This set of armor was mainly made of bamboo, leather, and some metal. The entire thing was black, and the workmanship was exquisite, pleasing to the eye.

In fact, Japanese samurai armor wasn't the best in terms of defense or practicality compared to the armor of other countries during the same period, because for a long time, the Japanese had closed their doors and played their own village chief-level "Warring States Period" on their own islands.

But putting aside a series of shortcomings,

The key is that it looks good.

Even Zhou Ze at this time, when he looked in the mirror and saw himself wrapped in armor, didn't feel any discomfort or anger from suddenly having this thing on his body. On the contrary, he felt that the practicality and protection of this set of armor aside, just the sudden appearance when fighting made him feel very "cool."

If there was an old Daoist priest next to him who could add a classical BGM in time, the effect would be even better.

Perhaps influenced by modern Japanese cultural products, at least for Zhou Ze, he really didn't hate this set of armor.

Zhou Ze still remembered when he was a child in the orphanage, after dinner, a large group of children would gather in the living room with the only TV in the school, and everyone would sit on small benches and wait to watch cartoons.

At that time, video recorders and later VCDs and DVDs were not popular, so basically everyone watched whatever was on TV.

For a while, a Japanese anime called *Ronin Warriors* was a hit across the mainland, setting off a huge craze. Even from today's perspective, this anime still doesn't feel outdated in terms of armor design and the use of some chuuni (a Japanese term for someone who exhibits delusional behavior, especially during adolescence) BGM.

Reaching out,

Lifting a leg,

Twisting his waist,

Even though he was a little weak now, Zhou Ze still insisted on striking a few poses in front of the mirror, feeling like an old man trying to relive his youth.

After playing enough, Zhou Ze closed his eyes, and the armor quickly disappeared. He let out a long sigh and sat down again, already covered in sweat.

Bai Yingying also brought the shower gel back into the bathroom. Seeing that Zhou Ze was sweating again, she didn't understand why, so she could only help Zhou Ze wash again.

Enjoying the service of his maid, Zhou Ze, who had taken a bath and changed into clean clothes, was helped by Bai Yingying to sit on his favorite sofa.

A plate of candy, coffee, and newspapers were placed on the coffee table in front of him.

Leisurely afternoons should be wasted.

Zhou Ze quickly slipped back into the role of a salted fish. Maybe this was his nature, and after the last incident, Zhou Ze began to instinctively reject any activities that required him to leave the Late Night Bookstore.

His personality was a bit selfish, with a kind of "I'll just be a salted fish, even if the world floods after I'm dead."

The old Daoist priest came back at this time, covered in sweat. Seeing Zhou Ze leaning on the sofa reading the newspaper, the old Daoist priest "hehe" smiled excitedly, immediately took a bottle of ice beer and came over, saying:

"Boss, it's good to be back home and see you sitting here reading the newspaper as usual."

The old Daoist priest's unspoken meaning was

like a husband who has worked hard outside all day and sees his wife breastfeeding at home, and all his fatigue disappears.

In short, it sounded weird.

Zhou Ze glanced at the old Daoist priest and saw that he was energetic and walking steadily. He suddenly felt a little envious of this guy. After that incident, even with Bai Yingying's corpse pill to prolong his life, it only ensured that he wouldn't die. He didn't expect the old Daoist priest's vitality to be so tenacious. It hadn't been long before he had recovered.

An old man in his seventies had such terrible vitality, and he could still have an erection in the morning and always think about those nonsense things in his mind. It was really enviable.

"How's your body?" Zhou Ze asked.

In any case, he still had to care about it, even if Zhou Ze felt that it wouldn't be a problem for the old Daoist priest to call for a one dragon plays with two phoenixes (a Chinese idiom for sexual debauchery) all night long.

"Very good, I feel stronger than before." The old Daoist patted his chest and sat down next to Zhou Ze, then secretly pointed to Bai Yingying, who was busy in the back, and whispered:

"Boss, can you solve Yingying's problem?"

"I'll solve it when I recover."

"That's good, she's a pretty girl." The old Daoist smacked his lips, went to the bathroom, and then came out and turned on the big TV, changing channels casually.

"Yo, boss, there's a soccer game today. Are you watching?"

"Not interested." Zhou Ze wasn't a soccer fan.

"It's Tongcheng Zhiyun's game. It seems they're playing against a Chinese Super League team in the FA Cup.

A China League Two team playing against a Chinese Super League team, that's rare. This humble Daoist will take a look."

The old Daoist priest wasn't really a soccer fan either, but he had some fate with the team. In his early years, when he traveled around, he was invited to the home stadiums of many soccer clubs to perform rituals, meaning to bless the team's home stadium and bring good luck.

Perhaps those teams were a bit unlucky, and their home team's shots always hit the goalpost or had bad luck in various ways. Anyway, the old Daoist priest was either a blind cat catching a dead mouse, or the players felt that their home stadium had been blessed and their mental state was different, and the home team's results suddenly improved. The old Daoist priest became very popular for this reason, and after making a name for himself, he was invited by several clubs to perform rituals.

To say that the Chinese are really superstitious, there aren't really many. Don't look at the flourishing incense in temples, but everyone is just looking for fun, bowing when entering the temple, with the spirit of casting a wide net. Moreover, this is not really superstition. Before the construction of a building or the start of a film and television drama, a table is set up and incense is burned to seek good luck.

However, the old Daoist priest played too much in the past few years, causing a butterfly effect. If you hire a Daoist priest, I'll hire a shaman or a monk. In short, you sing and I'll take the stage, and all kinds of gods come to bless, giving full play to the local cultural industry characteristics of various clubs. It was so lively.

However, this was captured by fans and made it to the internet. The fans were just joking, but it was noticed by the higher-ups, and the Chinese Football Association immediately issued a document prohibiting clubs from doing this kind of thing again.

For this reason, the old Daoist priest also lost this source of income and could only switch to the live streaming industry. This is another story.

...

Xu Qinglang didn't drive back to his hometown. He took a ride-sharing car back and forth. When he was coming back in a ride-sharing car after finishing his business in his hometown, he noticed that the driver seemed to be secretly sizing him up.

Well,

Xu Qinglang was already used to and somewhat immune to this kind of sizing up. He was also clear about his own appearance and temperament, and there was nothing he could do about it.

However, the driver seemed a little strange. He would take out his phone to look at it from time to time, and then deliberately look at himself again from the rearview mirror. Finally, the driver couldn't help but ask:

"Are you a cross-dresser?"

Xu Qinglang didn't understand what he meant for a moment.

The driver shook his head, looked at the phone screen again, and asked, "Are you a man or a woman?"

"Man."

Xu Qinglang pointed to the driver and said, "What are you looking at?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Tell me, what are you looking at?" Xu Qinglang insisted.

Not to mention the domineering aura of owning twenty or so sets of something,

just the temperament that had been seen and tempered a lot during this period,

Xu Qinglang now seemed to have a Wu Zetian-like (the only female emperor in Chinese history) sense of oppression when he spoke.

The driver was probably young and didn't have the psychological resilience of a veteran. In a panic, he actually pointed directly at the screen and said:

"We have driver reviews here, which passengers can't see;

I saw in the reviews here that you are very beautiful, and some people are guessing whether you are a man or a woman. I accepted your order before because I saw this review and was immediately interested. Actually, your route and my route are quite different."

"Boring."

Xu Qinglang shook his head dismissively and closed his eyes.

About twenty minutes later, the car arrived at the bookstore. Xu Qinglang got out of the car and saw that there were quite a few people in the bookstore, and they were all living people.

He pushed the door open and walked in. Xu Qinglang saw Zhou Ze sitting at the bar.

"You're awake." Xu Qinglang greeted him.

"Yeah." Zhou Ze nodded.

"Why is it so lively?" Xu Qinglang asked.

Zhou Ze pointed to the screen of the big TV and said, "The old Daoist priest was watching a soccer game at first, and then many passers-by saw it through the glass window and came in to watch it together."

"Spend a hundred yuan just to come in and watch a soccer game?" Xu Qinglang couldn't understand it.

In fact, Tongcheng had not had a professional team for a long time, but since it had one in the past two years, it had suddenly attracted many fans. Even for China League Two games, nearly 10,000 people would go to the stadium to watch the games each time, and the popularity had already exceeded some Chinese Super League teams.

"Damn, down two to zero, damn it, I'm not watching!"

A middle-aged man with many tattoos on his body cursed a few times, and finally reluctantly came to the bar to pay the bill.

"It's a rip-off. I only had two bottles of Sprite, and it cost me a hundred yuan. The key is that they were already two goals behind in the first half. I'm really spending money to suffer."

The tattooed man thought for a while and took back the hundred yuan he was about to put out, and said to Zhou Ze:

"Boss, are you embarrassed to charge me money? I'm also from around here. My nickname is Brother Qiang. You can just give me a call if you need anything in the future..."

"I won't charge you." Zhou Ze replied.

The tattooed man "hehe" smiled, pointed his finger at Zhou Ze, indicating that he was sensible. In fact, the owners who could open a shop on South Street were no longer the kind of outwardly strong but inwardly weak hooligans who could criticize.

The tattooed man took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, lit it, and walked out of the bookstore in a dashing manner.

"Ignorant fool." Xu Qinglang ridiculed from the side.

He understood why Zhou Ze would suddenly be so kind as not to charge him money, and it was definitely not because he was threatened.

What a joke,

How could a ghost messenger be threatened by a gangster in your human world? Would he still be able to survive?

In addition, with Zhou Boss's Scrooge-like character, would he go against money?

In fact, Xu Qinglang could also see that the tattooed hooligan's forehead was dark and there was a little black energy around him, which was obviously because he had provoked something dirty recently. If someone with Taoist skills didn't help him break the disaster, he would either suffer a serious illness or have a car accident on the road.

It's okay not to collect the money of a dying person. Maybe he'll have to come to the bookstore in a few days anyway. If I can't collect your money when you're alive, I'll still collect it when you're dead. Anyway, Zhou Boss is sitting firmly on the Diaoyutai (an ancient angling platform, metaphorically a secure position).

Zhou Ze silently lit a cigarette.

The bookstore's surroundings were all glass, so the tattooed man who had just walked out could be seen clearly from inside.

The tattooed man took a big puff of smoke and walked out, just as he was about to spit it out,

a pregnant woman happened to walk past him.

The tattooed man looked at the woman's big belly and immediately forced himself to hold back the puff of smoke. Smokers know how uncomfortable it is to swallow a puff of smoke, like swallowing half a mouthful of mustard.

After the pregnant woman walked away,

the tattooed man bent over and kept dry heaving on the ground.

Zhou Boss blew out a smoke ring, and Xu Qinglang, who was next to him, also saw this scene.

"Go help him break the curse." Zhou Ze said.

Xu Qinglang nodded.