In December 1991, in Jiangcheng, in a dim, damp alley, beside a wall near the far end, a little beggar who looked about fifteen lay on the wet ground. A filthy burlap sack was spread beneath him, and a tattered blanket covered him. Listen closely, and you could hear the faint sound of snores. Compared to the countless lights shining across Jiangcheng outside, this place was practically hell. But who could have imagined that this small-time beggar would soon bring a storm of blood and violence to the city?
