The boss smiled, not at all angered; he just found it somewhat amusing.

A person's temperament and aura are often more credible than their words.

"Sizzle..."

The crisp sound, with a hint of lingering length, like a snake shedding its skin, he began to tear away his own skin.

At the same time, the boss's frame was slowly shrinking, and his physique was gradually thinning, like a balloon with a small hole, slowly deflating.

Zhou Ze finally understood why the bowl of noodles had been cooked so soft.

This kind of "transformation" did indeed take some time.

Still wearing the boss's clothes and apron, but the face had changed into that of a slightly green youth.

The youth smiled, naturally charming, especially the curve extending from the corner of his eyes, as if able to scratch the itchy spots in the hearts of men and women around him, just right, just perfect.

To describe a man as "charming" is somewhat incongruous, but some men are indeed born with it. Countless ancient emperors liked men, and the reason was indeed that some men were more like women than women.

"Am I pretty?"

The youth asked Zhou Ze.

Zhou Ze felt the nausea he had suppressed after eating the noodles rise again. He waved his hand apologetically, then covered his chest, striking a pose that said, "I can't throw up."

Who knows that every grain in the dish is the result of hard work!

Zhou Ze knew how to cherish food, especially food that he had swallowed with great difficulty and was about to digest into energy within his body.

The youth sat down on a chair next to him, twirling a lighter in his hand casually.

He was sizing up Zhou Ze, because Zhou Ze had discovered him. He believed his imitation was seamless, and since it was in this small eatery, there shouldn't be any problems.

Most importantly,

he was imitating his own parents.

Since he was young, he had been observing his parents. Every move, every expression, had long been engraved in his heart.

"How did you find me out?" the youth couldn't help asking.

"You're not a ghost?"

Zhou Ze asked at the same time.

The youth frowned slightly; he thought Zhou Ze was mocking him, saying he was playing tricks.

But in reality, Zhou Ze had regarded him as a ghost from the very beginning.

Zhou Ze didn't want to meddle in other people's business. Someone who had been worried about the money for a refrigerator not long ago didn't think he was qualified to meddle in other people's business.

But he couldn't just ignore this matter,

the matter was happening right next door.

So Zhou Ze felt that, no matter what, it was best to expose the matter first. If it was easy to solve, he would solve it himself; if it was difficult, he could just move.

"Your fingernails," Zhou Ze said. "I'm a little sensitive to fingernails."

The landlady brought the noodles to his face,

the boss personally handed him a cigarette,

and the fingernails were all presented to him.

Although the thickness of the fingers, the fairness of the skin, and the extent of the calluses were different, the patterns on the nail caps were the same.

And recently, Zhou Ze had paid more attention to fingernails, not only his own, but also other people's.

The youth's eyes narrowed slightly, lost in thought. The details weren't done well enough.

Although he had been negligent, being discovered was indeed his own mistake.

"You're really not a ghost?" Zhou Ze asked again.

If he was human, then it was really a bit of an exaggeration.

Actually, Zhou Ze hadn't seen many ghosts. Aside from his journey in hell, he had only seen a handful of ghosts in the mortal world.

"Huapi (Painted Skin) is a family art passed down from our ancestors," the youth stood up, reached out and grabbed Zhou Ze's hand, placing it on his chest. "However, it has been lost for many generations. Only in my generation can it be picked up again."

The action was a bit ambiguous and a bit out of line, but Zhou Ze still subconsciously squeezed it with his hand.

Zhou Ze would never think that it was because Doctor Lin had kept him from sleeping that he had developed an interest in men,

of course, the man in front of him was indeed more charming than a woman, which was indeed a fact.

"No bones?" An expression of surprise appeared on Zhou Ze's face. "No, it's osteomalacia."

Osteomalacia, also known as rickets, is caused by calcium deficiency, which hinders bone calcification, softens the bones, and makes them easily deformed. Zhou Ze used to be a doctor, so he naturally knew something about it. But just as even a common cold can be divided into many situations and different pathologies, osteomalacia also has many subcategories, and the youth in front of him should be an extreme case.

According to legend, there are records in unofficial histories of the Spring and Autumn period that a prince of the State of Lu suffered from this disease. If a person has no bones, the body is delicate and can walk like a person and crawl like a snake.

"You can understand it as a genetic disease that requires a certain probability to manifest. Many generations of my family couldn't practice Huapi (Painted Skin) because they didn't have this disease, but me..."

The youth smiled and didn't continue.

"So, you're really not a ghost?" Zhou Ze was still unwilling to give up.

"My name is Xu Qinglang," the youth replied seriously.

"Who are you imitating?" Zhou Ze asked.

"Father, Mother."

Zhou Ze was stunned for a moment, then smiled wryly.

Alright,

this was a big misunderstanding.

After eating the noodles earlier, Sister Lin left, and Zhou Ze thought about breaking the ice, deliberately provoking him with words, but he didn't expect that the other party was just playing role-playing here, missing his deceased parents.

But from Zhou Ze's previous perspective, he just naturally thought that this was a ghost, similar to the ghost in the "Painted Skin" story, who killed people, skinned them, and was still "putting on airs."

"Then... I'm sorry."

Teasing you about your mother, it's really a bit embarrassing.

"I'm not angry," Xu Qinglang said. "But I'm very curious, what do you mean by always treating me as a ghost?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Have you seen ghosts?" Xu Qinglang asked.

"I am a ghost," Zhou Ze looked at Xu Qinglang and said very seriously.

His expression was solemn and his demeanor dignified,

pouring his heart out.

Xu Qinglang's expression froze,

and then he couldn't help but laugh,

looking at Zhou Ze,

as if looking at an idiot.

Zhou Ze nodded. Sometimes, that's how it is. You tell him the truth, you think you're teasing him, but he doesn't believe it.

"Anyway, I'm sorry. By the way, I want to ask, is that human skin, real human skin?" Zhou Ze asked curiously.

"Fish skin," Xu Qinglang replied. "Processed, painted, and made."

"Then why are you selling noodles?" Zhou Ze couldn't understand. "I heard that a Hezhe ethnic group's snake skin coat can sell for a lot of money, sold as art. Yours should be worth more, right?"

"I can't bring myself to use ancestral things to make money."

"Then you should be very rich," Zhou Ze said.

"The family just had their house demolished," Xu Qinglang didn't answer directly. "Divided into twenty-odd apartments."

"............" Zhou Ze took a deep breath.

So, the world is so unfair. He worked hard in the hospital in his previous life and didn't earn much money, but others casually have twenty-odd apartments.

Tong City is not as good as Shanghai, but the house price is also close to ten thousand per square meter.

Demolition generation, envious.

Zhou Ze shook his head. "Will you continue to make noodles in the future?"

"Will you continue to sell books in the future?"

The two asked each other the same question at the same time.

"I'll see for now," Zhou Ze replied.

"Me too."

"Then, see you later. By the way, does your sour plum juice have other flavors?" Zhou Ze was very curious about this. "Like bitter gourd flavor? Grape flavor?"

"I have a secret recipe, I can make it," Xu Qinglang said very honestly.

"Very good." Zhou Ze reached out and patted Xu Qinglang on the shoulder.

Damn,

it's like cotton,

soft, really weak and boneless. If you hug him and lie on the bed...

Zhou Ze immediately brought up the image of Doctor Lin coming out of the bathroom wearing pajamas in his mind, forcibly suppressing his disharmonious thoughts.

Zhou Ze walked out of the noodle shop.

Xu Qinglang walked to the inner room, lifted the curtain, and said to the woman's human skin hanging inside:

"Mom, do you think he really believed it or pretended to believe it?"

The woman's skin swayed gently,

swaying slightly,

as if saying, he didn't believe it,

also as if saying, she didn't know either.

..................

Zhou Ze returned to his shop. The refrigerator had been installed. Next, he had to renovate the dilapidated bookstore that Xu Le had left behind. It wouldn't work to keep it losing money like this.

The sign at the entrance of the bookstore said "Xu Le Bookstore", as rustic as it could be.

In short, in that guy's hands, from top to bottom, inside and out, the bookstore exuded an aura of "definitely losing money."

Zhou Ze sat in front of the computer and tried to log in to his original QQ several times, but he couldn't log in at all. The identity verification couldn't be passed, and appeals were basically impossible.

Afterward, Zhou Ze had no choice but to go out and take a taxi. He planned to change the sign or put up a couplet here.

He knew a plaque shop that specialized in making wood carving plaques. The shop owner was an old man who often donated to the orphanage. When Zhou Ze was a member of the orphanage, the old man was donating. After Zhou Ze started working, the old man and Zhou Ze donated together.

The plaque shop was not far away, at the foot of Wolf Mountain. All around were shops selling incense, except for this one selling plaques.

However, when Zhou Ze walked in, he found that the shop was undergoing a major cleaning, and even the plaques had been taken down.

A middle-aged man was there directing the workers to work.

"Are you?" The other party saw Zhou Ze walking over and asked.

"I'm looking for Mr. Zhao," Zhou Ze said. He respected the old man very much.

"I'm sorry, my dad just passed away last month," the middle-aged man replied.

"Passed away?" Zhou Ze was a little surprised and a little sad. He and Old Zhao were not familiar with each other, they just knew each other as a person, so it was normal that he was not notified of the funeral.

Moreover, it was possible that for Zhao Lao's family, Zhao Lao had always donated the income from making plaques to the orphanage, so they naturally didn't have a good impression of the orphanage, and they wouldn't even notify the orphanage of the funeral, for fear that the orphanage would come to them for money again.

"Are you here to order a plaque?" the middle-aged man asked.

"Yes," Zhou Ze nodded.

"My family is not doing it anymore," the middle-aged man said apologetically: "In the future, we will sell incense."

Wolf Mountain is one of the ten small Buddhist mountains. Even if it doesn't attract foreign tourists, it's enough for the shops and businesses located at the foot of the mountain to make a lot of money during festivals when local people go to burn incense and worship Buddha.

This is also a way of relying on the mountain for a living and relying on the water for a living.

"That's a pity," Zhou Ze said regretfully.

He planned to go to see the old man's tombstone.

"However, there are still a few plaques that my dad made before that couldn't be sold. I don't know what my dad carved those plaques for, they weren't custom-made by anyone. If you like them, I'll sell them to you cheaply," the middle-aged man planned to dispose of them with the intention of selling them as scrap.

"Okay, I'll take a look," Zhou Ze agreed.

Following the middle-aged man to the backyard, the middle-aged man opened a warehouse and turned on the lights.

There were some sundries inside, including Mr. Zhao's working tools, piled up in a disorderly manner, which meant that the descendants were not planning to inherit this craft.

Now everyone makes luminous plaques, who is willing to use this? It's hard work, and you can't earn much money.

"Huff..." The middle-aged man blew a breath at the plaques on the ground and said, "Take a look. Two hundred yuan each. You can take them away if you like them. If you don't like them, forget it."

Obviously, the middle-aged man didn't have much confidence in whether he could sell these plaques.

Zhou Ze walked over and looked at them.

The first plaque said:

"Life and death are destined, wealth is determined by heaven."

Zhou Ze shook his head. The middle-aged man sighed, knowing that this plaque was hopeless.

The next one said:

"People know the terror of ghosts, but ghosts know the poison of human hearts."

Zhou Ze was slightly stunned. He was a little sensitive to this.

The middle-aged man didn't sigh this time, because he knew it was directly hopeless. Which shop would be full enough to hang this at the door?

The third one:

"Just listen to it, as I have heard." (Gu Wang Ting Zhi, Ru Shi Wo Wen)

Zhou Ze smiled.

The middle-aged man smiled when he saw Zhou Ze smile,

there was finally one that he was satisfied with.