After finishing the near-zero progress sweep, the young man turned his head to look at the general store behind him. The storefront was old and run down, the merchandise was meager and scarce, with only a handful of customers each day. The rickety wooden sign above swayed precariously, and the cartoon octopus painted on it had faded so badly that its shape was almost unrecognizable.,“Holding a steamed bun in my hands… There's not a drop of oil in the vegetables…”,The menacing muzzle of the gun pointed straight at Jack's red, bloated nose. The old man immediately raised his hands in surrender.。