Two days later at noon, the weather was gloomy.
Chen Shouyi stood in the neighborhood with a backpack on his back and a sword in his hand, waiting.
The residents passing in and out of the neighborhood occasionally glanced at him.
A middle-aged man with stubble pulled out a pack of cigarettes and walked over enthusiastically: "Brother, want a cigarette?"
Brother?
Chen Shouyi glanced at him, estimating that he was about as old as his father, and quickly declined, "Thanks, I don't smoke."
"You look familiar, are you the martial artist from the neighborhood?" The middle-aged man withdrew the cigarettes and asked.
Chen Shouyi nodded: "Is there something you need?"
"No, no, I just came to say thanks. If not for you, our neighborhood might have lost many lives." The middle-aged man said with a sigh, "In the entire lower city district, our area had the fewest deaths, but other places were seriously tragic, with blood everywhere."
