In Jiangcheng in December 1991, in a dark and damp alley, at the corner near the end of the alley, lying on the wet ground was a little beggar who looked to be about 15 years old. There was a dirty sack under him and a ragged wool covering his body. Blanket, if you listen carefully, you can still hear slight snoring. Compared with the lights of thousands of houses in Jiangcheng outside, this place is like hell. But who could have imagined that such a little beggar would bring a bloody storm to this city in the near future.
