The presence of the bicycle Old Ye was riding started a discussion in the wet market. The bicycle was very famous, and it was the only means of transport the former Old Ye had.
It grew in fame with the Old Ye because the former Old Ye was very popular as a weakling in the wet market.
"Hey, kid, where did you get the bicycle from?" a man asked, a few feet away from Old Ye, who was about to walk into the shop of the first debtor on his list.
Glancing towards the man with an expressionless face, Old Ye recognised him as a good friend of the former Old Ye; his name was Steven.
Steven suspected Old Ye of stealing the bicycle from his sick friend; he didn't recognise the young man riding his friend's bicycle.
Old Ye retracted his gaze and stepped into the store; he didn't have any interest in explaining himself to Steven.
He didn't have the intention of recognising the former Old Ye's friends; that was the reason he ignored Steven.
"Welcome to my store; what do you want to buy?" the store owner asked the moment Old Ye strode into the store.
"Hand over my money—five hundred dollars, no less, Biggie," Old Ye responded calmly.
A frown appeared on Biggie's face. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering when he owed the young man demanding money from him.
His eyebrows knitted tightly as he replied unhappily, "Kid, if you are looking for someone to prank, go to the next store; I don't have time for a joke."
"You owed me five hundred dollars, and you asked for it because your child was sick. It has been seven months now, and I have been demanding it, but you have been giving me excuses. Today, hand it over," Old Ye said in one breath, rendering Biggie speechless.
Biggie's eyebrows furrowed in contemplation.
He remembered owing Old Ye, who was sick, and at the point of death, he didn't have the intention of paying Old Ye because he knew the former Old Ye was timid and couldn't make him pay back.
"Brat, it seems your parents don't teach you properly; I don't owe you; if you don't leave now, I will beat you up." Biggie threatened fiercely, the fat on his cheeks trembling as he glared fiercely at Old Ye.
Without saying another word, Old Ye stretched his arm forward and caught Biggie's neck, lifting him off the floor.
The scene was quite hilarious because Old Ye's silhouette is considered a broom while Biggie's large figure could be seen as a tank, but Old Ye was strangling him effortlessly.
Biggie's eyes rolled over because of suffocation, and his mouth opened wide with spittle dribbling down his lips due to lack of air in his lungs.
Old Ye tossed Biggie away like a piece of paper; he crashed into a table, shattering it under his weight.
Biggie coughed profusely, his eyes bloodshot as he sucked in one mouthful of breath after another.
"Do you think this Lord is joking with you? Are you going to get the money or not?" Old Ye asked icily.
His voice sounded like a thunderclap in Biggie's ears.
Biggie has gone to the gate of hell and back; he has already lost all trace of the bravery and imposing bearing he had earlier.
He struggled to his feet, ignoring the pains all over his body, and searched his safe box.
With trembling arms and a body covered in sweat, he approached Old Ye like a tamed puppy.
"This is the money I owed Old Ye; take it," Biggie said, almost crying.
Taking the money from Biggie, Old Ye turned around and left the store; he didn't continue to make things difficult for Biggie.
Old Ye raised his eyebrows when he came out and saw that Steven was blocking the way.
"Young man, I was talking to you earlier, and you ignored me. Let me tell you, the owner of that bicycle you were riding earlier is my friend. How did Old Ye relate to you?" Steven was questioned with righteous indignation.
"Scram!" Old Ye spat out without care.
Old You didn't consider Steven a friend—a friend who couldn't recognise the younger version of his friend—what kind of friend is that?
Steven felt like the entire world was crushing on him the moment Old Ye spoke. He stepped back in fear, his heart racing.
After Steven obediently got out of the way, Old Ye continued to the next debtor.
The next debtor sold fruits in a carriage in the open street; beside him was a newspaper vendor stand, and a group of men were gathered around the stand discussing.
Old Ye arrived before the fruit seller and said, "You owe me fifty dollars; give it to me."
The fruit seller looked at Old Ye like he was an idiot; he didn't even recognise who he was and had never seen his face before in the market. How could he owe someone he just met?
"Where is the camera?" the fruit seller asked Old Ye, and then he started looking around for the camera crew.
The fruit seller thought Old Ye was a content creator making a short video.
"You owe Old Ye fifty dollars; hand it over," Old Ye said coldly. His voice was deep and icy.
The fruit seller went off the handle after hearing what Old Ye said and roared in rage, "Kid, are you sent by that old bastard? Tell him, I don't have any money; even if he calls the country's military down here, I won't give him any money."
The newspaper vendor by the side heard the fruit seller's words and then chimed in, "Tony, tell him on my behalf that I am not going to pay too; I owe Old Ye one thousand dollars; I don't have it; business isn't good these days."
The fruit seller, the newspaper vendor called Tony, crackled and then said, "Hur hur! You heard him; we don't have money to give to you."
Old Ye has always had the philosophy that fists should do the talking in the immortal world.
He landed a slap at piled blocks in a corner and the piled blocks smashed into powder.