The middle-aged man, still glaring at Big Quinn, said, "Sell an umbrella? This is a pawnshop. Bro, you’re probably at the wrong door."
There was a voice from inside the house: "Old Song, let them in. I’m buying the umbrella."
Old Song turned back with a surprised glance, then held out his hand. "Gentlemen, this way. What umbrella is my young master interested in?"
They had used Mandarin during their entire conversation—Hans had no clue what was going on and could therefore not interject at all.
A long hall welcomed them when they entered the house. It was simply decorated and the ground was covered with bricks. Paintings hung on the wall while the furniture seemed to be made of mahogany.
At the counter in the front, a thick piece of sandalwood incense was lit. The smoke lingered, and the faint scent permeated the air.
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