Auction House of Old God Relics

Xi Huan was so broke that his landlord was about to change the locks. For a two-hundred-yuan night shift, he entered the Three-Strike Auction House in the old postal building. They don't auction antiques here. A wooden plaque: the final payment is the buyer's right hand. A broken hammer handle: can lock a door for three breaths, but the price is that your fingers also stop. A salt-bone knife: for every person it cuts, you lose one bowl of blood. But Xi Huan can see the 'final payment' behind every Old God relic. The Three-Strike doesn't keep idle bookkeepers. So he went from a box-moving temp to an apprentice debt collector and temporary flaw reporter. Before the hammer falls, he must point out the hidden dangers of the lots; report correctly and get paid, report wrong and pay compensation, stay silent and still be charged. The Old Gods died long ago, but the debts remain unsettled. Xi Huan only wanted to earn enough for rent and survive until tomorrow. But when he opened the ledger to the first page, his name was already written there.