The late autumn night is dense, and the fog is thick.
In the fish market, under the gate tower, a young man, bloodied all over and covered in wounds, is hanging.
Not far away, a small table is set, and two burly men are sitting around drinking.
"Damn it, why do those guys get to go with Master Hu to the Drunken Spring Pavilion, while the two of us have to stay here and guard this stinking kid and drink in solitude?"
"Who told you to be stingy in paying respects to Master Hu? Naturally, this kind of dirty and tiring work can only be done by poor bastards like us."
"Damn it, these stinking fishermen, they've been squeezed dry and still don't have much money. I got up early today, searched Old Zhou's boat, and what did I find? Just a few broken things, barely found two or three strings of coins, all taken by Master Hu, and I didn't get a single penny."
