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墨書 Inktalez
I looked up and saw thick smoke rising not far away.
It was raining and traffic was congested. Huang Hai's route happened to pass by our shop. Not far ahead, in the direction of our shop, thick smoke was billowing.
Although we are in the north where winters are very cold, centralized heating is quite common. Even households without installed heating rarely burn coal; instead, they use air conditioning or electric heaters. Such a large amount of smoke certainly wasn't coming from a stove.
There was an alley between us, so I couldn't be sure if the smoke was coming from my shop, but judging by the direction, even if it wasn't mine, it was very close—possibly from the neighboring shop.
Without needing to be urged, Huang Hai slammed the accelerator down, and the black Black Mercedes SUV roared through a narrow alley. At the intersection of our street, he drifted the car, splashing water everywhere. Before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop, Huang Hai jumped out.
"It's over; it's really our shop," he wailed like he had lost his father as he looked at the thick smoke pouring out from inside.
Flames and smoke were shooting up from the roof of the shop, and it seemed that a large hole had been burned through the ceiling. The acrid smoke mixed with red and blue flames shot up nearly ten meters high, ignoring the pouring rain.
The Roborov Desert Yadan Landform Group Sand Table Model I had made was constructed from rubber and plastic materials, which are flammable. Moreover, the smoke produced when it burns is toxic and has a pungent odor.
Although my shop faced the street, it wasn't located in a bustling area. The neighboring shops were all workshop-style processing factories, with storefronts in front and production areas behind, primarily dealing with wholesale goods. Additionally, the shops weren't tightly packed together; there were yards or walls separating them. So while there were quite a few people gathered outside watching, there wasn't any real panic. Some even joked with me: "Good thing you were out; otherwise, you'd have been struck by lightning or burned alive."
I was still heartbroken over my hard work; I had spent several years on that Sand Table Model, and the money I invested in it was no less than what Huang Hai had used to get his Black Mercedes SUV. However, hearing that made me understand how the fire started—it must have been struck by lightning.
What a frustrating situation! This would surely make headlines in our circle: Zhang Jianqiang's shop got struck by lightning; lucky for him he ran fast; otherwise, he would have been hit too. Once this story spread, people might even start gifting me lightning rods during holidays.
Across the street stood the owner of a Cake Workshop who was also watching in the rain. This guy had a big mouth and was as annoying as Fatty; upon seeing me, he laughed heartily. "Wow! That scene is spectacular! I thought Boss Zhang was going through a tribulation!"
Hearing that almost made me spit blood. Had he been reading too many fantasy novels?
With him around, those who had gathered to watch my shop's misfortune came closer, chattering away with their attempts at comfort and teasing remarks.
I managed to understand what was happening. Just a moment ago, my shop seemed to attract lightning like a magnet. Several bolts struck simultaneously, not only creating a large hole in the roof but also igniting everything inside in an instant. The fire had already been doused by the rain to some extent, but initially, the flames shot up to ten or twenty meters high, casting a red glow.
While I felt heartbroken over my Sand Table Model and the merchandise, I knew that life was more important than material possessions. Money could be earned again, but if I lost my life, nothing else mattered.
However, Huang Hai clearly did not share my perspective. After a brief moment of shock, he suddenly shouted, "My goods!" and dashed toward the shop.
Fortunately, he had a limp. I caught up with him just two or three meters outside the shop and grabbed him by the neck to pull him back. At that distance, the smoke pouring out of the building was already quite suffocating; I felt deeply nauseous and dizzy. He couldn't go inside. Even staying there for a moment longer could be fatal.
"Are you out of your mind?" I coughed and gasped as I scolded him.
Huang Hai was struggling against my grip, his eyes rolling back in desperation. It wasn't my fault; if I didn't fight for my life, he would surely drag me down with him.
Huang Hai lay in the icy rainwater that reached his ankles, desperately slapping the ground with one hand. The splashing water hit his face and body. His eyes were bloodshot as he shouted hoarsely, "Brother Qiang, our goods are inside! Let me go in and get them out; otherwise, we're finished! Our entire livelihood is in there!"
I stood between him and the shop, feeling an inexplicable sense of emotion at his expression. I didn't particularly like him; I thought of him as Fatty's dog. Yet he had genuine feelings—toward Fatty, toward me, and everyone he had interacted with. His trust and reliance on Fatty exceeded my expectations; he viewed this shop as part of himself rather than just a job.
I walked over and squatted down in front of him. I couldn't tell if the water on his face was rain or tears, but I wiped it away with my hand. "Losing goods won't kill you. Once this is over, I'll find someone to get us another batch. We can tough it out for a few more days. You’re not afraid of hardship, are you?"
Huang Hai shook his head and placed one hand on my shoulder, lowering his gaze. "I'm afraid of being dependent on others."
I put my hand on his shoulder as well. "Here, you're not dependent on anyone; you're the second manager."
Huang Hai looked up at me, his eyes glistening with water as rain plastered his slicked-back hair against his face. He bit his lip and nodded vigorously. "Yes... I'm the second manager."
Damn it. I was so angry that I almost slapped him. Even at this moment, he still wanted to defend Fatty.
I really didn’t know whether to be grateful or resentful; the rain continued to pour down without stopping until it extinguished the fire completely. Just as my neighbors had predicted, the fire did not spread; it barely affected anything outside my yard—the only damage was confined to my room. My bedroom shared a wall with the shop; although the flames didn’t reach it, thick smoke seeped in significantly. Even opening the door to let out the smoke couldn’t clear away the acrid stench.
However, everything inside the shop burned cleanly; several pieces of porcelain that Huang Hai cherished became mere rubble. All my hard work turned to ashes without exception.
I made do with one night in Yellow Sea House. Second, there are people on the street. My shop used to be a street factory that produced umbrellas, Collective. What is Collective? I won’t explain it here, Baidu should know. Li Yanhong knows more than me. I'm afraid today's young people have never seen early umbrellas. They had a plastic cover and a wooden handle and couldn't be folded. Such outdated products were naturally eliminated in the first round of reform, and this factory was also eliminated. I rented this vacant yard and with so much going on last night, naturally the owner of the house came over early in the morning to check on his property. Street Deputy Director, a middle-aged man surnamed Qiao walked around the yard a few times and looked at me: "I have investigated it, this is a force majeure, please be insured." I knew as soon as I heard that there was no chance. . He put the responsibility on the master with just one sentence. If I messed with him, he would definitely let me travel through time and ask for compensation from the master. I know, this guy is a fan of time travel literature. (To Be Continued.)
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