Yuan Qingli opened the door and squeezed in, noticing that the air quality in this storage room was different from that in the corridor. It had a clean warehouse smell that was hard to describe but not unpleasant.
Yuan Qingli looked around, found what she wanted, put on her gear, picked up her tools, and like a warrior going into battle, she pushed a fully equipped cleaning cart with her left hand and held a broom in her right hand, striding briskly from the elevator entrance.
It would be a shame if there wasn't background music for this kind of moment when a big shot makes an appearance.
Before taking action, Yuan Qingli practiced first, after all, if you're going to do it, do it properly.
Wherever she went, she swept the floor with great care and diligence, not daring to miss a single speck of dust.
Sweep, vacuum, mop, spray. All done in one smooth motion.
Some unsuspecting ghosts, who were hiding, looked at each other, completely bewildered.
"What is she doing?"
"Neuropathy?"
"When did a cleaner come to our brothel?"
"She works so diligently. Look at her bent back, the strength in her hands as she mops the floor, her spirit of not being afraid of getting tired, dirty, or suffering—it's so touching!"
As she approached to clean, the black-hatted ghost froze in place.
He stared in horror at the woman who had been trembling just moments before, now wearing a mask and a cleaning cap, devilishly raising a vacuum cleaner and grinning at him.
"Labor brings happiness, I love labor!"
"Want it cleaned? Our cleaning policy, except for shoes, follows the three guarantees principle. Once you agree, no matter how dirty it is, we'll clean it for you."
The black-hatted ghost kept telling himself to stay calm, stay calm! But the black mist still couldn't stop trembling.
At this point, we cannot fight head-on. The spirit of the dead is flexible and adaptable; as long as we survive, we can always rebuild.
Looking at the black-hatted ghost with fear in his eyes, Yuan Qingli once again felt relieved; she had gambled correctly again.
When she first saw the black-hatted ghost, she noticed, intentionally or unintentionally, that he always avoided the air conditioning vents on the ceiling.
It seems that the source of this guy's power is his black mist. If we can deal with the black mist, we'll solve most of the problem.
How do we clear away the invisible and intangible black fog?
The simplest one is a vacuum cleaner.
When Mu Yingshan saw Yuan Qingli appear, he quickly walked up to her. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, his tall figure blocked the vacuum cleaner's opening. The wind blew through his long hair, making it as smooth and shiny as black satin, giving him an ethereal air.
Yuan Qingli, however, only wanted to kick him.
She looked up and saw that the black-hatted ghost had disappeared, along with the acrid dust that had lessened.
She frowned slightly as she placed the vacuum cleaner on the floor.
Yuan Qingli reread the game instructions and learned that in addition to her thoughts, she also needed to touch the items to return them to her system inventory.
Yuan Qingli looked up and used one hand to grasp Mu Yingshan's wrist: "Thank you for buying me time just now. You can go back to your backpack now. I'll call you next time."
Mu Yingshan disappeared before he could even say anything.
Yuan Qingli stood still, pondering a big question.
This place...
Should we continue scanning?
Ultimately, the noble virtues of socialism took hold of Yuan Qingli's mind, and she decided to see this temporary cleaning job through to the end.
"She really is... I'm so moved, she's so hardworking."
"Suddenly, the air in the hallway feels much more comfortable."
"I won't scare her today, I'll scare her tomorrow."
The little ghosts, old ghosts, and half-ghosts all dispersed.
Sweeping across the corridor, Yuan Qingli leaned back wearily. Every profession has its difficulties.
Just as she was about to finish her work, Yuan Qingli suddenly stopped her hardworking little hands.
After uncovering the carpet and removing the filth, a heart symbol came into view. The faded, dark red lettering was still quite clear in the light of the corridor.
The radical for heart (忄)?
Is someone writing on the floor or creating some kind of artwork?
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