, and don't write about names you heard by the water."

Old Zheng's voice was hoarse.

"I'll write about my uncle."

Mo Chengyue said, "When writing about Zhou Ping, don't shout it out loud."

Old Zheng bit his lip and nodded, grabbed a handful of dry ash, and slowly wrote two characters on the dry soil next to the ash basin. After writing them, he immediately covered them with ash.

Beneath the unlit ship's hull, Zhou Ping's afterimage was obscured by the old ship's sign. His face, which had been leaning towards the shore, receded slightly into the ship's deck, while more black water oozed from the nail marks.

The seventh eye saw this scene, and its mangled face twisted.

"You're making them sign their names, which is just adding fuel to the fire for the ship without lights."

Mo Chengyue didn't even look at her.

"A name on dry soil is not the same as an account on water."

The seventh eye was enunciating each word.

"How long can you hold them off?"

"It's blocking people's way."

Manager Hu understood his meaning and immediately shouted towards the shore.

"Write, whoever doesn't write is afraid of being forgotten."

The fat shopkeeper was sweating even more.

"Manager Hu, aren't you going too far? Some families have nothing to be ashamed of, so why write anything?"

Old Zhou pointed the stick from the pot at his feet.

"Then write about your parents."

The fat shopkeeper's eyelids twitched.

My parents have long since passed away.

"Even in the grave, one's name remains."

The woman squatted down, holding her child, and wrote in the dry ashes with a twig, saying as she wrote, "I'm writing about my husband. I still recognize him. He's not a plank."

Xiao Liu squatted down next to him.

"I write about my father and mother."

Old Zheng bent down and covered Zhou Ping's name, then added his grandfather's old name next to it.

"I'll write too."

People in the crowd squatted down one after another. The sound of the pots and pans did not stop. The person writing used his knees to hold the pot and pan, and after writing, he covered it with dry ash. The smoke from the third shore fire brushed past the ash. The shouts in the sound of the water were suppressed under the gunwale of the unlit boat.

The fat shopkeeper stood there, unsure whether to go forward or backward.

Old Zhou looked at him.

"Fatty Chang, are you going to write it or not?"

The fat shopkeeper chuckled dryly.

"Write, of course I'll write."

He squatted down, ran his fingers through the ash a few times, and then quickly covered it with his sleeve.

Mo Chengyue suddenly spoke.

"Don't cover it with your sleeve."

The fat shopkeeper's hand stopped on the gray surface.

Why?

"There's moisture on my sleeves."

The fat shopkeeper immediately pulled his sleeves back, and the smile on his face disappeared.

Old Zhou walked over and took a look.

"What did you write?"

The fat shopkeeper pushed the ashes upwards.

"My father's name."

Old Zhou frowned.

"Your father's name isn't that."

The fat shopkeeper hunched his back slightly.

"I wrote it wrong."

The people around immediately stopped what they were doing.

Mo Chengyue said, "Don't surround him."

Old Zhou raised his hand to stop the person who was about to approach.

"Everyone step back, keep knocking."

The fat shopkeeper quickly smoothed out the dust and rewrote two characters.

The Seventh Eye is laughing from the bottom of the boat.

"The hearts of people on the shore are dirtier than those at the bottom of the water."

Manager Hu cursed under his breath.

"You dare to talk about human nature?"

Mo Chengyue looked at the shore and did not respond to Seventh Eye's words.

"Old Zhou, asking once is enough. Don't let them attack each other."

Old Zhou shouted, "Anyone who points at someone else again, I'll cover their name in ashes first."

The commotion in the crowd was quelled by those words, and the sound of the pots and pans quieted down again.

Accountant Chen was still standing at the back, tapping his bamboo clappers slower and slower.

Old Zhou turned his head.

"Chen, the accountant, you write it down."

Accountant Chen raised his face.

No one in my house is missing.

Mo Chengyue said, "Write your own living name."

Accountant Chen's hand trembled, and the bamboo clapper slipped from between his fingers and fell to the ground.

The fat shopkeeper immediately looked over.

"Accountant Chen, what are you afraid of?"

Chen, the accountant, bent down to pick up the bamboo planks, but pulled them back into his sleeve when his hand touched the ground.

"I'm not afraid."

Mo Chengyue looked at the red, damp stains peeking out from under his sleeve.

"What's in the sleeve?"

The accountant retreated.

"It's nothing."

Old Zhou moved the wok stick horizontally.

"Take it out."

Accountant Chen looked up at the abandoned shipyard, then at the old ship's nameplate beside the ashes of the fire, his face darkened by the smoke.

"I'm just keeping track of the cargo at the docks."

Mo Chengyue said, "I was asking about the sleeves."

Chen the accountant didn't answer again; he turned and ran into the depths of the red mist.

Old Zhou shouted angrily, "Stop him!"

Xiao Liu, who was closest, stepped forward to block the flow of the copper basin. Chen, the accountant, bumped his shoulder into the basin, and a wet, red-covered object slipped out of his arms and fell onto the edge of the dry soil. The cover was rolled up by the smoke and fire, revealing half of a roster inside that had been soaked in water.

The sounds of pots and pans in the crowd stopped and then resumed, and the fat shopkeeper's face changed completely.

The half-finished, red register lay open beside the ashes of the stove, with a line of old, water-soaked characters on the first page.

Red Maple Ferry Crossing